article-2321088-19ac04bb000005dc-710_634x417Life, it goes in circles as I try to catch it. Its face is happy yet violently angry too. It temps me with a coyish beckoning and as I come close, it bites and screams pushing me away and the chase starts again.

Why do I chase such a two faced thing you ask. It is mystifying and unusual that I must know more, besides there’s a tendril that joins us. We are one and two.

Life is confusing, playing games with my mind. Just when I feel I have control, it yanks the cord and lets me know exactly where I stand, which
I don’t, for I have fallen and then struggle to rise but life is off and rounding another corner.


Yet I wonder. Each time I have come that close, it’s been closer and closer. The aggression has been less and less. The pain has been softer.

Some may say that I am a sucker for punishment, but if I did not try, would I ever succeed? And if I fail once, does that mean I’m wrong?

So I’m a stubborn fool, but then I wouldn’t get anywhere if I wasn’t. I’ll
keep being tempted by life, and keep being thrown back ’cause one day she’ll give in.

Won’t she?

Written by Jeffrey Watkins 1995


List Me Four

I was clearly in a very strange place when writing this piece.

Walking down the steps to the ground floor, of my single level caravan, I folded my arms to greet the old day. I hurriedly pulled off my shoes that I had worn all my life and yanked the cat’s tail that tickled my nose. Once I placed my cap upon my shoulder, I then felt ready to venture out into the house.

The first thing that I found, was an old CD from an unreleased band. I placed it on the player (that also played vinyl by the way) and let it roll. It didn’t go all that far of course, due to the fact that anything that rolled gathered no stone, and anyone should know that no Stone means no ‘Start.me.up’.

I felt something hitting my leg and bent in an attempt to remove the Jones who had laid camp there over night as their present place of worship was being converted into a multi-single drive-way that basically led up the garden path. This movement made me quite dizzy so I stood up to gain my composition. While the world slowly steadied itself, I heard the distant sound of yelling near my ear. Overcome with a sudden desire to feel another’s face under my hand, I turned and saw a reflection of myself that smiled before running away.

I felt quite lonely as I watched myself disappear into the distance of the glass. All of a centimetre away and it was still to far. Too far a barrier for me to cross.

Ignoring the transparent image of the mirror, I decided to switch on the box which as usual did nothing. You see I have this box. I keep it in the corner of the room. It never really does anything, but I wanted one when I heard everyone else had them. Every now and then, I switch it on so as I too can ‘watch-the-box’. Yet I can’t see the great attraction.

As things always go, I quickly bore of ‘watching-the-box’ and ventured inside to see the world.

The sun shone brightly and my shadow flickered back and forth. This was because two very large African Bears were playing volley-ball with the sun. It was a very noisy game marked by loud bellows of pain each time one bear hit the sun.

Hmmmmm…… I think I went out the wrong door. I should really avoid the children’s fantasy during the funny season. It’s not really a very safe place. Yet I see the day drawing to a close. The coloured crayons themselves are near used, which can only mean that the colour is about to f de. Soon th d y w ll b n th ng b t bl ck.  n  by  n  th  c l rs f d , ‘t ll th  nly th ng l ft s ……………………………….

Written by Jeffrey Watkins 1995


the_screamMultitudes of malingering mountain maggots!

My mind is in the fogs of haze, the pits of confusion striding bravely though walls of solid snow not knowing but caring where it goes. Wearing naked cloth upon his clothed brow to soak the beads of pearl that pour from around his eyes. I see the fires of resistance and yet he does not. He strides further on oblivious to them all.

And still I am here doing God knows what.

These feelings I have inside my chest are too powerful to ignore,
yet that is what I have done, I have thrown to the core,
And now they rush at me with all the speed and fury imaginable,
This time they will not be all that easy to handle.

My mind it rebels, puts its foot in the door.
The conflict puts pressure on my heart and more.
My mind, it fights within itself, two states.
They are no longer the closest of mates.

Oh my God the pain!
My head … it pounds. Throbs.
Words .. Hard to write … errors.
I can’t think!>>……


Written by Jeffrey Watkins 1995

I wrote some weird shit back in the nineties, and I didn’t need drugs?


Sim Warren | Men & Owls In The Forest

Sim Warren | Men & Owls In The Forest

Passing friends march together on different planes at different times. Their footsteps echo through murky fog that muffles and drags sound screaming through its own pomposity. They know each other well yet have not met and no matter how far they walk, they never will.

Passing friends march together to different beats on different drums. That one there, on the left-hand side. See the regimented stride and solid chin. The other prances boldly with a smile that infects, yet each footstep in time with the other.

Passing friends march together on different paths with different thoughts. They shout across the chasm that binds them together, and both agree that the other is mad and continue in their own way.

Passing friends march together, always in a mind of their own.

