WRITING: Anxiety

Posted in uncategorized with tags , , , on March 4, 2017 by theworddoodler


Rising ball of crawling vomit

Plunging up and down

A bastard roller coaster ride

Reality slips

Like child’s paint on a canvas

Will I be me tomorrow?

Bastard ride continues

The devil dances hot on my back

As we soar upwards

Sounds and images colliding

Einsturzende roars

Then the plummet

Weightless placeless

Breath snatched 

Sight distorted 

Skull throbbing 

Then the crash

Flesh shrapnel scattered

Am I here?



Posted in modern, POETRY with tags , , , , , on March 2, 2016 by theworddoodler

invisible shod feet
walking time’s distance
over landscapes of memories
a litter of photographs
moments captured
misplaced, forgotten
now brought to the fore
like life passing before eyes
a bullet to the brain
would have been sweeter
than your slow passing
a whisper of footsteps
from bathroom to bed
now your shoes sit
waiting to be filled

WRITING: Technophobia

Posted in story, uncategorized, writing with tags , , on November 14, 2015 by theworddoodler


Well, it might not be October and it’s long past Halloween, but it’s finally here. A while ago I had this idea for this story based on an idea from Chris Brosnahan where you write a series of stories based on phobias. This immediately sprang to mind but being me i procrastinated. Enjoy.

  Paul pressed return and the 3D printer sprang into life, squirting its liquid plastic onto the rotating base. Layer by layer the shape was built in a slightly off-white colour until the machine came to a humming stand still and there stood a perfectly formed model of a house.
Paul retrieved the house from behind the clear plastic screen and walked across the grey carpeted floor to the centre of the office. There stood the model  of the latest commission from Harrison & Associates, a whole estate of towering, sleek blocks with the more luxurious detached houses on the hillside. Paul placed his house on a gently sloping hill, to the right. There it was, finished. Tomorrow, the clients would be in to view the work. All completed on time and on schedule. Nothing could hold this back now.
Giving a yawn, Paul made his way back to his terminal and shut down the machine. He grabbed his jacket, tattered brown briefcase – he kept it for sentimental reasons – and turned to leave. He was almost at the door when his printer sprang into life.
What the hell?
Paul went to the printer to switch it off but it wasn’t on. Some sort of power surge? Better leave the plug alone. He watched fascinated as a shape began to form on the base. A shape like a skull but not quite a skull. A slightly twisted head with gaping jaws and blank disc eyes. Something wrong with the machine? The printer hummed softly, came to a stop and waited. Paul removed the item. Yep. Definitely a skull of sorts. Well, he would report it to the technicians tomorrow. They’ll sort it. Probably some sort of ghost in the machine.
Paul placed the skull on his desk, an interesting curiosity, and turned to leave. The machine sprang into life again. Slowly, a long cord was formed, seemingly continuous. But no. It was made of a series of interlocking parts with bulbous lumps protruding on one side. At one end formed a spherical shape and at the other what reminded him of a tail. The machine stopped and waited.
Paul pulled back the screen, removed the item. It was like something out of his old school books. A spine. But with a difference. The ball shape on the end had a distinct letter on it.A.
Holding the spine in his left hand, Paul picked up the skull and examined the base. There was a slot there with a small letter A on it. He took the spine, pushed the ball into the slot until there was a solid click. He now had a skull and long spine. A science project? Sent to the wrong place? But how did that happen? Paul would have to speak to speak to the geeks to find out. He turned his attention to the printer expecting more. It sprang to life.
Bit by bit, Paul took the different pieces and slotted them together. B into B, C to C and so on until he was into triple letters and the model stood seven feet off the floor. Whoever had created it was a genius, of sorts, for it wasn’t quite right. Besides the head being twisted, the arms seemed too thick for the size and the legs were like tree trunks on over large feet. And were those toes more like talons than the gentle curve of nails? The thing was missing the hands. How odd. If Paul had made the thing he would have started at the skull and worked systematically downwards, but these parts had come in a random order so at first Paul had not been sure what he had. But now, here it stood, awaiting the final pieces.
The printer sprang into life, the machine’s hum grew louder as the turntable turned below the gradually forming shape. Surely, that   was too big for a hand and where were the fingers? They seemed too long and thin to be the right shape. The machine hummed, the shape formed until the printer rattled and whined, small at first but growing in intensity, until the whole printer shook making the desk move. This was not normal. The printer fell silent. Not a hum. The shape was finished.
Paul took the piece over to the body and studied the left wrist. That was strange. No slot. He peered at the right wrist. A single slot. With a lot of effort, the hand clicked into place. If you call it a hand. It had a huge palm, almost the size of a pitta, with long elongated fingers, shaped more like serrated blades. Paul ran his index finger along one drawing blood. Damn. What an odd thing. An art installation, may be?
Paul stood back a little to admire the work. The twisted skull, the thick arms, the tree trunk legs, the giant feet, the single hand. It was then it moved. A single swift movement with its completed arm. An arc in the air that removed Paul’s head from his shoulders.
The thing made its way to Paul’s terminal and brought it to life with a touch. A few deft key strokes with its fingers, it entered an ip address and pressed return.

Screaming In A Vacuum Jar – Now Available for FREE!

Posted in modern, POETRY, various with tags , , , on June 15, 2015 by theworddoodler

Screaming In A Vacuum Jar is now available for free.
Select  the PDF version below or visit Smashwords for more formats:

PDF: screaming-in-a-vacuum-jar

It is also available on amazon for a nominal price of 99p

Review by: J Wilkins on Nov. 24, 2012 :
“…if you like your poetry a bit more gritty and realistic then this might be for you. A poetry book about to dip in and out of rather than to be consumed in one sitting.”  5 Stars

 “As others have said before, this collection of poems is not a light meal. Rather it is a heavy seven course helping of the darker side of reality. Within lies the problems of adoption, suicide, prostitution and abduction. But these are balanced by the more lighter elements concerned with drinking, drinking & a conversation over tea.”

Review by: nick gerrard on Nov. 19, 2012 :
“This is no poetry book for the ‘Pam Ayres’ hearted! The writer takes us to deep places inside his soul and heart; with a little bit of tea and politics thrown in for good measure.There’s some lovely use of carefully chosen words.To be read on your most thoughtful of days, but overall; a thought provoking and well structured collection.” 4 Stars

Review by: GrowlTigger on March 08, 2013 :
“…what appears to be a good book of poems. They were all well constructed, the tone and rhythm of each seemed suited to the subject and different to each other, not something all poets achieve.”  4 Stars


Posted in Comment, writing with tags , , , on April 23, 2015 by theworddoodler

Writing can go through many different waves. Some are gentle and ease you on through the flow of words, some are exciting and raise you on a cresendo of fun and faith and some knock you off your board and leave you grounded. Yet at all the times the waves keep you moving.

And there are other times.

There are the times the waves vanish, the oceans disappear and nothing is left but cracked earth. I have recently gone through this tiime. In November I was all keyed up and writing away each night. I was in daanger of actually having a writing routine. My word count was steadily going up, no moment was wasted to the world of words. I was on a high and by January I had completed the longest piece of writing I have produced so far. Then the waves dissappeared.

I found myself left in a desolate place. It was a strange place full of ideas but lacking motivation. I knew what I wanted and should be doing next but found myself lacking the motivation. My energy and enthusiasm ebbed away on the dust tide. I spent my free hours lost in the self imposed mediocracy of the everyday, my keyboard left gathering dust.

It is only now, three months later, that the rain has fallen, the oceans refilled and the waves begun to move. They are small waves, barely a ripple, but they are moving. I have started editing.

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