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mother earth

the pink lily flower floats

and plucked from the water’s surface


a love letter

in DNA writ large

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no flannel

I’m not one to linger

I’m an altogether more perfunctory

“in and out”

kinda guy

ten minutes tops

and a quick wipe

that’s me


no champagne

no candles

no sir


but still it surprises me

for all my haste

how the unctuous

stresses & strains of the day

dissolve and melt away

in those few steamy moments

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the King and I

I saw Him the other day
pushing a trolley round K-Mart
& He confided, yeah, it’s true –
that He’d just had enough
of the fame & all that goes with it,
so He shaved his head,
got a couple of tattoos
and lives in a trailer park in Arizona;
- still wearing the shades, though,
& the white rhinestone suit,
which, under the circumstances,
I thought was a bit of a giveaway...

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Tags: Ghosts

her dream

a tear rolls down my cheek

as I listen to Nyman

transported back to way back when...


nearly finished my walk through the empty deer park

the avenues of lofty oaks, the river

the turkey waiting

and a scattering of snowflakes slowly fall

from a truly leaden sky.


I lie at the bottom of the pool


invisible to all

the water cold, so...

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lost in translation

entry picture

I had a moment today

strange and wonderful

a little like déjà vu

a wisp

then blown away


and in this moment

all was clear

I felt

all the future

all the past

the universe outside my door


and somehow it all just felt right

like I knew something

we all know

but fail to acknowledge


something we trade for


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the sand man

panning for soil

discard all that useless glitter

 - it won’t nourish a shoot

or keep warm these old bones

when I’m gone


cold metal – warm earth

which will we choose ?

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Mackerel sky

my little friend and I

savour the silence of the creeping dawn

red and gold and blue

when even the birds are not yet rested


   it's a lovely morning

so still and soft

so gentle on the eye out here

not a breath

still warm from yesterday's sun

that left the roses, the grass


  the sweet hot tea

my little friend's embrace


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the tumulus that is Sizergh roundabout

today bears the scars of

a recent altercation

with a car or a lorry

or maybe a van

judging from the gouge rent in the earthworks


uprooted saplings

and a deep swathe of brown earth

slicing through the greenery


was it survivable?

I ask myself


 - I always seem to

when I see tyre marks and...

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mind games

it rained sweet solace this afternoon

gave me permission to do nothing

 - no guilt –

I can sip tea & read the Sunday papers

with nothing better to be done

I can doze

I can daydream

of when I used to smoke cigarettes

and invent alternative endings

to many a romance

and try to remember their names

their names, their names......

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entry picture


in the corner of my room

was a human being


he asked if I'd like to

and I said I guess so


although I'd never tried it



and I'd never seen one



not close-up, anyways.

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My Furry Godmother...


“I’ll grant you one wish”

and she did

and the next time

she placed her size fives in my lap

there were no white knickers

just suspenders & stockings

and long, long legs

leading all the way to heaven

for a teenager

in Ladies Shoes.

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Tags: Feet


I walked without a shadow

in the bright sunshine


every minute of every day



by his words:


today my shadow resides

on photographic film

in a filing cabinet

and lingers hereabouts also


whilst we mull over

the implications

and options.

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the end of the past

sitting there 

bathing in the golden sun

was a delight

for a magic hour or so

whilst the day eased itself into twilight


he’d never noticed the green bronze words

on the plaque

on the bench

on which he sat

every Sun-day


“In loving memory of Audrey,

 - a favoured spot”


her start date and expiry

on show for all the wo...

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Zen stoned

do you know


I can hear rushing water


and a fan, somewhere


maybe it’s inside of me


and maybe it’s outside of me


but, do you know


I just can’t tell.

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See You Next Tuesday

there was this rather self-satisfied

bearded messianic wanker

on TV about a fortnight ago

with his empty-eyed smiling acolytes

spouting forth dreamily

 - as if we haven’t heard it all before -

about how the world is going to end

next Tuesday


and some be-suited earnest TV-type

filling in to camera that this particular

nut-house cult held to a


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the feral words

revert to type

as they hit the page



and with a stroke

of the return key

they’re set free

to roam at will

the big bad world



and now

they’ll have to fend

for themselves -

my children flown.

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on the razzle

entry picture

there’s nothing like

an evening spent at

the Christian teetotaller lonely hearts modern dance workshop

to make you realise

that being single really isn’t so bad

after all.


does the expression

“sticking pins in your eyes”

ring any bells ?

