Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

Life On Venus

Is this a true story?
You’ll have to stick around and find out,
dear reader,
because, I, your beloved and unreliable narrator have always regaled you with my tall tales,
the truth melting in my mouth as I weave between your reality and my own.

Once upon a time,
twice as long ago as you’d expect,
silver lights shined through closed eyes,
burning like the unwelcome sun through windows that belong to a wistful woman who sleeps too little.

The light was impolite,
unafraid of interrupting,
because like an eager postman, or an angel in Nazareth,
it had something to share.
Breaking through the barriers of her well earned, but never quite arriving rest,
the little lights blinked and bothered until they found their way inside of her gaze.

From on high came a fundamental truth.
The stars were streaming from the sky,
flames were forming from ice,
roads rose to meet the clay clouds in the world’s wonderful ceiling,
crashing all around her as she came to the realisation she had been avoiding.
It was a God awful small affair,
to the girl with the synthetic hair extensions,
and there’d be no more rest,
because there was life in her long suffering heart again.

Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

Angel Number Two – 222

My lucky number,

rests on my left wrist. Dos. Two.

I hear the angels.

I hear the angels.

They say not to cry. My eyes,

for once, they listen.

For once, I glisten.

You can find me in my dreams,

but I won’t go back.

I just won’t go back,

never straying from the path,

my gleaming pavements.

My endless statements,

intentions ring out like bells,

Sunday morning sounds.

Morning sounds hopeful,

church bells, whispering angels,

soft breathing. No tears.

Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

Baby Birthmark

Arriving in the second month,

there was a number two written on my wrist in pigment,

or melanin,

I’m not sure which, because I always struggled with science,

but there I was,

clean and new,

glistening in the winter sun,

my own and my mother’s blood decorating my skin.

I was peaceful,

but causing a fuss,

as people from all over the continent came to marvel at me.

No gold was given,

no star was followed,

just a series of phone calls sent wise men and shepherds running to a bedside,

somewhere in a London hospital,

where I was waiting,

wondering what the hell was going on,

and what the hell my purpose was,

as they fawned and fell about the place,

struggling to contain their excitement.

There was an angel across the room,

smiling as the sunlight found its way through the window.

She found her way to me,

gentle and with kind eyes,

her glowing fingertips,

tapping the small mark on my wrist until it glowed too.

She whispered something about being hopeful,

and I decided I would try.

Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

Angel Forever

She was wild,

wrapping me up in her world,

dragging me into her drama,

capturing me in chaos,

until we were still,

stuck in one moment,

parked outside a bar,

with a menu that mocked our means.


I dream of the car,

the scent of her cigarette,

the way she flowed from topic to topic,

as she glowed in the warm night,

and all it’s moonlight.

I see her,

when I close my eyes,

no matter how many times you tell me,

that one day,

I’ll find someone new.

Enter My Giveaway

Read My Books

Hear My Music

Hear My Podcast

Virgin Vogue
Sad Girl’s Love Song
Drowning In Us

Ask Jen




Email Me