David Ralph Lewis

Soon, they joined together in hordes of increasing size, shudders running over their bodies like waves in a storm.

Update 26/04/2025 - I've made this into a mini zine!

Streets now sliced streaks of shimmering turquoise, scarlet and funeral grey blurs, suggestions of doors, signs and windows barely registering.

For the last few years, I've been playing Dungeons and Dragons as a Dungeon Master.

I have been unable to describe the shape of my body.

When asked to provide an account he spoke only in pollen drifts.

Erasure poem taken from Tracing the Lines Magazine

with lint and grime?

Recently, I was speaking to someone about journaling, and I casually mentioned I'd kept a diary consistently for over ten years.

'You don't want to end up like me,' the man on stage screeches.

Erasure poem taken from Good On Paper.

Erasure poem taken from Crack Magazine editorial

Erasure poem taken from Crack Magazine

I said I was keeping them for safety and I almost believed it.

We are racing against the dying of the day over fields flooded with twigs and silence towards a broiling bruise left by a canula, our tinny engine whine now a mosquito.

I am driving home at night hands gripping the wheel empty tarmac surrounding me fertiliser stinging my nostrils The engine shaking all the space between my scattered atoms as white lines converge scattered atoms of steel shake in engine vibrations fertili…

I love performing poetry at open mics and often write poems specifically for performance.

Erasure poem taken from Crack Magazine

I've been thinking a lot about creative 'rules' and how arbituary they are.

Erasure poem taken from an interview with Merlin Sheldrake in Good on Paper.

Amber and scarlet triangles describe the island.

Once again I closed off last year and started the new one by filling out a year compass booklet.

2023 was another year of unnecessary wars and suffering, with Russia and Ukraine rumbling on with no end in sight.

Once again, you find yourself barefoot, toes buried in eroded stone, your steps hesitant, sinking.

Erasure poem taken from Crack magazine, November 2023.

Briefly, over lightly settled night, tungsten filaments flame out.

A flutter of flame consumed leaves falls onto my crown, drifting embers.

because there was no danger or threat, no unwanted developments.

Erasure poem taken from gig listings in Crack magazine, August 2023.

Nothing grows here but sea kale and spite.

In 2018 I was writing poems and putting erasure poems onto Instagram (much the same as today.)

If you are reading this on a screen your face glowing cold and blue your hand reaching out across air, put down your device.

Erasure poem taken from Crack magazine, May 23

0.2 Mud as a river.

After Aphex Twin All I conjure is the vertigo of ancient cliffs while listening to voices from the radiator, muffled sentences- 'rhubarb, rhubarb, rhubarb' they murmur, a bad tv play.

Erasure poem taken from Gigwise magazine, issue 8 June 23

Listen, in between these seconds plummeting like raindrops - away from your constant rotation of breath, tuning out a fuzzing whirr of fans, the growl of idling engines - behind it all, unnoticed the slow churn of a motor deep in the planets core, and bel…

This is slightly late as I've thrown myself back into the world after a halting start to the year.

I define myself by edges--my skin, car bonnets- but I am oh so permeable.

By now you would have seen there's a new social network in town.

Erasure poem taken from the horoscopes page of The Metro.

They sometimes shine torches over the strata of compressed time, with sweeping, shaking hands.

I've spent a lot of this year purposely retreating from my typical ways of writing, to try and reinvent my practise.

Here, under the glitter of a multi-coloured canopy I am finding a new serenity, the peace of lives measured in centuries.

Down the central reservation he strode, unbothered by exhaust fumes or concrete, face encased in a leather mask.

Erasure poem taken from a random page of an unknown music magazine I had lying around.

Overnight, loam has been churned.

It feel like this year has flown by.

second hand bright ghosts collide, lighting up our motorways in sparks of emerald and indigo.

Somewhere, possibly close, the kettle boils.