Poetry

Her swan song is what you hear just before your love boat runs aground and the scent of sulphur be the final pheromone you smell as you slowly begin to drowned .

The Mustang Men were Wild tameless stallions with sports cars suntans and gold medallions , once they were war faced warriors now they're warfarin worries they part of the night time disco scene , now they're scared of cottage pie and cholesterol cream .

The Westminster war of brexit has spilt a lot of blood onto the backbenchers but who will win the feudal few or the milky middle class crew .

A poem about an artist girlfriend who's Spanish African temperament could turn from a soft mistral breeze that gently caressed your skin to violent blood rain Scirocco that rip's the blossom from trees slamming doors and smashing flower pot hearts into pieces washing them down the drain like biscuits in the rain .

A poem about lust the seemingly deadly sin that if the devil be shamed and the truth be told is an instinctive desire that all of us do so hold .

Growing up in a witches coven with all of them casting spells over everything and everyone I couldn't understand the horoscope stars then or now  , they  were always fighting for the Sorceresse's supremacy .

A poem I wrote about the sixty three year love affair between a member of the royal family and one her dutiful long standing servants known as G M for short the old Queen mums cool companion.

A short sketch about a friend who was constantly in and out of dry out clinics and the Shrink clink where he would telephone us to explain what his psychiatrist was doing and then in exasperated tormented tones shout "it's nothing to do with the drink " he called his depression Belfry the black bat.

A poem about leaving the steel town of Sheffield at the age of nineteen , I stood wondering why the train left at the minute past midnight until I heard a hundred steel whistles blew from the industrialised Armageddon of the east end , at a minute past midnight when the steel sirens had finished the train guard blew his whistle and I never looked back the same could be said to teenagers today free...

A short poem about riding aboard the busiest train in Europe, the 7:32 from Woking to Waterloo. One hundred million passengers a year pass through Waterloo, which creates both terrifying and tantalizing flesh-to-flesh points of view.

Grandfathers are like old sentinels that stand guard over us in our early infant years, as stolid as grandfather clocks. Their old, heavy hearts pendulum their rhythm of life into our newborn ears, a mortal metronome that keeps a steady beat to the timpani of our tiny feet.

Musing about an old friend who has now divorced and gone back onto the dating sites, looking for lust, not realizing that his old sex pistol has long since turned to rust. Men of a certain age with faint hearts and feeble flesh really need to be careful while looking for a piece of freshness. I told one friend that his dating site, 'Bumble,' might be better called 'Crumble' due to the dusty dispos...

A musing about my father's experience aboard a super cruise liner where he and most of the old poeple on board contracted some terrible infection that almost killed them and this was before the Covid Cruise Lines came along , interestingly you can see how you could end up with a Marie Celeste where everybody aboard ends up dead.

An English king's breakfast could  consist  of swine flesh, embryos , fungi ,congealed blood , kippers, herring's, pike , roach various birds venison, cockles , pilchards .    when thinking about the Buddhist belief of  reincarnation  wouldn't it be a devine justice  if these gargantuan gluttonous  came back  as screaming red faced tomatoes in a vegan salad bar .

Looking at some tramps in cider park i feel sorry for the poor starving pets as their masters swill down cider and they shiver in the cold , the musing is seen and spoken through the eyes of the dog .

Upon seeing a cold cadaver staring back people begin to timidly tread in fear of the dead circling round as though it be some spectral apparition of dread .

Twenty years ago it came as quite a shock when someone we were living with became bisexual especially as they'd been such a lady killer and then became a maneater still what seemed such a big squeal is now an every day done deal .

A poem about falling into destitution especially ex soldiers and sailors who you find in the beggars brigade of most British towns and how easy it is , "lest we forget " that we are all in their debt.

Living as an artist's muse, you can understand the expression of "The Doom In The Room." What artists don't realize is that their egos can be so burdensome to everyone else. Probably, this is how they have to be in order for them to achieve what they do. This is usually why their muses are always so miserable. While living with an artist as a muse, I was painted with my own blood; She thought it t...

This is a musing I wrote after listening to my father, who had been conscripted into the British army during the Second World War. You can quite easily see why, by year twenty three, most members of the military have gone completely mad with OCD. It's perhaps due to the esprit de corps of the British army, which has a relentless marching rhythm beating to the sweet spot tempo of 120 from day one....

This invisible foe of fear is here our café laite life styles are over we're living like trappist monk in self isolation cells our secular society has all but been defunk .

A musing about two relatives 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 sh...

The Oxfam shop or as we call it "The dead man's drop" is an essential part of our high street culture we all of us at some stage find ourselves sifting through their silt as if stroking and smelling the scents and spirits of our past relatives like some lost and found bric-a-brac burial ground we old elephants come to rummage around amongst the bones and skin of our not so long ago departed kin. U...

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.

The Belles Angels a bunch of hell raising Harrogate girls all leather an lace with lipstick an curls they murdered the midnight hour an slaughtered sobriety swapping sex an saliva like a real lady Godiva , to all those super sexy Ladies college girls I say God bless to you all .