Daily

"The ghost in our mortal machine is like a spiritual symbiotic twin, a collaborative companion that shares in our secular sin. Silently and secretively, it hides within our sapien skin, accompanying us from the womb to the tomb, and then ultimately giving evidence on the day of our doom.

Her mother is always in a constant Spring clean dusting and polishing until everything in the house begins to gleam, then again she could be addicted to the smell of Mr sheen or has she been drinking far too much caffeine, perhaps it's something to do with the covid vaccine that's turned her into this dopamine drama queen, what about the lack of vitamin b12 is she missing the red meat protein she'...

A Musing about my artist girlfriend from Barcelona, Spain, I couldn't understand what she meant by being a spiritual suffragette. Sacrificing love and life for her art, I thought her to be pompous and pretentious, born with a silver spoon up her sleeve. Now, after months of lockdown, living as a mendicant monk in my own garret cell of solitary confinement, I'm beginning to understand her purgatory...

A musing about two relative's who should never have entered into a doomed relationship due to their persuasions and personalities being planets apart one a reclusive miser and the other an extravagant extrovert ; perhaps now with the internet we might make a much better match.com or sexual selection of it with God Google's precision and profiling us to the last detail of our mortal minutiae it sho...

A sketch about Thornton Harding the Junior's obsession with exotic pets , from a kangaroo netball team to a badger for the bedroom and an otter for the bathroom the aristocracy are mad one also had a giraffe dray and rode around his estate as a child on a giant tortoise.

A musing about our Star Trek scientists who make it sound like our intergalactic fate is just a walk to the subway or through a nearby subatomic Stargate .

A poem for Katy on reception who drives ever man crazy by giving them a glimpse of the promised land only then to watch gleefully as they walk towards her straight into a paradise of quicksand .

Sooner than later we as a species will have to address our crazy situation of over population , due to land perishing and pollution in the final stages we may very well end up as refugees building our own blood lined barricades of revolution .

Our fixation with fear is definitely here we're living like mendicant monk our decadent cafe latte lifestyles are all defunct , this virus hangs about us like the prophecy of Macbeth a new strain of black death this damnable covid-19 has killed what was once a hedonistic dream . Project fear is all we hear bombarded constantly into our ear, we've become farmed fish the human hen all crushed togeth...

If ever you should take a drink with a witch make sure you leave the very same night before the break of day or the dawn of light by which time you might just find yourself in a very unfortunate plight of being subjected to her JuJu cat's emasculation bite that leaves you as some sort of strangely sculptured hermaphrodite .

Paint me warts and all said Olivier Cromwell who had the skin of an old toad after his death he was hung at Tyburn then decapitated his head was put on a pole outside Westminster palace the parliament he'd spilt so much blood to put in place . I have used some archaic English which is still used in many Yorkshire rural communities to this very day.

A short song about Buying power tools at the DIY hardware store You may as well  arm yourself with a weapon of war casualties around the world run into the hundreds of thousands the body counts are  higher than in most modern theatres of war.

This poem is about our fixation with fear, which I must add is definitely here. We're all living like mendicant monks; our decadent café latte lifestyles are all but defunct. This virus hangs about us like the prophecy of Macbeth, creating constant hysteria as though it were a new strain of black death.

A poem I wrote about our cenotaph. Every town in Britain has one of these grisly reminders of the Great War and every war thereafter. At first, they were places of pilgrimage for the patriotic, who came to honour their glorious dead. Now, however, they are used by many different swathes of society as places of rebellion. Then there are the drunks and drug addicts, who seem to favour and gravitate...

William marwood's long drop solution, brought about a revolution in the British Empires approach for delivering and dispatching a more humane method of execution .

Blue September skies signals the end of Summer's lease the autumn equinox in one day changes everything tilting time and tugging tide , it's as though our season of life has suddenly just died .

A poem i wrote for the fire and brimstone preacher who baptised me in an ice water stone trough a wild religious Celt with raven hair alabaster skin and husky dog blue eyes a true blood line of the ancient Bretagne .

Treachery and treason never go out of season the gunpowder plot was the spy master's crowning piece of glory he'd managed to use the plot to catapult James the 1st from being a doomed king guaranteed to be assassinated into a national hero who united both Scotland and England into the union of Crowns a feat never before thought possible all by engineering a plot that was in its early stages and fa...

From Bonaparte to Lionheart from the mayflower to the superpower all Nations have produce refugees at one time or another we're all to blame for this ever increasing burden of shame

Le poeme en francais the language of love. Forgive my French it's been twenty-five years since I was there. A poem about love and women should always be in the feminine form hence why I use La poeme instead of Le masculine ,it sounds and lends it's self much more to L'amour which of course can be masculine in the singular or feminine in the plural. Entree L"androgyne et l"ambiguite'

A short song I wrote about the monster munch crisps as a love song I did it whilst riding aboard a train the 11.34 from Bicester to London Marylebone station 12.38 recorded in two takes outside McDonald's in double quick time.

A song for a love honey we called Ann Summers due to her working there, she asked me for a birthday card poem and caused me a writer's block which when I tried to explain she cursed me a look of pure disdain , so I wrote this along the lines of a frigid flustering fool that she'd doubtless be serving at the Ann summers shop. Katie looks at all men with indifference and always takes fun from them ,...

All Medieval religions outlawed usury as a sin , profit of any kind wasn't allowed it still stands as a judgement against you today the road to perdition is going to be littered with alot of Gods righteous as well as the Devil's detritus.

Every night I ask the women at my local shop what has been happening I usually get same boring response from a middle class mind full of meandering mediocrity then I tell her she can lie to save us both the boring reply.

It's very difficult to understand the parable of the prodigal son but remember what you're dealing with is someone just above a bowery bum who will squander everything and leave you in distress and destitution then he will move on to find more money to squander into piss powder and prostitution .