The writing blog of James Christopher Sheppard. I am a 26 year old gay male from London, UK. Here I present my experiences, poems, thoughts and opinions...

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Sunday, 20 March 2011

Intellectual Intercourse

I have finally cracked Word Press and started my new 'pro freelance writer' site there at http://jameschristophersheppard.wordpress.com/

Please take a look and subscribe. I'll be posting reviews, features and poetry.

Less will be posted here at 'Choice was an extravagance', so please do visit the new site if you enjoy reading what I write.

Many thanks! :)

Sunday, 13 March 2011


For three years I debated,
shifted mind and tried,
so I wrote the letter.
Precision of word clarified my ramblings, it was done.
Finality on paper,
my signature binding me to my word.
No more a whirlwind of thought drifting at terminal speed,
the letter said it all
in just one page, two hundred words.
Branded wonderings,
there ‘till rot creeps in
like cancer.

On the envelope I write her name. But the letter is mine.
Unforgotten, but laid to rest,
the encased letter lays in it’s paper tomb.
Seven letters spell h-e-r,
but I own these words, they are my creation.
Ownership not for sale,
no paper torn ash will fall here.
She cannot read my letter.
Her name is
only fiction.

Follow me on Twitter: http://twitter.com/#!/version2point0 (@version2point0)

Check out loads of other great poems this week at One Stop Wednesday! http://onestoppoetry.com/2011/03/one-shot-wednesday-week-37.html

Wednesday, 9 March 2011

Class Disguise

Your flowery words have little effect,
I’m sorry. Yes you
know some mighty big words
sound terribly impressive
and you’ve dressed in your best
middle class
with lips painted
road walker red.

My eyes trail,
I try to let my ears take over.
But I drift
further away.
Find myself staring
at my boots
and tight black jeans.

Do I
dress as a poet?
Do I
have less to say?

I leave and stroll
in damp air,
light a cigarette,
despite my flu filled head.
I am not

Are you
fooling you?

Monday, 7 March 2011


Hatred fuelled eyes cut
Across stale air.
White van man
Too fast,
Too close.

‘Thanks for that,
I was already having a stupendous day,
Walking through the rain
While you sit
In your warm dry seat.

like a fucking God’

River thick road to cross.
Red light,
green man
and cross.
Without a thought.

Sodden skin under jeans moan,
irritated, restricted.
Nicotine clouds hang low.
Concrete haze of earthy grey
light intensifies

No lights, another river to cross.
Take your time,
get drenched by mechanical killing machines
darting past, double the limit.
Wait and hate
and curse
the dry
that don’t waste a second
on you.

Elephant birds bellow
above head.
‘Welcome to London’
the captain said.
‘One of the biggest and best cities in the world’.