something and nothing

I love the menace seeping through this

Your stuff just gets better and better sid...if that's possible;-) Well done on the more than deserved cherries. Tina

Nice one Sid...creepy but 'nice'. Just going to open the curtains to let a little more light in... :D Chris ;)

"And I am the rust that blooms mud red like old blood, in fields of oxide poppies, flocks of glowing embers in a summer dusk" - LOVE this stanza! It's a mix of Wilfred Owen and Sylvia Plath, and I agree with insert, there's a beautifully intriguing menace in this! Magic xxx

Wow, creepy sid. Hope you don't mind me saying this, but wonderfully indistinct. Leaves your mind working long after you read it as a good poem should. Stands re-reading over and over. Calls to mind a few dodgy flats as well. Well done.

Claustrophobically damp, and stuffy, but not in the snooty sense; in essence. Atmospheric and haunting, but with the hushed voice of a breathless forest covered in creaky snow. (Now there's a line! see what your writing makes me do.) This Vincent Price poem stalked me as it slowly cloaked me, causing me to think the dark thoughts of Mog, looking around but knowing, almost with relief, that in fact I am my own worst enemy, which is ridiculous but true in so many ways. If there were bets going on it, I'd put money down on you being a laureate in ten years. Only you can mess it up! The really scary thing about your work is that you're still only (just) 25. I was writing shite about bringing in laws to flog twats who got stuck in yellow grids at traffic lights at that age. What I really like about you is that you really don't think you're up to much, and that's your strength, for the moment. Soon, though, you'll have to accept that your words are profoundly beautiful. At that time, God willing, you'll be in a place where you can embrace it.

I wasn't doing poetry back then. More social commentary for rags. And if you're the twat stuck in the grid, watch out for tickets with photos in the post. Those cameras are good for some things.

Just getting round to catching up on some reading (though not ready to write yet!) and so glad I found this one, sid. Beautiful piece of writing.

Poe and Karloff, hybrid with Bronte, wearing a big purple hat on the top. Perfect.

Masterful and magnificent

I just wish you would write more - you are an artist with words

Hi again, sid. You are a versatile young writer. Your poetry is no less potent than your prose, and yes, I have to agree with one of the above comments... there were shades of Sylvia Plath in this. Really nice and charismatic poem. Well done. Trev

If she were alive she mjght benefit from reading you. Very atmospheric and descriptive but I kept thinking of mushrooms growing in the damp dark places. I didn't find it creepy more intriguing. Moya

This reminded me of Charlotte Perkin Gilman's short story 'The Yellow Wallpaper'. It has a creeping, illusory effect that stains you. One of the best poems I have read on this site not just because of awe-inspiring language, but because it reads so visceral and shape shifting. You can't pin it down which is its absolute strength. For me (and I say 'me' because I am putting an interpretation on it, rightly or wrongly) it reminds me of a certain kind of insanity.