Sunday, 15 March 2009


What did you do at the end of the world,
did you sing at last, or
declare love to your boss.
Was it a welcome break
or a sad farewell.

In a house scared of modern times,
I played tag, I ran with
the killers before they killed.
Death had already called

A radio reborn told us lies
of hero’s struggle so we
lingered in life ready for
the death dealt us.

The morning

The beat, the beat rose. beating, beating louder and louder until the earth shook, then the pipes began the soft song of the silence between, together louder, louder making love to the beat, the beat. Voices join in and sing the world as the Sun rises to kiss the day.

The weekend starts now

Friday night was Viva night.

Off with the work sacks,

off with the nice girl shoes,

on with the tart with a heart

clothes swamped with flesh.

Tonight hot sex in the taxi

before the window puking game;
afternoon slow awakening

All so long ago
night was Viva night.

Bring on the sunshine

The sleet falling made her mind up. She reached over for the phone, knocking over the pile of magazines and disturbing the two sleeping dogs. Pressing the speed dial, she got through to the travel agent. 'I want the cruise ala Mediterranean.’ She really wanted love but settled for chocolate.

Fame is what

Fame is here, you paint the
good, the bad, and the ugly
if money moves your fingers.
You expose the soul of choice
by colour, line and shade
And by the thousands we
come to admire or buy.

So why the sombre
brown portrait
with eyes tearful,
face downcast yet
sensual lips
with appetite.
Was it empty days,
your father’s life calling.

Or was this the last
gasp of honest art,
the last real soul
before the feast
drove out taste.

The surprise

When the dying time came, they knew what to do, As was the custom, they went to the House of Delight. The room you entered depended on the foretold death. They had come for a child’s delight so the playground with soaring swings, and puffing sand trains opens for him.

Granma knows

Sarah huddled on the bench looking at the other couples in the park enjoying the spring sunshine refreshing the ground. She just felt alone but turning away the empty tears was Granma’s parting words. ’Everyone has to have a rainy day. least how will they know when the sun shines?’


Off to the land of dragons and foreign tongues
by the magic of copper trupence.
No more for a summer the run for snuff
but a stream, a forest and a night with stars.

You see a boy faint in the distance, I see a hero
waiting to find that sliver moment when dappled
sun kissed him like a mother, when roaring stream
bounced him high like a father, when he knew joy.

A land where the moon dances and the
Prince waits for true love carried by a unicorn,
where giants roar and the book of your dreams
make being alone a distant song for another day

Writers do it best in circles

‘Allen Wrench went into action; he knew he had to save Diamond Sal from the evil clutches of the evil people. He strode manfully down the corridor and at the door kicked it in to find his swooned damsel…’Michael groaned quietly, perhaps this writers circle wasn’t for him.

Even the poor have poor

Being poor comes in many shapes

you balance life lived on tightropes

old decaying grandeur but fresh eggs,
and wild hunts for moorland rabbits with
open fields for play and magic twigs

swopped for slipper baths and piss
yet on the streets the east and more
calls with exotic faces that others hiss

until the compact luxuries of prefab
squeeze us in the bargains of a life
until to breathe you escape by minicab

when does a house become a home
how long the streets did I roam.

Listen to what the music tells you

‘Music is the Devils work. The foretelling of fornication.’ ranted the Minister. A prim-lipped man suddenly stood up to sing in a faltering voice, ‘All you need is love, love, love is all you need.’
..........One by one, the congregation stood turning grey into rainbow. The Barnsley Blessing had visited.