Written by Jeffrey Watkins 1995


Lady Time by Brandon Dorman

Lady Time by Brandon Dorman

With time on my hands, I discover the uncovered country that had never been there all along. It drags me through sights that I had always forgotten and blew me back the breath I sighed. I have asked it to stop, but time it seems, is too short for rest. “I’ve never been able to reach that high.” It said and took off in a new direction.

Time, to me, is constantly changing into similar colours of life. I gaze into it as I am dragged unwilling through it’s never static worlds. It teases me and knows my desire for freedom and yet, at times, it sympathises knowing it can do nothing.

If I could, I would stop the chase of eternal tag and pause to hold the strange beauty of the still moment usually hidden in ugly movement. I may treasure these flashed seconds and for that, I thank time. It keeps me moving against my will and never lets me lose myself in instances.

If I stop, I would reappear gone. Found missing in the shallow depths of infinite times. Time is then my best and only friend. Concerned for my life, it keeps me moving, facing every new life-second till there be nothing left to drag.

This leaves me with only one question; What sex is time, and is it free tonight?

Written by Jeffrey Watkins 1995

Sea of Hope

Cast adrift in a deep wide yonder
I bide my time with sing-song.
With too much time to wonder
‘Where has all my life gone?’

My futile paddling gains me little
But helps to occupy my hopeless sole.
The rain it falls like windswept spittle
While water currents take full control.

My boat,
With work,
I’ll stay

The sun
Has ne-
-ver set.

It stays
Up there
The whole
Day through.

I see no land and none sees me.
What could my destination be?

What I need is a bigger paddle.

Jeff Watkins 14/03/1999

Reflection on Familiar Skies

Lake_PanoramaThere are times when the familiar cold hand reaches out to me, accompanied by a darkness in the skies of my mind. Like the disruptive friend who just doesn’t seem to get the hint, no matter how blunt you make it, or maybe it is more like the uncomfortable yet obligatory visit of your parents that you have to endure at least every now and then.

These days, when I feel the presence of darkness, I find myself reflecting. I have been here before, many times. Sometimes I have been alone, and in those times I came close to succumbing. Other times, I had help, and it is to these that I focus.

There have been a number of people who have come into my life at a time that I needed some acknowledgement, some acceptance, some love. They did not do much. They showed they cared. They showed I was acceptable. They gave me hope.

Sadly, many of these people have little to do with me now, having either moved away in search of their own happiness, or worn weary of me as time so often wears us down. Some I may have inadvertently slighted, for which I will always regret. Others have simply vanished.

Still, these people did something special for me. They opened their hearts, and shared it with me for a while, and it is a treasure that no amount of money can buy. These are cherished memories, gifts of immense wealth.

For each of these gifts, I hold a special place in my heart, regardless of our current standing. These people will always be welcome if ever our paths cross again. I cannot value their kindness enough. They are special to me.

So as the cold hand of darkness reaches for me again, I find some strength from those gifts, those treasures, those memories. I draw on them so as to weather the storm, alone if I have to. I will not flinch or cry out, because I am stronger for it.

And yet a voice inside says “Wouldn’t it be nice if someone was there for you again….”

Wistful thinking.holding-hands

Shaking the Black

Sometimes, like today, the black manages to get a hand on me.
Like a weight, I feel sluggish and heavy.

I find myself just listening to my breathing.
The rise and fall of my chest.

A cloud fogs the back of my mind, making it hard to see.
I feel temperatures with more sensitivity than usual.

It is an odd feeling, both familiar and alien.
Intellectually, I know what it is…

but in my heart, I am stuck.

There’s a hole inside, a hollow, a place of darkness.
The icy breeze whistles through it.

I no longer fear the darkness, although it threatens to take me.
I see it for what it is: a part of me morns.

Like a fresh wound that stings and tingles as it heals,
so too the hole inside must be allowed to heal.

For who can be whole, without a few scars?


Lonely Voices

JeffRemembersSome days I remember
What I knew;
How it felt;
Who I was.

Lonely voices tell me
It was real;
It was truth;
It was me.

I recall a poem
I once wrote;
I once felt;
I once knew.

I sit with others in a crowded room.
I talk with others in a crowded room.
I laugh with other in a crowded room.
Always alone.

EmptyThat was then.
Times have changed.
That was them.
It was not me.

Now I see between them and me,
Lonely voices that hide within.
When at the time I could not see,
So deafened by the crowded din.

These days I am stronger,

Some days I remember
What I knew;
How it felt;
Who I was.

Empty Heart

EmptyIt is quiet inside.
There is a serenity within.
The static that once persisted, now is notably absent.

It is calm inside.
There is a stillness there.
The waves that once crashed, now are pleasantly subdued.

It is empty inside.
There is a space between.
The muck that once swilled, now is washed away.

An empty heart, ready to be filled with love.