I have been posting poems during lockdown based on the concept taken from a much earlier poem called 'Cycle Of The Scarecrow' a fantasy piece which tells the tale of a scarecrow who is brought back to life by a witch and walks the fields of Albion. It is a reflection on the changing seasons and of growing old - and the premise of 'what if I had my time again?
It was released today as a digital do...
Friday 1st January 2021 1:46 pm
We all reach that point in life
Where Halloween holds no magic
The ragged clothes and haggard looks
The pale of face and wrinkled mask
The wild unkempt hair of cobwebs
The brittle touch of ancient hand
The racing heartbeat
Pounding out its horror rhythm
The nervous look into dark corners
Death waiting across the grey veil
A cold sweat and night chi...
Friday 6th November 2020 2:08 pm
Through forests dark and shadowed vale
He follows the damnation trail
Along the river’s twisted course
Through bracken thick and clutching gorse
The ancient path cut through the land
He walks with devil’s hand in hand
And where his steps flatten the crops
No more will grow the wheat and hops
For he has footsteps cast in death
He steals the fa...
Wednesday 28th October 2020 12:25 pm
Here in the verdant meadows
All on a summer’s day
The dreaded army of the dark
Met with the noble fey
They fought until the long sundown
And the lost blood of the dead
Soaked into the sacred ground
And turned the roses red
When the fight was over
And the legion of the flies
Had swarmed across the corpses
Stealing hope from sightless eyes
Thursday 22nd October 2020 11:05 am
The crows tell of the walking man
Who travels fields by day and night
The walking man who’s not a man
Who strides between the dark and light
Soulless, cursed to stumble through
The endless hedgerows of the land
He wished for life but walks in death
He is the sweet prince of the damned
The hares and rabbits run from him
The fox and wolf walk by ...
Thursday 15th October 2020 5:39 pm
I trudge across these ancient lands
Where crops are reared by human hands
And all I leave are footsteps deep
a crop the scythe will never reap
I see the changing seasons turn
The new shoots grow, bonfires burn
From the soil the world will grow
I track the sacred rivers flow
These things of beauty pass me by
I have no soul I cannot die
Monday 12th October 2020 11:24 am
I thought I'd add a quick note, with this being my first blog entry.
I specalise in poems of extreme gormlessness, and wrote my first one after getting into John Cooper Clarke back in 1991. A few years later, in 1993, I saw JCC live in my hometown of exotic Bolton, supported by the legendary Hovis Presley. I enjoyed his set as much as JCC's, and bought a copy of his book, Poetic Off-...
Thursday 8th October 2020 9:32 pm
Black Metal Band Looking For A Name
Cannibal Sewer Rats
The Sweat Of Judas
Black Candle Prayer
Vikings Of Stavanger
We need a name boys
We need a name
Black Metal Band
Looking for fame
Sons Of The Necropolis
Sonic Angel Spit
Kitten Paws (No! Kevin No!)
We need a name boys
We need a name
Black Metal Band
Looking for f...
Sunday 3rd May 2020 12:23 pm
The Mandrake Curse
I spied the purple mandrake flowers
Sitting in their nest of green
And foolishly looked to rip them
From the earth they serenely sat upon
And everywhere a shriek echoed
Across the woods and leafy vales
and to my weary eyes I saw
The bulbous body resurrected
A face demonic in its glare
For being torn from fitful slumber
Wizened arms of k...
Saturday 11th April 2020 2:47 pm
The trees are flesh made.
Gauntly etched to form gangrenous limbs,
Skeletal fingers lacing outward
For the heavens.
A multiplicity of fungal greens
That curl and sway about the breeze.
The trees are flesh made,
Blood racing within barcomulch veins
Wednesday 25th October 2017 6:06 am
Express yourself, they said.
Somehow I knew, but went ahead.
And as they recoiled, in shock
At the horrors under my bed
The fear and shame upon their faces
I've added to my box of haunted places
I join them, as me they mock
and hide my words when in their spaces
Thursday 29th December 2016 7:33 am
In a town called Tumbleweed
sound is deadened
so that every conversation
crawls like a gentle breeze
through cotton wool.
Beggars are kings,
Suzie is a victim.
The streets of Tumbleweed
host sinners, saints and surrogates
sneering into bibles
left to them
by agnostic pa...
