Elliot, 22, London poet and writer.

just poems
about the writer

Sep 20, 2014
15 notes

Hey guys. So me and my girlfriend and my battered-up van made it to San Diego in one piece, where we’ve stopped off for a few days before moseying through the California desert to get to Vegas… with no aircon. So that’s going to go about as well as it sounds! Despite the accident and the fact we’ve both completely run out of money, we’ve still had a great time. I’ve woken up in some incredibly beautiful places this past month and seen some wonderful things - stuff that has got me writing again. I hope you liked my last poem. 

I still have a lot to do before heading back to blighty - I’m going to Portland after Vegas which I’ve heard is a great place in the world to be right now for an artist. In other news, before I left I shortlisted a few poems to make a small collection from and I’ve done a couple of sketches to accompany them. 

thesesagepoets has been going strong in my absence and every time I get onto some wifi I get lots of notifications about it. Well done editors, you have been ace. I will be giving it a big update - new theme, new way of working, and maybe even some new editors (apply now)!

Hope this finds you all well, and remember I’ll try my hardest to reply to all and any messages sent to me, so send away!


Sep 16, 2014
50 notes

The sick man of Europe swallowed his medicine,
so then slowly his symptoms faded.
This served to hide the malignant roots,
the terrifying truth -
he was only as sick as the doctors made him;
only as well as they wanted him to be.
When he was sick
they sat betting on his deathbed,
and when he was well
they wagered when he’d be back.
The sick man of Europe has never wished to rebel;
he thinks “they always make me better, even if the cure ain’t so swell.”
So he pays the good doctor,
even tips him with a smile -
who snarls back in appreciation
knowing he’ll be back a little while,
and now the ward is full of patients, each sick in their own right,
with swarms of prodding doctors
gambling by their sides,
and they all drink up their medicines
then one by one they die.


Sep 2, 2014
15 notes


I’ve had possibly the most stressful couple of days of my life. I’m travelling around California in a camper van, and someone hit us in the side, smashing the wheel arch and door. Turns out we were on an ‘unsealed road’ at the time. Which invalidates our insurance. So we’re most likely going to be a few thousand bucks out of pocket - money neither of us have. At a bit of a loss right now of what to do. Hope this finds you in better places. nb

Aug 27, 2014
51 notes

All my friends are depressed,
who regressed
back into teenage impress,
trying to return to our best;
lines off cd cases,
got the ”mind-altering bug”
he says,”well said” I said,
so sad and also sleepless
hoping so help me we’ll leave this
planet and waking-dream big -
pick images out of mind’s recess,
by morning we’ll all forget;
smoke rings and ground pieces
of pretty green buds  
an old friend, now
I make friends with leeches 
and o god the time goes on,
goes on and feels like no end,
but then the end is tinged regret,
and in the end we’re all depressed,
and no-one’s sure what’s next,
and no-one’s sure what’s next.


Aug 25, 2014
1 note
leftovertransam asked: do you draw a line between art and reality? for example how far can someone indulge themselves before they lose themselves, for example if an artist constantly played a character as an artistic statement

In some sense I think the outer image of our persons are not seen by anyone else in immediacy - there is always an intermediate of character. Whenever we decide consciously to act in a certain way towards another person, that’s as much of a character as anything else! So I think you can always draw the line in that situation - if the mannerisms of the ‘character’ become unconscious then the person is indistinguishable from the character. What I’m saying really here, is that art is willed to exist and reality just exists.  

Aug 25, 2014
14 notes
littlenooksandpoetrybooks asked: How are you liking living in the States?

As with every time I am here, there is good and bad. I love the vibrancy of the states; almost everywhere seems to feel alive. Everyone looks busy, interesting, open to talk and talking loudly and that has it’s negatives and positives. The biggest downside for me is always going to be the number of homeless people. Obviously they exist in the UK - but I don’t feel like it’s the same sort of homeless. The homeless here just look desolate, lost, beat. So beat that you look in their eyes and you don’t even really see a person in there any more, more like a machine that’s only alive in the most basic sense. And that’s the contrast to the vibrancy that I see in other people here, and it makes it all the more sad and more difficult to ignore. 