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the birth of the night time

the dying orange sun disappeared

in the time it took

to smoke a cigarette


gazing out

over the gold-tipped temples

through the hazy golden twilight


from the fifth floor balcony

of her apartment.

tuk-tuks & taxis beeping below


and the hustle & bustle

of daily life chattering away

down there


as the blue green red


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entry picture

something’s going on
and I don’t quite know what it is

 - but there’s an awful lot
of shitness on TV

sixty channels
and nothing to watch

 - like someone’s taking a dump
on your living room carpet
and making you pay for the privilege.

And it could well just be me,
but I really can’t stand
that one-eyed Pudsey Bear charity
crap & red-nose day bollocks

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entry picture

God, she’s really stacked,
stacked liked tins
on a supermarket shelf
- really put together.
If women were cars,
she’d be a Hillman Minx,
well upholstered,
with about 200k on the clock.

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entry picture

we had that Ray Mears round

he’s a bloody pest though

 - chopped down half the azaleas

making himself a bivvy


and Bear Grylls

he’s only gone & seen off next-door’s cat

now he’s sucking the bones

& waiting while his billy boils


and Ranulph Fiennes

with his oxygen & defib

standing atop the shed

peering off into the distance


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lucky escape

it’s that time of the month again

 - no, not that one,

the one where I wake up sweating

convinced that I’m turning into

an ugly fat middle-aged balding bastard


then I wake up for real

and it’s all true


still, coulda been worse

I could’ve been turning into a poet.

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Tags: escape

seconds away

entry picture

grandfather in the hallway
cuckoo in the kitchen
alarum in the bedroom
quartz on my wrist
and time, time, time,
to while away today.

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the little darlings

entry picture

I was only acting the goat
reading out loud from the kid’s menu
at The Ivy

Sausage & Beans
Fish Fingers & Chips
Twizzlers ‘n dip
you know the score

but they didn’t seem
to get the joke
 - asked us to leave,
all sniffy, like.

you try & get my kids to eat
foie gras
with morels
and loganberry coulis

they’d rather eat their own eyeballs.

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Phyllis Tyne

she once called me

a scatological liar

I said

that’s a loada shit

and you know it.

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our lot

she says

she’s locked into

a geostationary orbit

around me


passing me

my tea and biscuits

my Reader’s Digest

my TCP


she says

she might never come down

she likes it up here

with the moon & stars

you see

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soft closure

I don’t think

I want to cry tonight

my heart has no need of tears tonight


if I wanted to cry

I might read your words

that flow as easily as a lakeland beck

that dizzy me with the craft of their turning

so easy, yet so very hard

hard as the limestone

where Neil still sleeps


if I wanted to cry

I might pick up my guitar

& softly murm...

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sedimentary, my dear Watson

drumlins & moraines
all over the living room carpet,

laccoliths & lopoliths
in the kitchen
with the unwashed tectonic plates.

yes, it’s a veritable smorgasbord
of geological fancies round our gaff.

and a U-shaped glaciated valley
on the doorstep –

I told him to get in line
behind the moho
& the pyroclastic flows
or there’d be
trouble at’mid Atlantic Rid...

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The Twilight Zone

entry picture

let me lead you to the gallows
says the blank stare of the TV screen
looking back at me
in those dark dead hours
after even the TV men have gone home to someone’s bed
& there is just fuzz & noise where
once we had CNN & Tom & Jerry,
and you know what ?
you know that white noise –
that fuzz on your TV –
you know what that noise actually is ?
No, it’s not just noise,

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the secret path

I try to light your fire
I try to strike a spark
but I can only lead you to
I can’t make you drink;
as someone famous once said,
Seek and ye shall find.
              So, here’s a clue –
search out the button nose boy
and go backwards from there
and in time
if you have that particular bent
all will become clear
with a little help from Don Juan.


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a kind of heaven

on a terrace by the water
under an awning
under the sun
you gaze over your lager
through half closed eyes
at the sparkling blue
                                   blue beyond
and the golden skin on golden sand
and you’re a million miles away
a million miles away
from home.

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I met this girl

she’s covered in skin

I know what you’re thinking

it’s a crying sin

her’s got no roses, no barbed wire

no celtic symbols, no skulls on fire

she’s got no writing anywhere

she’s even got some pubic hair !

she’s not Brazilian

you understand

and she’s not the sort to be underhand

but a hairy beaver’s a bit much

for my...

