Due November 2014: The Merfoxiad

A Sea God Will Be God Once We Have Buried All The Rest

Those of you who follow my poetry will have noticed that, for a while now, I have been writing a series of narrative poems which have not featured in either of Swannui and Cygnus or Be All; End All.

This narrative poem is named The Merfoxiad. It is about an ancient mythical fox beast and the young girl destined to destroy it. I began writing the first part of The Merfoxiad around two years ago and have written further parts here and there over the course of those two years. Now, with the conclusive poem nearing completion, I can confidently announce that I will be self publishing The Merfoxiad in paperback and releasing it in November 2014.

The Merfoxiad is lighthearted and tongue in cheek, which perhaps could be expected from a poem about an aquatic killer fox.

The paperback release will be a limited run of around 30 copies, international postage and delivery is available. If you would like to register interest in an order then please write it in the comments section. I’ll even sign or write flattering lies in the front cover for you!


After a week away in beautiful 30 degree heat, drinking ten generously mixed cocktails on the quiet days and eating two full plates of meat and cheese for each meal, I’m back from Paphos, Cyprus.
It was all for my friend’s wedding and the day went very smoothly, you wouldn’t be risking sunburn if you had an outdoor ceremony and after party in England at this time of year.

Morning sunshine
Morning sunshine

I last visited cyprus when i was about twelve and i saw quite a few old sights this time round that stirred my memories. I was mostly impressed by how relaxed and friendly people are. The history as a British colony is still prominent once you scratch under the surface and this influence is equally comforting and disappointing. With all the expats, British stores, restaurants, pubs and customs such as driving on the left, it can be a little too familiar when you’re trying to get away from it all but i guess thats a lot better than a hostile or alien place. I guess i mean that it just feels a little bit like a little britain with scorching sunshine and friendli…hang on, why am I complaining?!

Table decoration
Table decoration

Highlights, other than the gorgeous ceremony,

Segway tour
Segway tour

Segway tours (I have no idea how that nobhead Piers Morgan toppled one over)

I am a plant
I am a plant

Hundreds of rather cuddly fleabag street cats

Top Gun
Top Gun

‘Ray Bans’ that cost less than my suncream


The grim monolithic sight of the tanker that ran aground in Paphos bay nearly fifteen years ago.

This ain't Lowestoft
This ain’t Lowestoft

After all the sun, free drinks and reunion with university friends it’s now back to the good old British weather.


We see the same sky
You and I
Watching as the horizon
Blends with warm ocean
And aren’t you glad you’re laying here

That tanker out there
What do you think they’re
Thinking when they sit there
Watching and waiting for a call
To come to shore

Why do you think I care
She said as she traced a thin line of
Sand across
Her belly button
Idly caressing and eyes on skies
Distant, daring and blinking blue
Behind Ray Bans that could define my life
I breathed deeply and furrowed forth

If life is a game
Are you winning or losing
I asked her
She sniffed and drew her arms around
Her knees
Poised, taut and drawing it out
I’m playing and that’s better than most

She left to the right
My feet dug in the sand
By the shore
With the sun and the sea and the scene
Still the tanker sat motionless
So here I lie with my eyes on empty skies


Before this year the last time I had been abroad was September 2009, to Washington DC. This year I’ve already been to New York and now this week I’m going to Paphos in Cyprus and Florida for Christmas.

I’m not expecting it to be scorching in Cyprus at this time of year but it should be a good ten degrees centigrade better than the UK and I might see that thing that people abroad call “the sun”.

Look forward to obligatory photos of hotel pool, cocktails and beaches. Going to do my very best to get a tan.

I can’t wait, even if I did choose to spend 4 hours layover in a Greek airport just to save £40. I mean, Greek airports can be a lot of fun too, right?