Aug 25, 2014
3 notes
wlsandoval88 asked: When you write, what is your process? For me, I feel inspiration most strongly when I am listening to music. I allow it to illicit an emotion, and I use that emotion to guide my thoughts. My thoughts often lead me to a purpose, and with that purpose I write. But sometimes writer's block keeps me from finishing. That's what I struggle with, getting past the block to finish.

Oh man, I wish I had a process like that. My process is something like - an idea happens, struggle to get it down on paper in a way that I like as quickly as is possible, decide whether the finished product is worth keeping. 

Aug 23, 2014
13 notes

I have taken a liking to a cup of lady grey tea in the evening. Which is one of the more English things to ever happen to me. Maybe it’s being away from home, but I’ve been really thinking recently about the things that make up a country’s cultural identity. A lot of breath is wasted on talking about how that might be being lost or diluted or changed, but maybe the best thing to do would be to affirm culture, keep talking about it and keep traditions alive where we can. I don’t know. Thoughts. I’ll be answering some questions now!

Aug 19, 2014
92 notes

It’s done! Had it in mind for about 2 years so I’m relieved I finally got round to it. Kairos means something along the lines of; the supreme/perfect moment. It’s sort of a reminder to myself in the future - don’t settle, don’t do something you don’t want to, when the moment arises notice it, take it by the horns and do something with it. Or something. It’s pretty fresh so it’s not healed yet, but hopefully it won’t take too long. Hope this finds you all well anyhow!


Aug 19, 2014
8 notes
the-wildman asked: Okay, I find this to be a very telling question... if you can have one super power what would it be? No adaptive powers, or unlimited powers, or all the powers. Which one? :D

Being the comic book nerd that I am, I am well versed in this question. I’d love to be able to teleport around. Or turn into a bear. In a perfect world, both.

Aug 18, 2014
2 notes

@theuniversealive said: What’s the tattoo gonna be?

theuniversealive said: Lol just watched it yesterday. Classic

First off glad you took my comments on breakfast club as a joke… some people got rather offended! I’m just getting ‘kairos’ on my shoulder in a typewriter style font. Hopefully it’ll look pretty cool but I’ll put a picture of it up tomorrow!


Aug 18, 2014
20 notes

Tomorrow I get my first tattoo. It’s two weeks before I cease to live a normal life and live in a van for a month, rolling out of san fran across the golden gate bridge. I think that’s worth an ask me anything!

Aug 13, 2014
38 notes

Just watched The Breakfast Club. The film that teaches you that if you’re a cool stoner, you can get with the most popular girl in school, if you’re a hot weird girl, you can have a makeover and get with the top athelete, and if you’re a geek you can do everyone else’s work for them then go home alone. The 80s.

Aug 13, 2014
45 notes


you are the salt of the earth,
with feet of clay, the ground
was brined with the sweat of your brow.
All those thorns in the flesh
in the act of giving the breath of life
only to find
you’ve grown such sour grapes;
but you reap what you sow, and
if you want to live
from the fat of the land,
don’t let the sun go down on your wrath,
and make your work a labour of love,
because man can not live by bread alone.
oh ye of little faith!
remember that for everything there is a season;
reap the whirlwind!
fight the good fight!
win by the skin of your teeth!
sometimes though the spirit is willing,
the flesh is weak.


Aug 9, 2014
37 notes

little grey
city by the bay
say something to me -
fallen in love with your
peaks and troughs,
subway train which
creaks and rocks
it’s way under the water;
far away from my usual ocean
sea spray in some way
specifically pacific.
something stirred here,
a half smile turned pacing the
foggy morning streets, feet
tracing their dips and heights
with new delight.


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