Poetry Blog by Philipos

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I used to work with a guy called

Dent whose sister’s name was

Pru – she went off the rails when

she over spent which was hardly

very prudent. Dent went to Kent

whilst Pru cleaned the Gents to

pay off all the debt collectors.

Pru now lives in a caravan and

rues the very day her marbles

went – and Dent lives in a tent

somewhere near Brent – I guess


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What are they like – these

draw-your-attention bells

hare bells – snow bells –

some with fragrance some

without – others have you

wondering such as the bells

chiming at the local church.

Or is it the mechanical bells

that hold most sway - an

ambulance perhaps come

to take you hastily to those

places where medics work

trying hard to patch you up.

Or is it the ...

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The Irish Sea, a most

unpleasant place to be

in raging storms when

waves - mast high - mask

out a sullen sky and send

the crewmen scudding over

tilting decks and grasping

nearest uprights to support

themselves – as on the bridge

bells chime out for watchmen

to report below and stow with

safer ties the shifting loads

loose in the vessel’s holds.

It is a timele...

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Some see me as a

Victor Meldrew type

having words with the

postie for dumping

junk mail through my

letter box and ignoring

the ‘please don’t signs’

I visit the local depot

all geared up for a few

words – the manager

looks perplexed – and

makes a confession –

we don’t like the stuff

either but have to do it

‘Have to do?’ I muse to a

more subdued self – s...

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The SS Tarva was  a game old

boat registered in Tromso and

if ships could speak might tell

quite a few salty tales. I boarded

her in Liverpool having signed the

usual articles of seamanship and

off we chugged to foreign parts.

She twisted and turned through

the Bay of Biscay like all boats did

but I had my sea legs by then and

could do the bow legged walk and


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If you peep at them now via

the distance of modernity

there is something rather

quaint about the old steam

boats that belched black smoke

through painted funnel tops – or

had salt-caked smoke stacks and

crews ate their hard tack biscuits

in more challenged times like war

Life-boat drills were moments for young

ones like me at the time, and meant scaling

down the lo...

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It must have been quite a drag

all that business being in the mud

hanging around fields and asking

a wounded Tommy if he needed

a fag – or could he help them write

a letter before the stretcher bearers

came – even if they were likely to in

all this mud – he might even ask about

a sweetheart back in  Blighty who by

now, after all this time – probably had

her nighty off...

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How quietude helps us think

and drink inside the wider world.

Unfurl your thoughts inside the

sanctum of the mind – and find you

leave behind a trace of peace. Now

we have acquired - the golden goose

of almost everything - minus the bling.

It's when angels voices can be heard

without our feeling weird or afraid

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It happened quite a lot

back then – death at sea

is what I mean – it almost

happened to me after we’d

berthed offshore near a new

refinery port in Nigeria – it was

called Port Harcourt which is

somewhere I didn’t want to

end up on a stone cold slab.

Mosquitoes are far too bold

for their skimpy size and have

a lot to answer for – they bite

you in the...

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Even frogs are into blogs

they croak about them in

in their soggy alga bogs.

It isn’t like they have much

washing up to do – all they

seem to do is eat and poo

or take a dunk or too, or

catch on sticky tongues

their water hopping prey.

Besides Frogs like to croak

and frisk a lot.  It is something

they do rather well by day,

or night, though flighty bugs

take ...

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I’ve gone off reading all that stuff

about the Nag Hammadi scrolls –

you know the ones found by those

shepherds in an ancient cave when

they’d gone in there for a squat –

I mean all very interesting yes, but

half of them landed on a cooking

stove when other fuel ran out – so

what are we supposed to learn from

all of that papyrus - if anything at all

No what does int...

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The coffee menu showing

at Woking Wetherspoons

is down again – some tried

options work – others don’t.

Caffeine addicts queue with

tension growing  at a pace.

The guy from behind the bar

wearing the black garb of

management status –

exits from behind the jump

giving the machine one

mighty thump – forget calling

the technical people – local

knowledge works a ...

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Something is a-foot

(or should I say a-wing), so

be well aware of seagulls

and their artful schemes

around the shores and other

inland haunts because they

know quite well how to

muck spread into our sun-

tanned faces and keep us

on our toes and our hands

primed for surprise attacks.

At first they sus you out

and look like butter wouldn’t

melt - hovering aroun...

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I don’t just live alone

there is a lodger on the

upper floor just nesting there

without a single by your leave

it’s something I try not to grieve

too much about, though doubt

sometimes intercedes and sets

off something doing Irish jigs, on

twigs, inside my aching head

I don’t just live alone

the ringing of the phone

reminds me of an outer

brighter world and kidd...

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Ants I suggest are no mere aberration.

They live in a formicary – posh word for station.

Ants have technicians who aerate their hills,

and also mean mouths with pincers and bills.

Never take picnics where ants are afoot

for ants with agenda could not give a hoot.

They munch on a sandwich, a grape or a pear

and couldn’t care less if they stray in your ear.

Ants and their man...

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She was always like that

flaunting herself with a

well stocked upper bodice.

Flirty-Gerty I seem to recall

was her name – used to give

me that ‘come on’ look and

then the dazzling smile which

left me lost for words – what

a girl – makes me go week at

the knees just to think of her.

