This is the shed that holds the shelves

that hold the dreams that hold the man

here is the house that holds the garden

that holds the shed that holds the shelves

that hold the dreams that hold the man

to all the things he dreamed about when

things were what he dreamed about. 

But when he has to leave the house behind

that holds the garden that holds the shed

that ho...

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"That's not steam son it's just a cloud."

the boy had shouted "it's coming Dad!"

his eagerness held back like a signal. 

"It won't be long," his father said,

"don't stand near the edge now mind "

(for flesh and bone's no match for metal)

"I can see it now under a bridge!"

and sure enough the smoke uncoiled

a face like a bullseye wreathed and proud,

the boy said "I c...

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Eighty - the age at which the weight of evidence

supports an inevitable irrefutable verdict

yet we expect a free pardon

for the excesses in which we were engaged,

and when none is given we are enraged. 

So we set sail for the sunset

helped by various aids

old codgers supported by old maids

suspending disbelief as the clock ticks on

prey to seductive offers that show

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By the intense breath of the miner's lamp light

my mind is focussed, body as mind

supported by a thought so strong

it becomes my essence, my reasoning. 

Bring light and love to her I say

a pause for the light then:

bring light and love to her I say

intoned for a seamless eternity

while the unwavering eye watches me. 

I can see the master planner in the small an...

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There is that road again somewhere in Buckinghamshire

I visit it often in my mind

astride the motorbike a resolute companion,

we are plunging down

then surging up the hollow

caressing the curves of the road

by the grip of the throttle

to a now forgotten destination

that takes us through a mystery of trees

in a dark unsuspecting wood

and then the open vista,

al...

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It is not uncommon to be eighty

and never to have seen the aurora borealis

but now, primed by a news and weather alert

I stand to see if it might happen. 

A belt of translucent high cloud holds firm

above a street light under a gash of dark trees

but no aurora. 

A scent of sleeping blossom has me in thrall

and on the ridge of my kitchen roof

the silky silhouette of ...

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Mohammed had chosen Paradise as the way forward

justification for triggering death with the contraption he wore

his name would be called, of that he was sure.

his soul transplanted in some childlike new beginning.

In the aftermath he at least found beauty, 

 reds, mauves, yellows, splashes applied at random

a palette of pain on pavements, sand, especially on walls,

lookin...

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The wall of our hall is ever so small

but the colour has to be right

lit by natural means by day

or a shaded bulb by night.

The colour has to be bright yet subtle

enough that would simply show off a mirror

the centrepiece of the wall of the hall

which though small is what welcomes you into the house. 

The decision's been made, plans have been laid

we've simply chose...

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Those who live and die in poverty

have no less a story to tell

than those with means who are in the light.

for the poor cast the long shadow

demanding a closer look.

Theirs are the stories that like the wild wind

drift away and would be gone

while those with means most easily seen

make occasion for theirs to be told. 

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I want to stay at the Savoy Hotel

if not then the Ritz will do

I want to make an impression

cut a bit of a dash

I won't be satisfied with less -

but I havn't sufficient cash.

I want to own a Ferrari

if not a Bugatti will do

I need to feel the wind in my hair

emulate the Top Gear runs

I won't be satisfied with less - 

but I havn't sufficient funds.

I wa...

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Politicians make fools of us

but today we can celebrate

for the coming of Spring is beyond their reach

when jesters come out of hiding

ride the waves of success

revealed by roots and shoots

emerging into greenery. 

The fool knows who to worship

with his bells and silly grin,

for today he wears a crown

so don't mess with him, don't try

to take him down

for h...

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Trainer barista soul sister

with logo burgundy T shirt

plays the chromium steam

as a long queue forms. 

Old lady small dog wait patiently

soul sister with dreadlocks(I had thought a man) turns

ignores the deadlock of time 

not part of the plan this delay

busy time of day.

Turns again for cake under cover

some turn away and leave

time simmers while card re...

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We enjoyed our local walk to view the town

before committing ourselves, John and I. 

Nooky shops amid post covid street flower planters

plenty of cafes, dogs allowed

an ebike shop with stools to perch on with coffee and cake

a face painting parlour - even a proper gallery.

The area is holding its own in the current climate.  

On our walk though there was a wall

near a ...

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Whole crypts ransacked

preserved body parts found re-examined

attics and cellars raided for cans of film

inhabitants of nursing homes grilled to despair

whispers and wills plundered for half truths,

and all the while the ghosts of narcissists recalled

assembling in long galleries of haunted houses lit by arc lights. 

Private beaches combed for evidence of washed up

car...

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Police divers dragged a lake yesterday

found only aquatic weed

and a new microscopic foramanifera it was revealed

funds became available for further research

in collaboration with Heritage England 

leading to new enquiries

trails leading in a different direction.

There's a future in the Net, (sorry - Met)

ran an advert in the Police Gazette. 

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She only wants me for my money and fame

he thought

going into his studio

to write a love song.

He looked up at the row of golden discs

and quickly forgave her. 

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Chicken in a basket

jokes at the mike

bingo days, foggy days

queues at bus stops

frost at the fingertips

red and black in the clubs. 

The dying breath of thoughtful machines

the clearances of industrial scenes

roundabouts under predatory skies

cigarette smoke spiralling at the bars

on the dole in busy pubs. 

Detectives in flairs

travelling in pairs

...

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Goodbye old keyboard

you served me well

your presence is a ghost from the recent past,

a man in high viz went up some steps

to a council skip and placed you there. 

I'm here to give thanks on your final gig

an insult for a life well spent

in an intimate bond of give and take

a parting touch for old times' sake

before your final swift descent. 

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Music is a puppet

pull it out of the box

make it dance and sing

do everything you want it to

to never say no

because you should be in control

not let the puppet master you. 

But then during the dark of silence

let it come to you

lie with it feel its undulations

the pulse that never lies

knowing that the music puppet never dies. 

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