The Beast Beneath The Beck

The beck at Westgate End is full of reeds,

its water is a muddy shade of brown,

confused ducks die within anaemic weeds

as sunken shopping trolleys pull them down.

Sometimes you hear a cold slithering splash,

as though some ancient creature has slid in

to feast upon the centuries of trash.

Who knows what evils are contained within?

It...

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Label On The Bottle

The label on the bottle told me it was strong

But I drank it all night anyway

And didn’t think that I’d done wrong

It made me very happy in a lightheaded sort of way

It was deep amber in colour

And I would regret it all next day

It burned the back of my throat as a sipped the evil brew

It smelt of cinnamon and spice

And bit by bit my co...

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