One night much more vivid

than the rest, she got herself un

dressed and caressed...

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Can’t you hear it!


That voice!

What voice?

The voice of silence!


Peaceful that, isn’t it?


Are you awake?

I’m creeping out for a jar.

Was it something I said?

I wish……..

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Following Ken’s funeral

out came his treasured

bits and bobs from a well

used cedar box. We sat

around the table sharing

memories of him in bygone

days. There was no shortage

of sepia photographs of when

we were five siblings then, and

knew too well the gift of mirth

around our favoured haunts

of post war Merseyside.

One photo stood out from all the

rest. We ...

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A Guardsman stands up ramrod straight

when sent about his duties – he mustn’t

get befuddled if distracted by the

beauties – he watches out for squirrels

which emerge from nearby parks and should

one scale his trouser leg he leaps about

and darts (and makes one’s corgis bark) 

as seagulls drop their payloads for a lark

(Sod it. There goes my MBE)

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These days I’m down to

once a week, it used to be

times seven, I dip my soldier

in the yolk and think I am

in Heaven. But eggs you see

they come with costs and

carry dodgy warnings what

with all cholesterol plus need

for work in mornings. Anyway

what did you think I was banging

on about? Not sex again! Some

people, you can’t change their

polluted thoughts and he...

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In shocking terms there

wasn’t much to say, poor

vagrant lying on the subway

line, cider bottle still in grubby

hands. No clue about his NOK

Off came his gear, cut off with

the surgical scissors at the

local morgue. Nobody knew

so nobody mourned him gone,

some even felt it ‘just as

well’, I mean that vinegary

smell can hang around too

long. Pong, pong, pong


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More rubbish through the door

in spite of all the ‘No Junk’ words.

I grab the pile of leaflets and the

fast food ads, and hunt the postie

down a mere few doors along and

with the strongest terms, I press

the garbage back into his hand and

in rebuking tones I let him know my

views about abetting with the Royal

Mail to denude rain forests in the

Amazon and wider world b...

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Do it then

Do what?

Jump you plonker

Why are you being so horrible?

It’s only mind over matter.

How’s that?

I don’t mind and you don’t matter.


COME BACK, I was only ....

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(Modified from an earlier African Collection) 

At Doon Msasa in Zimbabwe

the industrial estate where

ethnic memorabilia is made,

I buy a ginger vase, an oil burner

and an alphabet patterned platter

for my granddaughter. Our 2 women

head for the curio shop and browse.

 Stubbing my big toe on something

concealed below the grime of ochre,

I discover chippings of rose qua...

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Write a poem about it, someone said,

so I wrote 'Poem about it'. That's

not what I meant, she carped. Well

get out your harp and then strum

about what it is, precisely, that

your words are meant to convey.

Ave Maria, I added then. That's not

a poem she said. 'Well actuially it is

I ventured to suggest, at least for

those who have the ears that wish

to know and underst...

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Poems, snapshots of our life, or Kundalini of the moment.

As cameramen need light, so we too need the brightness

of our inspiration. Windows of the soul become desired goals.

So let them smirk at all our quirky ways but let the words

remain somewhere in abeyance of our forebearance just

as our parents may have encouraged us to do, let not our

precious words escape like slipping s...

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They’ve named

a new storm Barry

with winds that Hari Kari

they even issued bulletins

to citizens ‘Don’t tarry’

so fill up stocks of water

and food stuffs like you

oughta but then be braced

for afterwards with better

bricks and mortar

I have a friend called Barry

a former Grenadier who lives

in Carolina with a sweetheart

called Sedona. Of course I wish


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Earth, Wind, and Fire

Look I don't want to talk about Wind OK,

it's rude. Or Earth for that matter, since

none of us knows what's going on with

all those Greenhouse gas emissions.

Fire you want to know about now, after

that huge curry we had at the Green Dragon

last night. Holy shite. Why did you just

zap me with that blasted air freshener!

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‘Is there such a thing as Truth’

I asked the shrewd old Don.

Well not exactly, he proclaimed

I pushed him for a wise response.

‘You’ll have to look it up’, is all he said,

Then mused aloud. ‘There’s far more

to it than at first would meet the eye’

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Grecians never were completely fools

They knew the rules about the ruse of

Temptress goddesses known as the Muse

Now let me see, what were they called?

Well there was Calliope of course, she was the

muse of eloquence and of epic (heroic) poetry

and next came Cleo, muse of historical and of more

heroic poetry – could that be what we refer to as


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Bondi Bruce here

just been listening

to those Holy Mollies

Outside of Bruces beech

bar. Giving it plenty of oomph

they were, a hymn here or a

prayer over there, and the chants.

Even made me feel guilty just for

taking the good sea air in me lungs.

Streuth, they gave me some dodgy

glances when I started pulling out the

tabs on me tinnies. ...

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Whoever goes in there

must after come out

the madam with shingles

the doyen with gout and

how sneezy the noses of

those with infection, one

can see from their faces

there’s abject dejection

and of course there are

old boys who can’t quite

remember why they went

in there. But they stretch

out their hands or look to

the ceiling, whilst...

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