The Merfoxiad III: Tails of Vulpine Vicissitude

The date, a day
The day of her birth
How and why and how did he know
What did it mean and what had she just seen
Lurking, skulking, peering between tomes
She caught his gaze and he sidled out

The girls interest piqued, forehead burning
Lips loose and inquiring, demanding
Answers for riddles and lockets
Seraca’s hazy hazel eyes burnt right through their sockets

The old man sat down and sighed deep
You’re not the first one with this secret to keep
What you see, I have seen
A long time ago, when these bones didn’t ache
And this mind was as sharp as the tips of his claws
I banished the dreams and the scenes when I banished the beast
Five decades ago

Calamity, Charybdis, Leviathan, Kraken,
Cataclysm, Scourge
By many names he’s known, by people
Long dead, who sat atop long crumbled thrones
A weapon, the trident of Poseidon has lived long and ended many
In Rome, Constantinople, the fall of Tripoli, he fought Gilgamesh
He was there, watching, waiting, annihilating
The legend of vulpine destruction, mutilated flesh and form

With a single purpose and drive to kill
Sent forth by a god forgotten, with a grudge
and a vengeance like none we have known
Where is atlantis now, they couldn’t survive the furry death
Yet I did

A child, like you, a long time ago
Though mere seconds in a tale of tails
That spans millennia
Every night I slept in sweat and blood
Waking, screaming since I was young

Until my twentieth year
Whats that you say,
I struggle to hear
Ah yes, the dreams became waking
Walking nightmares, all day
Visions, warnings, that foretold
That the things I had seen were real
If I just read the signs
They showed me the way

Chosen to stop the beast from beneath
A skinny boy with a flop of blonde hair
To stand against the end of an era
The extinction of a race
One day, awake and asleep
Walking in dreams, I came to by the seaside with a sword in my hand
The beach deserted, the clouds darkened, day dimmed to dull light
It crawled, it came, it screamed, screeched from the sea
The beginning and the end
Perfect form of furs and clawed paws, surged through the brine
Intent on the end of all life

The sword struck deep and dug in right through it’s neck
The flesh, the blood
The scream from beyond, it split, it shrieked
The earth shuddered, cracked, trembled beneath us
An incandescent light pierced my eyes
The beast was gone, the great Merfox
And so was the sword
I came to with a locket round my neck

I kept it close, held it tight all these years
Never heard again, dreamt again of the beast
Those dark dreams
Until one night I awoke drenched in blood and sweat
And yet, I expected it
My fingers gripped round the locket
What else happened, Dear, on the night of
The twenty third of March, nineteen eighty six

Seraca ran her fingers through her fine curls
I was born, she whispered

So, they created it
Recreated it, mutilated it
Brought it back from death to bring death
Playing god with the spawn of a god
It returns and it is all their fault
The cult of the fox have reopened Pandora’s box

I was born, she whispered
Then, firmly, I will win
Let’s reach the beach before it’s breach

Less Talk of Oceans

Chitter, chatter away gasbag
More mephane for merciless mercenaries
Who’ve seen no more of war than
What appears on their nightly news
Their views askew as

They buy the agenda, whichever agenda
Is sold to them, the consumer, a consumable
An expendable asset in the war of error
Where an enemy becomes an ally when you add oil
Bold boys, big bags of blood from British barracks
Buy another inch of sand

Young men with hopes, dreams and cares
Families, such young families
Two bags for two gallons of the black
Blood money because oil runs thicker than water
Whilst the red runs and stains the soil
Strap a medal on it and call it honour

So, less talk of oceans
Crossed, paths found and plowing a furrow
When you’re just digging graves
In which we bury common sense and
Two twenty year old lads from Scarborough
Who saw a flash ad and a paycheck to show their girls

There are no trenches here
We’re on new battlefields now
This is a new kind of war
Their war against us
Whoever we are
Whatever our skin
Culture, creed or god
When their god is viscous fluid

So fight the good fight my brave boy
Infidel, imperial with a bulls eye on your back
And a price-tag round your neck