Spring snow

Happy World Poetry Day.


I can see the top of April’s head
through all of the snow in the flower bed
she’s not going to like this one bit
all this fucking snow and shit.


Other buildings rise towering by our sides as we pass, yet waiting directly ahead, the cathedral grows not one jot, resting unfocused etherial, seemingly no larger, yet larger than the sun, it is unapproachable, unreachable.


Damn you bed, you know I must leave you, yet you offer such warm arms now.
Last night you gave such an icy embrace, when I was so tired and in need of comfort.


Thunder cracked with flashing flame
overhead the storm clouds came
rain it lashed a mighty chinook
floor to wall to roof all shook
prayers given grace to free
morning came without me.


Both our kittens are fluffy and cute
a fact which the birds vehemently dispute.


No touch no sound nor sight
just a whiff has my mind take flight
flying back through all of my memories
I arrive right back in one place in one moment.
Sip smile and return.


An ancient rook with a beak of stone
paused to peck at a corpse’s bone
patience fades the flesh has gone
to new death away he’s flown.











Many folks enjoy the conjurer’s trick, they wow and wonder, disbelieving their own eyes, enjoying the fizzing of sorcery. There are those who wish to know how the trick was achieved, who will study the science, pry it apart to appreciate the mechanics of magic. While others, they have a disdain for the conjurer’s demeanour, dismissing the show, the glitter and smoke, knowing it all to be poppycock. Then there are those who find the lie distasteful, the magicians claim of the occult, dark warlocks declaring science a myth. For me, sometimes I liked to soak in the moment of disbelief, before how arrived, before the frustration came to eat. If I did happen to find out the means of magic motion, I regretted it immediately, what was once a spark of wonder, turned into dowdy conveyance. So now, magic stays on the other channel unwatched, as I enjoy some comedy, no one can explain what comedy is.


While timid birds weave secretly, fussing over who could find their nest, darting from one diversion to the next, the crows give a grand performance of their work, flying in flocks ferrying twisted twigs across fields to construct their nests, threading them into the highest boughs of the tallest trees. For miles we can hear the pairs argue in cackling theatrics, cawing complaints of misplaced twigs and laziness. What a wonderful March circus.


Studying for a masters degree in agnoiology
while all other studies have more to learn
there is always less to learn in agnoiology.


Pay-as-you-go gurus are very expensive in the long run.


Sometimes we get a strong feeling of deja vu, triggered by a smell, a feeling or song, or perhaps just a familiar sentence. It takes us right back to one moment specific, yet many times unplaceable. Sometimes I get a strong feeling of deja vu, triggered by a smell, a feeling or song, or perhaps just a familiar sentence. It takes me right back to one moment specific, yet many times unplaceable.


Paranoia, the ability to keep imagining enemies until you create them.





I felt quite well, yet the couch told me I was not well at all, he told me I was in way over my head. The lamp shade stood silently, but I could tell she agreed with the couch, something in her manner. The TV hummed menacingly, no colour danced in his frame since our argument the other night, nothing you could say would convince me of anything other than that offensive electric nightmare being in the wrong. Every step I took the carpet grumbled and swore at me, so I took the decision to fly, I rose to a moderate hover and headed to the angry looking window, I knew that if I could get through the window, I would be free of this miserable disapproving room. The window chewed, gnawed and bit at me, but I managed to free myself, wriggling out, to glide down to the gentle grass below. To fizz out to the glorious dimensions beyond.


Singing into a brown paper microphone at three in the morning
wild nocturnal stars to entertain those between homes.


Cats are born adventurers, all to climb, all to sniff, all to claw, all to explore. Sure dogs love to bury stuff and wander about, yet go out of reach of their head honcho and they get a panic attack. While the cat will go as far as it is physically possible to go, to the ends of the earth, the end of the branch, the edge of our patience. I wish they harboured at least a pinch of responsibility. No medals will be earned, no ceremonies will mark their discoveries. There will just be mild starvation and a torn ear.


He was shifty as a squirrel on speed
he must to be corralled we agreed
we prepared our nets
but zing out he’d get
so we gave up and turned on the TV.


I can feel nothing but the wind searing my skinned face. I wonder if my limbs are still there. I wonder if anyone has awoken yet. A crows descent is never a good sign when lying in the road.


Scale is all really
we can shout and bawl
build create and procreate
but this whole wide world
is just a flicker in infinite time.


Watching, I found myself wondering, I see the smear of sparkling eye shadow across his cheek, the way he holds his arms, I wondered, is he gay? It instantly struck me how redundant the wonder was. I will not in all likelihood meet him, if I did meet him, it would not be romantically, I am not gay, so the wonder sits uselessly in a box of preconception, of prejudice, and there I shall try to keep it, shut away.


When you are tired and lacking energy
sit on the earth and wick from her
refuel in a capillary action
write an I owe you to


a spark a sunrise
igniting the day
what will we burn?
who can say.


