“The Internet of Things” novel coming soon!

Murder. Intrigue. Anthropomorphic construction vehicles and bloodthirsty elevators; The Internet of Things, a real British blockbuster of a book has it all. They said that curiosity killed the cat, but they left out the part about the blender…

In a world where everything is connected to the internet and even your toaster is smarter than you, things begin to go wrong and Bruce von Toose, private detective, is caught square in the middle. Will he be able to solve the case of the disappearing rapper before Bristol, or all of Great Britain is razed to the ground by rampant, rioting machines? Will anybody be left alive to care or, more importantly, to pay his fee?

FINAL The Internet of Things Cover  - Artist Jamila Walker 300 dpi

Heroes is a TV Show, Legends Never Die

St. Michaels Tower sits watching
the black and white cows grazing
upon the bright green fields leading
us on through the gates of Avalon
sat lonely atop the mighty Tor,
rising high above rows of pylons
that thread the emerald pastures
between busy roads and hedgerows.

The midday sun casts a long shadow,
the charcoal outline of the old yew tree
draped delicately across dotted nettles,
providing shelter for the aged weary
trudging through the land of faeries,
tracing King Arthur’s deep footsteps
through the ageless fields of Avalon,
through many seasons born and gone,

the famed sword lives on,
set into stone
buried beneath the roundabout.

Not Strictly Entertaining

“This is dumb” grumbled the celebrity chef

as he attempted a clumsy bald-headed plié,

and, mugging shamelessly for the cameras,

he announced he had never danced before.

 

“It’s mad, I’ve never danced before” he revealed,

rubbing his head proudly to a waxen sheen

with his sweaty, torn cuff; he liked it rough,

as his publicist had briefed him he should.

 

“My wife thinks I must be gay!”                                silence,

cut to a sequence of trialled pink sequinned shirts,

a nonsensical statement left to hang in the edit

like a homophobic fart in the prime-time lift.

 

Then cheers as he and his partner hit the dance floor,

hands on bums, pumping their hips with fixed grins,

stiff, like over-sexualised animatronic mannequins

lurching along painfully to Tom Jones’ “Sex Bomb.”

 

One judge liked it, he always does, flirting in his verdict,

one judge hated it, he always does, flinging verbal excrement,

one judge wasn’t sure, she never is, she liked his swinging hips

the last judge was too busy flogging frozen food (like he always is).

Life Beyond the Screen by A. Television

Discarded TV

 

I was born of a conveyor belt

in a factory line, in to a box,

a blueprint baby you brought home

and set in a cradle before the fire.

 

Happily we grew old together as I threw

my flickering campfire light so bright

that the cold hearth lay forgotten.

You swept my brow of gathering dust

as the porcelain ballerina grew greyer

and we laughed at my portraits,

laughed dust clouds for entire years

as the skeleton clock wound down

on the mantel – its rotation slowed

as time itself grew old and seized.

 

The credits rolled on.

We were golden together.

 

For our anniversary;

you dumped me in a black plastic bag,

moved a skinny bitch in to replace me

but I knew she was coming as

I once knew the red button

of your tender caress, my controller,

before you left me out on the kerb

to the mercy of furry cocked legs,

smashed and unloved in the bin,

cursed by the un-gloved rubbish men.

Reservoir (Minus the Dogs)

The lake shimmers, side to side

it glimmers, the topaz sky

held in its eye as a duck

swims across the still sheet,

breaking glass in its wake.

A goose approaches

up the concrete landing ramp

orange webbed feet stamp,

the waddling of its tail white

cotton reflects in my t-shirt.

Orange beak hisses welcome,

hisses for bits of bread

which are carefully thrown.

Blue eyes deep as the water

catch the sun in a cloud break,

tongue clicking in the breeze

like a loose flagpole. Children shout,

chasing green head brown ducks

that spread purple-striped wings

to escape excited chatter –

they conquer all matter

as they soar in the air,

as they swim through a swell,

as they waddle towards us

dinosaurs have inherited the Earth.

