Wednesday, 25 November 2015

Going ForWARd

Princes of peace
and the power of the air,
go square,
square go,
on the streets,
of everywhere:
drop a cent,
make a welt,
push a button on a
and kA-boom,
god is great,
coming soon
love is hate;
hate is love,
ditch your soul,
evolve to animal,
on the wings of a dove
hate hatred
rise above,
all that's left
on these streets,
are the choices,
when we meet,
prescribe peace,
for our feet
unclench fists
or delete.

Sunday, 30 August 2015

Flight of Weakness

Out of the ashes
weakness rises,
a bird unfettered
feathers flying,
the blue sky tips her hat/
she soars the currents,
no preening power postures,
serving as imposters,
weakness wills against herself
and wins,
strength's favour
as she grins,
and bears the wind,
she flies against,
and in,
and swoops and swirls
though few can see,
she pecks a paradox in me,
reveals her morning song
of weak but strong,
trills last but first,
the meek inherit Earth,
the born perform rebirth,
she flies: the face of the absurd,
a most peculiar kind of bird.

Thursday, 27 August 2015

Friday, 14 August 2015

On Hold

In your grasp,
Fingers clasp
A ring round wrist,
Thumb prints nestle,
Digits wrestle into
Flesh and skin,
Limb and bones,
Held and honed
Richly owned.

When this grip,
Began to slip:
With sweat-filled palms,
Veins at risk,
Your holy hold
Refused to twist,
Stuck with this son,
Till he caught on...

Tuesday, 9 June 2015

A Short Walk in Three Acts.

Another trip
Another trap
Atop the planet,
Worried, so hurried,
Skating thin ice,
Arms and legs going goofy,
Windmilling for balance,
Stopping from toppling,
In sheer silent fury.

Under touring skies,
To breathe in
Painted fresh, fresh, frescoes,
Relentless brush-strokes,
Dripping from your eye-line,
Murals from your mouth,
As clouds your sunset shroud.

Readied now,
To journey home,
And realigned to

Tuesday, 5 May 2015

Promise in the Year of Election...

Election talk goes,
tic-a-tac-a, tic-a-tac-a,
down the decades,
dribbling the ball of blame,
never tackling,
psycho-babble blocking out the airwaves,
debating us to death
from malleable manifestos,
passing, passing,
never scoring.

There boldly go this season's
charading prophets,  
cybering strong and proud,
best suits,
pick off babies in the crowds,
calculated, sound-bite smiles,
glow wild,
to buy us into line,
still, we're content to buy them time
and time and time again
to break their 
promises, promises...

Friday, 17 April 2015

At Home

Smile on your face,
laughter in your voice,
tea just on,
loving people,
having them round,
making them at home
right where you were,
caring, sharing
all of what you had,
scenes of scones unfold:
one hundred in your kitchen
can't be bad,
all-out concern your goal,
you made us proud
to call you friend,
courageous, faith-filled, to the end,
making heaven smile,
you're home at last.

In memory of Janice Davis who died April 1st 2015. (Jan is currently settling into her new place in heaven, and is, I am sure, smiling...)

Thursday, 16 April 2015

One Saturday in November...

Tennis balls torpedo town,
widow smiling in a hearse
stifles mercy,
sun plops round
4 by 4 treats gravel badly,
glory gone, glum pumpkin shivers,
rain rehearses, monsoon moon,
sugared water tips the balance,
mood enhancers lift the gloom,
cheer the nation,
pitch invasion,
how many voices are in the station?

Monday, 13 April 2015


Information sends Yves crazy
Tchaikovsky omnibus driving high at supper
I'm glad opinions mind me right
Omitted day plods Rex
Ml, pump band Tbilisi
Carb crisp thyme into consideration.
Sufjan scale tact big ace owl
Uvula tic need not buy only one.

(Decided to let predictive text be the author of this one. Give it a try)

Sunday, 22 February 2015

first thing

dawn songs
strike and treat
your cares away,
first thoughts
stifled on a chirping scale
of octave-scent oxygen
wept through windows
as if to say
don't start your day
just listen
still and lay.

Thursday, 22 January 2015

Maybe a Miracle.

God stood at his usual spot.

Near the grey lamppost at the far end of Borthwaite Parade.

 Endlessly watching, unrecognised.

 Lives buzzed past, huffing and puffing, shopping bags pulling them towards the pavement as the rain arrowed down on their drenched and sodden heads. Preoccupied with existing. Hoping for something.

Maybe a miracle.

Out of the gloom came Ryan. Swagger punctured into a loping uncertain stride. In his left hand the neck of a bottle protruded from a plastic bag. Every few steps he pecked at the bottle like a frustrated blackbird scrabbling for worms on frozen ground.

At the lamppost he stopped to light a cigarette. Met God's eye and looked away. The match had gone out in the rain.
"Got a light mate?"
"Aye. Got plenty a light," God said. "Light a the world an all that...."
"Funny guy. Taking the piss..."

Ryan lurched on, slurring the same question to anyone who didn't magnetically move out of his way.

Reaching the road, Ryan went tripping off the pavement. He was falling into the headlamps. He was blinded. The van was in his face.

It was passing him.

On it skimmed.

Ryan was sitting on the pavement scratching his head. Wondering what just happened. His smashed Buckfast bottle forming green jewels all across the road.

A little boy hunched in grown up clothes.


As God watched from his usual spot.


Saturday, 10 January 2015

Always Dancers

gymnast days
against the flow,
with the satisfaction of wave completion,
a jet-skier tight-ropes far from shore,
obedient dog, hot under the heels,
sand kingdoms rise and fall,
in the tiptoe of the orange ball,
Africa wakes in the mist,
as birds like daylight bats skim by,
across the silver surface of the deep,
Nations try,
and always dancers we must be...


White trash-lovers, Freaks for all they’re worth, Anarchy in beady, brazen faces, Seizing stares, Standing ground...