Inhaled, indelible  

40-a-day road-trips,  

in a 3-door lagoon-blue 

Mark II Hillman Imp. 

Backseat passive passengers 

tapped and shuffle packed.  

Oblivious to the slow burn, 

no open windows, not even a crack. 

Upfront, ritual smokes, 

their bond of small pleasure. 

Love over Embassy Gold 

compact and ash-covered. 

Dad’s heart said give up. 

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I was told my past was perfect 

so, to bring back some of the feeling 

every day I set my alarm for 8:20AM 

the time Mum said I was born. 

Waking has become a re-creation 

an affirmation, making my daily rise 

a reset, and precious kick start 

toward a future better than yesterday. 

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T2 will be an egocentric Déjà vu

T2 will bring back the hullabaloo

T2 will be the worst-ever S.N.A.F.U.

T2 will guarantee vindictive chaos ensues

T2 will be no ‘nice to be back, how-do-you-do’ 

T2 will bring back the world's horribilis hairdo

Don’t be a Muslim, Hindu, or Jew

Don’t say you’re a boy once named Sue

Don’t say you’re a migrant from Xanadu

Don’t say you’r...

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skip sit-down breakfast  

take a rushed lunch on the run  

then late tea for one  

repeat ad-nauseum 

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A picture post arrived 

carrying sixties girls  

beaming in beehives.  

Proper girls, no pink hair. 

I wanted to respond  

say I can’t tell. 

The pictures  

are in black and white. 

A fighting reply 

found at the perfect moment 

but our previous 

says we’d be off again. 

Down the back in the day  

slippery slope.  

Remini...

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The 65 Bus Driver said sorry

I need to reboot the bus

bit like a computer

to resuscitate vital functions

no longer responding, then

we can continue our journey together.

Please don’t panic

but the lights will go out

and the darkness rush in.

I’ll leave the doors open

in case you wish to get off

seek another way to safely continue

your journey...

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the blank page waits   

for the quenching stink of ink  

a scribble of unflinching words  

something to mull and make it think 

the filled page grits  

when the savage pen comes down 

to flay through failing words  

lose many and put others under doubt 

the final page knows    

these few are survivor words 

strong enough to tell the story    

clever enoug...

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The cyclist got slighted 

when  

the smiling car pulled out.  

Then raced to accost the suspect car  

fleeing  

the scene of the crime. 

Allied forces of clamber and anger  

grew  

as the enraged cyclist caught up 

on the hill of moral justice  

bursting  

to confront the cornered car.  

didn’t you see me? signal next time! 

you must have ...

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A human skeleton stares 

out of a second-storey window 

near the Bridge of Sighs 

in Oxford, listens  

to the rhythmic thump 

of a distant building site 

and dwells on what he maybe 

misheard in transit to this place. 

‘When alighting, please  

mind the eternal step’ 

or he heard it right, and  

the metronomic thud is now  

a soundt...

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My wallflower poem is dressed  

ready to be seen 

feeling positive for anyone   

who wants to read.   

My coutured poem scans  

the queuing line 

with eye-catching layout

and comforting rhyme.  

My needy poem comes alive  

when someone's engaged 

then impressed when their expression  

is perfectly changed.  

My vain poem wants to be captured  

...

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T2 will be an egocentric Déjà vu

T2 will bring back the hullabaloo

T2 will be the worst ever S.N.A.F.U.

T2 will guarantee vindictive chaos ensues

T2 will be no ‘nice to be back, how-do-you-do’ 

T2 will bring back the world's horribilis hairdo

Don’t be a Muslim, Hindu, or Jew

Don’t say you’re a boy once named Sue

Don’t say you’re a migrant from Xanadu

Don’t say you’r...

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This is a secure announcement. If  

you do not hold a valuable   

ticket, you may be issued   

with a Penalty Fare 

or face possible 

persecution. 

See it, slay  

it, sort  

it. 

Due to today's wet weather, please note  

that services may be slippery. 

We are experiencing  

some cankerous delays  

and luggage may be  

terminated.  

See it, slay 

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Each bacon sandwich

shortens life by a minute.

A bargain, perhaps!

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Once I was a pacifist, I was an objector. 

A campaigning reformer, I was a protester.  

Now I’m a radical extremist and snowflake moaner. 

Mob rule wokeist, another social-justice warrior. 

Someone who’s made their point but won’t shut up. 

Prepared to tear society apart, a loon, and a zealot. 

An agitator and disrupter, someone who must be reined in. 

A danger ...

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In the fanfare seasons when we get spoiled,

delight openly weeps.

A change from the usual stress attacks,

brought on by a lack of clean sheets.

Not a tin pot, or F.A. Cup,

or division won in years.

Disappointment sits, stares, and lingers

behind sunken red eyes and blue tears.

Elegantly euphoric promotions,

and grandiose upsets,

take centre stage with stella...

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Profligate words loose

on the door of the British Library Bookshop.

‘Shop Now Open’, 

a toxic affront to the pedantic poetic diaspora,

and mobiliser of minds to make the words clearer.

‘Shop Open’ or ‘Open Shop’,

an improvement, but still pointless to the picky,

who righteously say it’s stating the bleeding obvious.

‘Shop Now’ or worse, ‘Now Shop’,

are ...

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