Wednesday 6th April 2016 12:00 am
I'm going to tell you a story, which was genuinely one of the most terrifying moments of my life. I'd always been quite cynical about the idea of ghosts and demons and spiritualism, but this moment changed that for me and made me realise that actually, we are NOT alone in this world. Please, I know and understand the cynicism of most on this topic, but I can assure you that I have not invented any...
Monday 28th March 2016 10:45 pm
The whistle blows to sound the charge
and over the top they bustle and barge,
covered from head to toe in mud
and soon tainted with flesh and blood.
Up the ladder with slippery rungs,
a scream of rage from terror filled lungs,
adrenalin coursing through every vein
with the fear of not coming back again.
Knee-deep mud sucking boots from feet,
tangled in barbed w...
Friday 24th July 2015 2:55 pm
I stood there and chanted, "Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary!"
"I heard you the first time," said the Bar Tender.
Friday 14th March 2014 9:40 pm
The shadows flick across the darkened room.
I imagine these are demons in their evil dance,
although I know it is only the passing cars.
I hear strange noises coming from the attic.
I imagine this to be a serial killer stomping around,
although I know it is the mouse I chased
away a few days ago.
I hear an anguished moan.
I imagine it to b...
Tuesday 4th March 2014 10:00 pm
She smiles so seductively and cunningly, waiting to strike.
If you dare upset her you do so at your peril as she will use her
power against you without warning.
She sees everything that we all do and all we can hope to achieve.
Even your deepest thoughts and emotions are hers at one sudden glance.
If you are lucky she will take your soul while you sleep.
Thursday 9th January 2014 1:33 pm
Our SchoolWas Haunted
Our school was haunted on this Halloween
All you could hear was moaning and screams
The chairs started groaning,
The floor was all sticky
The slime on the windows was squashy and squishy
The bats and the cats were cooking with witches
And casting a spell of chickenpox itches
The eyelash of spider and toenails of newt
Frogspawn and ...
Thursday 31st October 2013 2:17 pm
Murder, Death, Bones and Blood
Murder, death, bones and blood
Rotting corpses walking
Vampires, witches, ghouls and ghosts
tormented Spirits talking
Operations and autopsies
Severed heads and limbs
darker twisted horror stories
To rival Stephen King
Cuts and stitches, pain and screams
Dead bodies and mortuaries so cooool!
This is what we talk about
on the bus to school.
Thursday 31st October 2013 2:04 pm
I look into the mirror, an old Woman is staring back at me!
AHH!, oh wait, it's just me.
Sunday 27th October 2013 11:51 pm
expanded version of the blog I posted a few days ago - this time covering all four seasons.
Cycle Of The Scarecrow
A Scarecrow Dreams Of Living
A scarecrow in autumnal sheen
thinks of all that he has been.
His age old frame begins to lean
as bitter winds blow in, so keen.
He longs for days of evergreen,
so buys back time, wipes the slate c...
Wednesday 18th September 2013 6:32 pm
A Scarecrow Dreams Of Leaving
A scarecrow in the wax moonlight
is snowed upon one winters night
and as the crystals, soft, alight
he dreams perhaps some day he might
take footsteps off into the bright
ice world. His skeletal delight
some hours later, fat and white
with snow-flesh - waiting for coal sight.
Friday 13th September 2013 5:23 pm
To Love In Vein.
was dark and broody,
was pale and moody
(Celestine’s real name
dressed all in black,
(by the way
his name was Jack)
he thought he was
good in the sack.
thought ‘Oh, what the heck’,
thought ‘what a lovely neck’,
so hard to keep
their lust i...
Sunday 11th August 2013 1:29 pm
of sobbing children
for every bullet
the roll of pressure
heal to toe
flies swarming on open wounds
picking at the scabs
of wounded families
the searing pain
of widows and orphans
hurt is local currency
guns from foreign currency
Friday 19th April 2013 1:05 pm
Beneath the biscuit-bitten moon of dawn
There’s a hint of something unknown,
unprecedented enough that even the howling wind has flaked
To something spider-thin;
To the bare wire frames of lyricism.
Since then, the sky has darkened.
And static has started to skitter across asphalt and window-frames.
Friday 21st October 2011 10:23 am