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Ah' Chris mate. 8th June 1982. Falklands One

Ah' Chris mate. 8th June 1982. Falklands One


Ah’ Chris mate,

What a fate,

We’d laughed 

and cavorted

Before the fun.

I’d had sex

In Pompey

And lots of rum.


It’d take a lot

To make us run.

You in your engine room

Me in mine.

All seemed well

All seemed fine.

Your ship

Was knightly

Mine was grey.


As we both looked

Out on that mis...

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WarAutobiographySir Galahad.

Stories to tell early 1980

Cathy was my friend.

I was twenty.

Cathy was twenty three.

she worked 

at British Home Stores.

On the counter

where lipstick

and smells jostled.

Colours for the nose.

Candy for the eye.


She was pretty.

Very pretty.


We’d meet in 

The pub.

“The Cheese”.

We’d drink. 

We’d get stoned.

And go and 

have sex.

We didn’t 

make love.



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68 Grafton St 1977

We took acid

Saw things

We stumbled across 

Hull university


With reds and yellows

Blues and glowing

Things floating

In our heads

So funny

We laughed

And called and yelled

And danced

And pretended

We were famous



And we went home

We became a football team

And kicked the ball in

The living room

Where we did


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drugsfriendslost youthStudent lifeAutobiography

A night out in Jack Dempsy's bar New York. 1980.

Oh god. Oh Dear.

A hangover in New York New York.

Small recollections through

hazes of alcohol pulsed pain.

Shaking fingers fumbling 

for coffee and cigarette.

In a dark wood cased  cabin

from sweat stinking bunk.

A million other people

who jerked through the same dance

Night before around the world.

I stepped in time with you.


On subways that fled past


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     he met a force


            it held him



... and wonder drained the world of substance

            re-arranged the pages of his book to give more radiant a reading.


The light of new possibilities

pressed down on time.

The girl sang to him "You can hear the boats go by". He


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AutobiographyCeredigioncommitmentfamilyfarmjoylifelovemarriagememoriesmythologynavigationoceansseatravelWaleslong poems

Martin Thinks I'm Catholic

Martin Thinks I’m Catholic
With thanks to Andy N, for suggesting it


My father adored me.  He cuddled me in his arms 
after my birth and said, Doesn’t she look intelligent, love?

My mother believed I wasted that intelligence raising babies. 
I was relieved disappointment had no place in her grateful sigh,
as I arrived at the hospital in time to watch her die.

My brothers consider ...

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AutobiographyPoemStockport WOL

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