by Philip Berry

uninvited, I pull myself

through your Private World

face hard to the brick

forehead tight

    over dead fires

peer into niches

take stories in half-lives

high carat stones

clack heavy in my palm

crawl sideways across fissures

where fears sit

hugging knees, rocking

elbows, knuckles, swollen nodes on powdered limbs

    carved cheeks of the second decade

cracks, you cover

with dry wit

my eyes are clogged with insight

grit between back teeth

I bite and shudder

you shrink away


a late Autumn leaf

interstices bleached and blown.


by Philip Berry

The sand we sieved for treasure will melt

             when the heat rolls in

the pieces we missed will hang

             blue twists & green flames

             in a glass shore

behind the wardrobe I made

             in pale driftwood & crooked nails

leans a weapon in government grey

it is light & quick as thought

come Mi Jin, take my hand

let's go back to our home in the dunes

I'll show you the hatch I carved in the yard

             over neglected & sun-bleached toys


             when the horizon swells

             or the sky roars

             or the siren calls

stand here

pass your hand through the air, feel for the hinge

             the alien breeze

crawl through it

don't wait for me.



Philip's poems have appeared in Chrome Baby, Easy Street and The Healing Muse. His writing can be explored at He lives in London.