The Never-ending Economy

 

“Queue Here” reads the sign

underneath the old railway bridge.

An arrow points towards the wall

networked with ivy, tracing mortar;

the road map of the industrial age picked out

in dark green with white-flecked veins.

 The line begins to form, men and women

arguing amongst themselves, exchanging evils,

totally oblivious, so terribly ill at ease

in polyester uniforms and crumpled suits,

virgins to hand-outs clutching at tickets,

early birds to an imaginary worm.

 

Eventually they begin to die, they fall

at the wayside and lose their position.

“Someone’s on the way soon,” they moan

insidious bankers walk amongst them,

nudging out their pockets into invisible sacks,

grimly extracting their pounds of flesh.

Charmer

Image

 

His foot taps along and his blue cardigan shakes

as he breaks into familiar song, wispy white hair

frantic about his ears, dancing along in time to

heads, shoulders, knees and toes, knees and toes.

 

He bends and grates as he stands up straight,

down he goes again, a rheumatic metronome

for his harmonica, his playing fleeting, hypnotic;

a pretty woman stands transfixed, mouth open.

 

Heads, shoulders, knees and toes, knees and toes,

heads, shoulders, knees and toes, knees and toes,

and eyes and ears and mouth and nose,

heads, shoulders, knees and toes, knees and toes.

 

The old man pogos in time to the rhythm,

he gyrates and quakes, blowing hard, eyes shut

feeling each note as it tumbles from cracked lips,

reeling, he plays each joyous bar like it’s his last.

A Bird’s Eye View of Victoria Park (Those Damned Gulls)

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The golden stone glows, rich with midday sun,

man-made cliffs that bookend a verdant ocean

of bathing sun-seekers and children cut loose,

chasing balls across the grand green expanse,

flitting past us like flies, riding bright plastic scooters

along grey tarmac rapids as the current sweeps us

onwards towards an island, a monolithic outcrop,

a gleaming rock where we stop, to preen and to roost.

Super Mega Fun Life!

Text one one one one for super fun now!

Text in to meet people slash mega babes,

hot mega babes, on the phone, like you, now,

on the phone, naked and hot and waiting,

writhing beneath a chocolate waterfall,

waiting for you to text us and join the party

or tweet us, hash tag SuperMegaFunLifeMe!

for instantaneous hot babe interaction!

Do you want a Super Mega Fun Life!

but more Super and extra Mega? Text now

for the exclusive Ultra Mega Super Fun deal;

you could be riding a fluorescent dolphin

down a curly, luminescent neon-lit flume

on a river of strawberry milkshake, NAKED!

Fellated by angels, feeding you minotaur eggs,

Text now you fool! On one one one two,

Super Mega Fun Co. want you to join us now

in our virtual social media multi-screen paradise

come to our Super Mega Fun Sleepover event

and roll NAKED on our enormous velvet mattress

and put it WHEREVER YOU LIKE! Text us now,

if you’re lonely or desperate or horny, just text

one one one one to pimp your life, text now!

(premium rates apply, no orgasm guaranteed).

 

Single-track Road

Single-track Road

by David R J Sealey

 

With windows wound down

and smoke billowing away behind,

whipping ghost-white past dark hedgerows,

I drove and drove and drove.

 

The moon hung low in my rear-view

I watched it become consumed by clouds,

“Came looking here for answers…”

and I just longed to sing along.

 

A sudden swerve, a screech of brakes,

a heraldic chorus of broken glass,

a frozen rollercoaster photograph.

“Did you get what you wanted?”

my musical epitaph.

 

I fell past fast rushing tarmac,

I fell past a smashed dashboard clock,

I fell through a hole in time and space,

I fell through my life at breakneck speed.

 

I fell for you at the side of the road,

 

bloodied and bruised and beautiful

as we waited together

to be bathed in blue light and borne away

by our white-walled chariot.

 

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