Daubed in smiles and grandeur
the painted parasite politicians
treat themselves to more
of the peoples pot.


Sitting for an age grasping your gun
fearful of all who may come
when you emerge I would bet
you are our only threat.


Who says you are going to get that tomorrow
full of things that you will do?






Attending a tasting evening

On a crisply cold winter evening, car lights tracked their way down the gravel drive in evening crunches, to find a place outside the mansion to park, to get near enough so the badge on their Mercedes can be seen in the mansion’s glow. The guests alighted and entered through the front doors, walked along the plush red carpet under the twinkling crystal chandeliers. The guests were guided to the tasting room.
Many different colas were presented on a long table, a mouthwatering prospect awaited the lucky few. Before they partook in the tasting, genial conversation simmered, Rupert talked to Stephanie of his bulging shares, Derek spoke to Jenny of his lengthy boat. Unimpressed, the ladies just eyed the waiting glasses.
Arthur, the host, dressed in a purple corduroy suit, held a glass aloft and pinged it with a fork to gain the attention of the dozen or so guests. “If you would like to approach the table, we might begin with this splendid 1987 Cherry coke”. Arthur’s butler Arthur took a glass and poured the fizzing concoction into it, as it settled he handed it to Jenny. Jenny a tall elegant lady of a vintage you begin not to ask, nosed the bouquet then immediately sneezed violently, snotting slightly on an attentive Derek. Derek’s attentiveness then waned somewhat. Suitably recovered Jenny took a sip and began to appreciate the windy setback and fulsome fruit bursting into a metallic undertone. Her eyes bulged slightly and her cheeks inflated, splitting her foundation. Not wishing to appear a crass heathen unappreciator of vintage beverage, she commented “Mmm, a splendid after haze”. Each taster thereafter produced an array of symptoms, yet comment was kept as artistic as they could manage, to avoid a social faux pas. Next the butler poured a diet Pepsi from 1993. Firstly Johnathan tasted it, then as is traditional on such occasion, spat it out into the sink. He seemed to be unaffected, save for a slight loss of hair, yet Johnathan gave it a scathing review “This is one of the most unimaginative beverages I have ever had the misfortune of tongue smelling, I am almost offended!”. As Johnathan is a highly respected taster in this tight knit circle, the rest of the guests followed suit, Dan even ejaculated “This is not even risible in it’s mission!”. Pepsi eh?.

Above freezing

Driving in darkness all is mystery but what our headlights allow
Suddenly from nothing, a deer looks ethereal beside us
She is beautifully bathed in our passing false light
She fished a gasp of awe from my chest.


Crashing and smashing
one shard left a scar
shattered the chatter
a sound quite bizarre
now bound to ground
from out there afar
disjointed disappointed
a dead shooting star.


Wandering the forrest, looking for lights. They flicker elusively, orange, blue, green then clear, they remain just out of reach today. But at least I have proof that they still exist, if my own mind is to be trusted. Tomorrow perhaps I will remember to bring my jar.


On inclement days the crows chat in trees
to reminisce of sun-rays and gentle breeze
till finally at high noon the slate skies crack
all crows alight turning the whole sky black.


He must have sat watching the news that evening, the horrific aftermath of another shooting scrolls across the screen, more kids violently wrenched from their families, more despair, the shooter just a kid himself, disturbed.
We must restrict the access to these guns, we must find a way to have fewer lethal weapons in this world.
Those sadly were not his thoughts, he thought, I see a way I can sell a shit load of guns to teachers.


The easy way such a poison, emptying your bowl
Try difficult it’s rewarding, so good for the soul
True a challenge to discover any other way
So well trodden is the easy path today.


In a deluge of nonsense
it is good to have a canoe of sense
and a paddle of patience.








A King With Mice And Some Cheese

(Reimagining of The King, The Mice And The Cheese, by Nancy and Eric Gurney)

