Soliloquy No 4 – Once More Into The Breech…....

Soliloquy No 4 – Once More Into The Breech…..

Once more into the breech of your T72 tanks we beseech you comrades,

once convicts, now conscripts for the Motherland,

we give thanks for your coming sacrifice.

The chameleon West has shown its true colours.

Bleached by the sun, its poison runs to help the Nazi Ukrainians

whose blood we will spill to stain the land.

Blot out their ...

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To Eat or to Heat - Soliloquy No 31

To eat or to heat, that is the question.

Whether tis better to eat to make my heart still beat but

anyway freeze my stiffening bones in my own home for

lack of heat gives pause for thought.

It ought not to have come to this.

To eat or to heat ? Perchance I could do both, alas I cannot.

It comes to pass that I must choose one but not the other

unlike those brotherly shareholder...

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R. P. I.

R P I - The Anagram

There’s a cost of living crisis that could cripple me and you

with the fastest rising prices since the end of World War Two.

That’s me and you - generic you - we’re all in this together,

except we’re not there’s many who this storm will simply weather.


I can’t believe we’re here again they’re advertising gold

values and investments,  when to buy or sell o...

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Cargo 200 - Special Delivery

Cargo 200 – Special Delivery

A run on the rouble in the Russian State Bank,

the Muscovites cursing the Brits and the Yanks,

the young mother fretting for her son in his tank

while the old man beside her his face has turned blank.

His i-phone appended to his hairy red ear

as she frowns and she strains in an effort to hear,

then watches his face morph from blankness to fear


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The Last Dream of Donald

The Last Dream of Donald

Donald had a dream he never dreamt of,

thousands of acolytes gathered around

his majestic bed, sniffing the scent of

a long buried fear he hadn’t yet found.


He felt their clammy fingers make a start,

press his skin, penetrate his inner core.

They jiggled his lungs and tickled his heart,

fingered his brain, until tacky sweat poured


from ...

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Lonely Windows

Lonely Windows

No-one looks through me now, it’s very sad.

Yet I have seen so much from those who gazed

across this busy street though I am glad

to have been both enlightened and amazed

at all humanity’s undertakings.


No-one looks through me now. Dust and grime

have made a cataract of my being,

so that life’s universal keeper, time,

brings closure to the chapters of...

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This Is A Time

This is a Time

This is a time,

unprecedented in your lives,

to reach out in person, reach out online.

To demonstrate care for yourself and others

who may be suffering a sense of despair,

your sister, your brother, your father, your mother,

feeling hopeless or trapped in a faraway stare

you glimpse when you enter a room.


This is a Time,

unparalleled in your lives,


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The Mayor Stands

The following poem is based on the eloquent speech of Sadiq Khan and where it took place following the Westminster Bridge atrocity. 

The Mayor Stands

And so the mayor stands hands clasped together                               

in the cold June weather by City Office. Coffers up                                           

visible unequivocal condemnation of those from his               ...

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This poem was written 9 years ago but seems to have more resonance now than it did then.


She limped along Old Trafford road

her helping hand a stick of ash,

two Tesco bags increased her load,

her costume emphasised the clash


of cultures on a bright Spring day

when European arms and legs

in ghastly white are on display

by Boots and Claire’s and Next and Greggs.


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