Sunday, 21 December 2008


A Ya Du poem

December moon
shines so soon on
quiet poon where life
ends by knife slice
for a passing sacrifice.

Soon wails will rise
as Levis once
a prize are found
as rags bound to
limbs dancing for bunraku.

Police will come
but play dumb as
they numb justice
with bribe’s kiss so
next moon you dance death’s tango.

Saturday, 20 December 2008

Cold hope

 The children looked forlornly looked out of the window on test day. Fake sick notes hadn’t got past parents so that was the twins plan bombed. William just prayed for the chance of snow. Mary was hoping that the little accident with the engine would mean a stay home-it wouldn’t.

Play hard, win hard

'When he gets to the South American sales figures throw in the question about the Sans Marie metals deal, it will stop him dead.’
           Anne’s business dealings matched what she was in bed - dirty, slow and then a hot finish.
           Today was going to her finest hour and her last.

Two poems on stuff

A Etheree

Growing up too soon


at home;


of times gone by.

Beaches, stately homes,

wet museum days out.

Lay-by pop and cake picnics

when bees chased jam. Was mum ill then?

Did her dancing mask the rotting decay?

My childhood packed away before it’s time.

A Lanturne




car-boot sales stuff


The night begins

The blood was wiped from the knife as from a new born babe with great delicacy and loving care. Its handle was brought up to the lips kissed and wrapped in a new white cloth. Placed in the cradle of a bag, he was ready for another night of purifying.

Three poems on friendship

A Clarity Pyramid




strangers met by chance,

the ones who stopped, stood by

became fellow travellers

“a medicine for what life throws”

A Diamante


warm-hearted, hospitable

obligating, praising, warming

steadfast, open, false, fair-weather

judging, betraying, warring

bitter, vicious


A Haiku

companions sit

all day shadows dance around

words rest on tongues

The last Goodbye

The warmth of the body leaves slowly.

He had spent 50 years next to her. They had laughed in that bed, heard the first and last cries of children, forgiven and let lie.

In the morning, the questions, the cries but tonight was their last embrace. His tears could wait.

We all have to start at the beginning

‘Get you own dinner then’ The door slammed and footsteps stumped away.

‘I will then and don’t think I can’t,’ muttered Sam.

Finding the chops he followed his vague memory of how mum grilled them..

As he explained later on the phone, ‘the firemen were really cool with the fire.’

A different beat

The Pine stood majestic in the forest with its garland of human heads as below the tribe danced praying to the god of the forest. One day he would be shiny silver shadow in a corner, a passing joy. But today he drank the blood of his enemies and rejoiced.

What you sow shall you reap

The teenagers stood in the cave of the ancestors. This day they become men.

The tribal elders came in quietly and stood in a row and then started the ancient chant, ‘when this bunker opens between sunrise and sunset to which the teenagers responded, ‘the war on terror is won.’

Thursday, 4 December 2008

The wages of sin

The man at the bar looked up and sipped his drink before asking ‘

are the flowers for the old lady.’

I nodded nursing my scotch.

‘Don’t make the mistake I did,’ he said getting up to go.

‘They know what you were up to if they see a price tag.’

The man who talked

They were shocked. He had talked to them using words, like they were primitives who couldn’t telepath. Telling them to talk among themselves: it was dirty, crude and so physical. But as original as you would expect from an artist who wrote books with words.

They voted him the winner.

Let the train take the strain

Floods stopped the train.George heard the announcer explain that buses would now complete the journey. At the station he was one of three-hundred people in monsoon like rain. When buses did arrive George became part of the mob leaving the weak and loaded to struggle.

His descent shocked him.

Slimmers Woes

What they say:
How lovely, crisp bread with salmon. I am feeling so much healthier now.

What they think: Sod this for a lark, who wants a miserable thin old age. Die young with a smile on your face, I say. Bring on the Turkey roast dinner with cranberry relish.

The easy path ain’t always the shortest

‘Man why are you always putting me up against these empty cans.’

'You know the score; the quickest way to get to the slam final is to have zero losses,’ said Pete. The sap, we are building the odds to make millions when he gets ass kicked in the final

A moral tale

A boy got stung by nettles and ran crying to his mum. She was one of these hippy types bleating whatever you do, do with all your might.

‘Hold them tight.’ she advised ‘and you won’t be hurt.’
He did and died of Anaphylactic shock.

Sometimes if you can’t, don’t.

Who dreams for you?

Dad worked hard, His family came first. If he had to work two jobs to pay bills he did. No matter how tired he was he would always help me when I struggled with school work. Stroking my frowns away he would whisper ‘always follow the sun.’ I miss him.

Wednesday, 3 December 2008

Love lingers

On moonlit nights when the forest shimmers with winter frost, she comes. The bells of her dress jingle and peal to the tempo of her dance; on some days slow, on others like a country jig. A Queen dancing until a love returns although she be dead these many years.

Living Corpse

Land, for you and I, is the backcloth to our pleasure, a living picture for us to take stock in and weigh up the measure of our life. For the Brines, it was a living flesh ripe for tearing and slicing; fit only for consumption and the power it gave.

Ban the Fat

‘I tell you I heard it on Oprah.’

‘Get out of here that is so no.’

‘It’s true, she was talking to some Washington big shot who said things were so crazy that making it illegal was tomorrow’s way.’

‘Well, no pork barrel big-shot is zapping me with Dietary Laws.‘

Be the first step

I hate my neighbour
Be the change
I drive rather then walk
Be the change
I work rather then live
Be the change
I eat what comes
Be the change
I talk rather then listen
Be the change
I let the poor walk by
Be the change
Do it now

In this moment

The soft tick-tock of the wall clock counters the intermittent click of the typewriter as outside ambulances wail and fade. As I pause for a bite of shortcrust mince-pie, its spices kiss my nose; the rough texture contrasting with the keyboard smooth. And the white paper fills with black words.

Cold memories

It was always the grey November sky with their dank mists, rotting leaves and the caws of birds unseen that makes the memories scratch and scrabble back. I am running and falling; they are screaming, yelling and getting nearer. My heart shakes. A hand looms and my childhood is over.