Once upon a time there was a King. The King had everything he could wish for, he was always having a ball, yet he enjoyed the simple joy of cheese most of all. His cheese makers made the best cheese in the land, he sat in his throne room feeling quite grand. He was enjoying the cheesy pong wafting through his palace, the servants enjoyed the smell as it drifted through the halls, the villagers enjoyed the aroma as it floated through the streets, then the mice enjoyed the stench as it arrived in the fields. This aroused the mice nostrils no end, the mice set to follow it’s delicious cheesy tantalisation towards the King’s place.
Upon arrival the mice dove in to every plate, decadent in all they ate, they swam in the fondue bowl and ran through the cheddar holes, they sprang from the mascarpone, not one brie was left to sit alone. The King did not like this invasion one bit, as sat he said, “Oh bother”.
The King took his hunting gun, taking aim at the frivolous mice. Bang! went his gun and bang! twice, again, bang! it went several times more. Yet the mice were way ahead in the score, the walls took the brunt of the King’s angry furore.
The king called on the builders to repair the shocking damage in his wonderful palace. Upon arrival the builders stepped mud on the rugs and wafted dust in his gold cups, even in the royal bathroom, they left the seat up. Mess was the builders calling card. The dusty mice gathered and ran up the walls, as the King made another of his calls.
The decorators were next, brightly the walls became, yet the mess was twice the same, covers wafted clouds of dust in the air, for their mess they had no real care, paint splashed in the gold cups, they also, left the seat up.
The mice were all splattered in red, as the King sat sorry for himself, nursing his head.
A call to the cleaners was made, surely the cleaners know how to behave. The cleaners cleaned the walls and the halls, if the King sat still they’d have even cleaned the King’s ears. All was clean in the cleaners doings, yet their sayings were not. Rumours spread through the villages and streets, all the dirt said, the cleaners repeat. The mice all sat giggling in the royal foyer, while the King made a call to his best lawyers. As soon as the lawyers arrived in the place, the mice all ran to make their escape, there are some folks even a mouse will not tolerate.

The King lived less wealthily ever after.


Hooting and hollering

‘It’s business’. The disclaimer underwriting all misdemeanour and rotten trading. Money is not the be and end all, in fact it is a large perverted part of the road to ruinous acts. Despite how large and bountiful the earth is, greed will be it’s downfall.


On the one hand there’s patriotism
on the other hand there’s sanity
I’m sure we can all discuss
without all the profanity.


Religion was not created to beat you, to tie you to unspeakable rule, not there to take your money and your virginity, religion is supposed to be shelter, comfort and love.


The egotist bellowed something about his wealth, never did get those songs.
I like to hear the warm hearts overcoming fear to share their giving soul.


I feel I may be faking it sometimes, that this might just be a self inflicted malady for attention, perhaps I am the type that need to know someone will care when I leave, perhaps to test a loved ones resolve. But who knows who we really are? not me, at the gates perhaps they will hand me a ticket, tell me who I was, and what I was supposed to be doing.


He sat next to her and hoped she would not run, such bravery deserves a delayed humiliation. In internal search for words, all that came was ‘Do you come here often?’, Awkwardly he waited for better. While he waited, she left.


The woman stepped forward to talk and they all began hooting and jeering, as if a completely different species had entered their enclosure. They bounced on their perches and continued to howl. Any minute now I’m sure, these things are going to start slinging their faeces at her.






To clear my head, I walk through the graveyard in the pouring rain. The stones occasionally gleam in the light shed from a peaking moon, todays flowers are being battered to the ground, the mossy path is treacherous under foot. I lift the peak on my wilting hat and spy a pair of vaporous phantoms below sodden umbrellas. Even the ghosts are taking shelter tonight.


A rancid empty husk is shouting that he won
if you are so happy why do you hug your gun?
your tepid darkness merely taints some fun
you cannot blemish the joyous burning sun.


Shadows cast are changing form
independent of their master
horns appear from handles and spouts
demons dance for flickering candles


Give a goat a fish
and he eats for a day
teach a goat to fish
that’s a long term project.


Elegantly the stoat came by
with a crooked look in his eye
he left the scene without shame
now nothing will ever be the same.


I love clear skies so deep and blue
dee da do da do bee doo
I love trees they grow so high
oh me oh my oh sha la li
I love beans they make me fart
parp parp parp parp parp.


Teaching Trump to care, is much like trying to teach a worm to juggle.






The Actions

Mr and Mrs Action crawled out of bed and got dressed. “I won’t leave you behind” cried Mr Action. “Where are my socks?” asked Mrs Action, “I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you” he replied with a devilish grin. “Are you ready?” asked Mr Action, “I was born ready!” she exclaimed, “Shut up and kiss me” drawled Mr Action semi sultrily. Dressed Mr Action went to go down stairs for breakfast, “Cover me, I’m going in” he shouted, then shuffled along the hallway wall. He went to look in the cereal box then mumbled “I’ve got a bad feeling about this..”. Sure enough, the Rice Krispies box was empty. Mrs action reached into one of the higher cupboards, recovering a half full box of Rice Krispies, pulling her shoulder in the process, “I’m getting too old for this shit” she complained. Mr Action stared at the sad little box of half eaten Rice Krispies then bellowed “Is that all you’ve got!?”. Mrs Action tutted and said “We can do this the easy way, or the hard way.. They have them at Tesco, or they may have them at the corner shop”. Mr Action hung his head, “You just don’t get it do you, Rice Krispies are all I’ve got left”. Mr action headed for the door, turning to grab his coat, “There’s a storm coming” he hung his sorry head and added “If I’m not back in ten minutes, don’t you wait for me”. Yeah, you’d better run!” Mrs Action exclaimed.