Thank you for visiting Wezzlehead, where I post poetry and images reflecting the world around me. I hope you enjoy your stay here.

I can’t tell you exactly what a Wezzlehead is. It’s what my Nan would call me whenever I did anything she thought wasn’t very clever – it was always used as a term of endearment. I’ve never heard anyone but her and her descendants use the word. If you are – or have ever been called  – a Wezzlehead, do let me know!




You were never really intended to be

anything more than a rough sketch,

an unfinished idea someone might

have once had for a mythical creature,

half-bird, half-idiot, complete with stale

cornflakes for hair, indifferent teeth and

second-hand limbs never truly fathoming

their purpose. You were certainly not a

proper blueprint that could be pored over,

conceived, then realised by the engineers;

you must’ve fallen out from the slush

when the cleaner came to sweep, and got

put back innocently onto the wrong pile.

Yet here you are, somehow emerged into

a world that operates in other dimensions.

Your body is having the last laugh, the

only laugh. Like any ordinary ghost, you’re

always there, until someone happens to

see you. However hard you’ve tried,

you still haven’t quite ceased to exist.