Platform Girls

There is a band of light
Where they huddle
A polite distance from one another
The Platform Girls
Staring out into the dangerous expanse
Of blackened concrete engulfed in shadow

The one with Top Shop ready legs
Tight-laced into hypodermic heels
And spray painted with the latest fashion
Watches, envious

Of the lady dressed in
Classic urban elegance
Wearing married money
Carved in stone upon her finger.

They do not see her
Who is hung heavy in heartache
Skilfully blending
Into the battered background
Knee deep
In Tolstoy and Brontë

They are watching the woman in red
Sashay past
Curves tipping the scales
And turning the world
22 sizes of perfect
Repressed under the weight
Of 40 years
Of glossy lies.

York St

S J Menary



You hurt
Like a toothache
Pervading my
Every sense
There is no escaping
The dull ache
That infects my body
From crown to ground.

You are a toothache
That no one else can see
A rip in the tissue
Of heart, bled through
Into bone and gum
And I can’t outrun
This pain.

S J Menary


Someone once described it
As a big steaming hole
A pit of human misery
Fag ends, and discount shoe shops

Amongst the concrete
Clamoring for territory
Three spires
Claw their way to Heaven

Under that, if you look closely
Your will see the broken beams
Blitz-burned, and protruding
From long forgotten pubs

There she sits
Astride a bronze mount
Lady Serene
Watchful over her kingdom

Ever guarded against attack
Wounded deep, the scars
Too deep to ever heal
And dredged in scattered
Ancestral memory

She leads her limping creatures
With tenderness
And with silence
Because some questions
Are just too painful to ask

This ‘hole’, which took to its heart
The souls lost and buried together
Forms a crusted scab on the surface
To keep the pointed needles
Far away.

Cov cathedral

Image from

S J Menary


This town
This unremarkable town
Is spectacular
Only in it’s mediocrity
To those
Who pass through it

But if you are lucky
You will see
It shimmers
When no one
Is watching

From weeping silver birch
To blue lead roof
It glistens
In rain-washed splendour

Amongst the parking structures
And church steeples
Diamonds caught in
Elfish webs
Turn to liquid gold
In the sunlight

And down
In the darkest corners
Of graveyard and alley
Spiders are watching us

They know the truth
They record it in their
Chronicles of lace
The secret
Of an unremarkable town.

St Maries

Image from

S J Menary

Why Goths are misunderstood

In my mind
There is a rainbow
And upon it
I hang the things
I love

I hang my Doc Martens
My Rob Zombie records
Studded bangles
And hair dye

There is no room
On the rainbow
For harsh words
Ignorant stares
There is no room
For hate

There are only gigs
A million friendly faces
Grinning from ear to ear
Because our culture
Is sweet and clear

I’m a Goth
Like Axel and Sophie
And Dracula too
You can join us
If you like?
Or not
It’s up to you.


S J Menary


Is a depressing colour
It once held me tight
Like a comforting embrace
A blanket
Protecting me
From everything out there

Is a colour for lipstick
For hair dye
And Doc Martens
For a mask
To show the world
That no one can hurt me

Is a colour I used to wear
But these days
I think
I’ll try a different shade.


S J Menary