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everyone is us

this is forgiveness,
I want to understand –
and I’m a better person for it;
it’s never going to be you,
you say,
but, that day, it was me.
It seems
the people you love,
you love them more
and, revenge apart,
no-one has an affair
to make the other feel bad;
they do it to have a moment
of happiness themselves,
to feel alive again,
wanting and wanted.

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my life as wax

you can imagine what it’s like to be wax -
you could have ended up down someone’s earhole,
or as a bit of a birthday candle
or as a pair of wax lips, maybe,
but guess what I ended up as?
Yep !
Kylie’s naughty bits in Madame Tussaud’s
where she’s down on all fours,
arse up in the air.
That’s me, yes, just there –
that little pink bit.
And I’ve got to...

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Smothering Sunday

Kill our Mothers on Mother's Day
I never thought of it that way
no cards, no flowers no M&S vouchers
just mourners whispering on the couches.


(after Alison)

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at the top of the mountains
we will say our farewells
and walk amongst the flowers
until we bid the world goodbye;
and when you set foot on that plain anew
do not ask me
when again will it be silent
for it is always hushed
in the whitened valley
beneath our shadows.
and if you should come
when the flowers are in mourning
for my demise, it would please me if you
said n...

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when I was thirteen,
I would cross over
to the other side of the street
when I saw you coming.
not because I feared you,
but because,
I loved you
too much.

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The Colosseum

It’s Sunday morning, 10 am,

and I am only vaguely interested in reading the papers

and yet, I read them still,

ever hopeful of something more than the dross & drivel &

TV guide within.

This instant kwik-fix world of ours is media-filtered through a

thin dusty veil of mediocrity, sound bytes & news, news, news.

It’s all tits & tattoos, TV ratings & the Time Team D...

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a coffee in Omirou Street

entry picture

let’s sit down, sit down

you and I

we can watch the world

just watch the world go by.

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it never rains

hot stinging burning piss

and on holiday as well


I search the Spanish book

fruitlessly sipping cranberry


the pharmacists look

like it’s all Greek to them


but I finally emerge blinking



only to decode

on frenzied gulping down


of this fist-sized

hyperbole that,


as it vanishes,


the ant...

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entry picture


a fox stole

your heart

a fox’s words

stole my heart

what goes around

comes around

so they say

and summer’s

almost here


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is God a woman ?

entry picture

I met a female builder today

 - still plugging away


the first three billion

were abject failures


leaking everywhere

acting without thought or logic

& unable to comprehend simple ideas

like the offside rule


the answer is mosdef.

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words of the gods

I caught the cat

reading the newspaper...

  - sorry,

that’s an exaggeration

 it was The Mirror.

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whistling in the dark

I tried anger


they said

I need to

be more



I’ve finally

found my


in life.

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God goes walkabout

she turned & smiled:

my heart truly skipped a beat

as the morning sun sifted through

the long blonde hair on

her brow, her nose, her face

and I wrestled not to lose my grip

on this fixated grin as

my heart truly skipped a beat

recoiled in horror, repulsion,

marvelled at her beauty

and in that moment

I was cowed by the unspeakable cruelty

mother n...

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putting the world to rights

tea and biscuits later

a little sip of wine right now

red-carpeted ammonites


in the limestone floor and

a tray of sweaty coins waft by

the musty bible smell

- I love the smell of musty bibles in the morning -


woken from my reveries by William Tell

on someone's mobile

a blast from the past

Kemo Sabe no less

 - no joined-up thinking h...

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the gathering

churches wouldn't be quite so bad

without the filling –

without the god-botherers


a bit like Wales without the Welsh –

big improvement.

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holding court

this is how I do it,

I gather my spirits like this:


standing tall, relaxed,

I shake my hands free

of the morsels

of yesterdays

let my arms

fall loose at my side



fingers drawn in gently and up

beckoning the threads

fluttering, come, come,

summoning, invoking, inferring,

I gather them into the fold

like shoals of little ...

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Nice Peter

entry picture



she says to the cat

and the cat comes


he understands

the power wielded

by those dainty wrists


but comes from love



nice peter

that's his name.

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god botherers

entry picture

when I have my next life

things'll be different



I'll be so much more organised

no more fannying about

with jobs & PhD's


it'll be

sex n' drugs n' rock & roll

all the way


no more wasted time for me

 - no sir –

I've squandered one whole lifetime already.

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