Sea shanties


We take the fishing boat out to sea, just boat, weather, me and he.
He has done this many times before, he stranger more to the shore,
Out we go no fear at all, we did not hear a thing of Squall.
Dipping lines and pulling fish, more idyllic time we could not wish,
Resting now our eyes close, were not to see where the dark skies rose
Only waking as the boat swings and shakes, to miss this storm we are too late
We can only hold on tight, the gods alone know of our plight
No rest from foam horses hoof, kicking the boats hull and roof
Start to dream of being home, then realise I am alone.


I admire the diamonds shimmering, on an infinite turquoise sea
enraptured enthralled entranced, the mermaids sing to me
I dive through the dancing jewels, let the angels carry me down
sinking to the darkness in bliss, what a perfect way to drown.


The sea’s surface rises above me for what I think the last time, the sea is so calm, yet have not energy to remain afloat. The rushing of water fills my ears, my final breath pushes to be released and my eyes track the sparkling surface rising away from me. I try desperately to regain the surface, oh what place is this for a man, desperate thought coincides with hearing a beautiful voice, singing purely above the sound of rushing wave. though the darkness to me approaches such beauty, her eyes brightest blue, her hair long and flowing red, her body iridescent, her tail shimmering black, powerfully swimming to me, a mermaid as real as you or I.
She gathers me in her arms and carries me up, Nearer the light towards the surface she looks ever more beautiful. Breaking the surface I gasp for this miracle breath, my head rests on her shoulder as my consciousness leaves in exhaustion.
waking to the most beautifully gentle reassuring song as I remain in her care.

No win

Wound up like a spring
she puts up with these comments every day,
on the frontline of callous cruel words,
today one too many to cope with,
the evil had no sooner left his lips
when she saw the post laying there,
so this hammer rang against his ear
the bell rang several times,
but now no more,
what release felt
leaving with adrenalin
consequences now arrive.



A few of my recent short poems:

Blackbird outside my window singing beautifully for me,
a finer song than anything you’d hear from shitty MTV.

Hunters moon hanging
lighting the way for the no good
watch you back and your loved ones
just blue moonlight where they stood.

It’s early in the morning,
the dew still has no fear of the sun,
she has yet to crawl far over the earth’s shoulder,
out among rolling fields I park the car in a lay-by,
crunching into the gravel, I switch off the engine,
across the fields tall trees stand naked
but for the dark clouds of large nests
scattered in the higher boughs,
the crows are waking I can hear their caws
echoing over the ploughed field,
hidden in bushes near, the sparrows chatter,
while the mist rolling across the field thins
as the sun makes her presence felt,
I watch the crows gather and cackle
as they head out for their day of play.
the sparrows take flight as I restart the engine,
recharged, I too start my day.


A moon shaped pool

It’s like paddling your boat,
into the middle of a lake,
the air is cool,
you dip your fingers,
the water is warm,
you see the water is clear,
so you let yourself tip,
tip into the warm clear water,
sink down eyes wide open,
the twinkling surface rises,
the iridescent fish dance,
as you sink to the bottom,
and stay in happy isolation

countless words have passed my eyes
tired now I need my beddie-bise

Sunday outing

Sunday outing

Sunday, heading out for the day, Jumping into the car and hitting the road. It’s a gorgeous day, the sky has not a cloud interrupting its deep blue endlessness, just breeze enough to cool the brow. It’s early so there is still a little dew on the grass, and it’s nice and quiet.

Half an hour into the drive and this changes as the traffic thickens up, folks looking for their memorable day in the sun. Me too, excited to get out in the open air and see the sights, enjoy some nice food, a cool drink, take in the day.
Arriving at the venue early, few people are about here, vendors just opening their places, morning coffee drunk while we wait for the cogs to gain some momentum. As more people arrive, more noise and more movement, and the first sign of that feeling, the feeling of discomfort amongst the crowd.
The distractions are enough for now, I take some photos and appreciate the sights, then join the queue for food, the feeling builds, and I begin to wonder how much longer distraction is enough to counter the building discomfort, what was once excitement changes to building panic, I look at my watch it shows it is only just approaching lunch time. But I have had enough of the crowds, enough of the raucous laughter, the dingbats revelling in the attention. Too much today, back to the car, to enjoy the comfort of solitude.



I’ll jump up, and decide not to come down, I will stay up there.
Watch the ground fall away from my feet, unafraid, up to the blue.
The earth will pass beneath me, this and the next one.


Spring brings hope. Flowers craning for a better view over the grass.
New life skips through a field and pulls at fresh shoots to eat.
Some new life is taken by the old, for their new life needs feeding too.
The wind no longer bites at our cheek, just gently takes the edge off an energetic sun.
No longer are we in a rush to get back to our burrow. Evenings sprawled out invitingly late. Darkness timidly waits but never gets to take hold.
Enjoy, before the flowers wilt, grass yellows and summer quashes growth.


The people line up and salute the flag and listen to the national anthem, ‘doesn’t it give you chills’ says the man next to me.
The flag representing the people nearest to us, the anthem sung for solidarity and pride. We identify with those closest. They went to the same school, they largely look like us, have similar facial features, watched Thunder Cats on Saturday morning and went to the same shops, walked the same streets, ate the same food, we are comfortable with the similarity.
Those over there, they did not watch what we watched, did not eat the same food, did not listen to the same music, they have slightly different facial architecture, different hair, it grows in different ways and colour, their weather changed their bodies over hundreds of years, they speak a different tongue. They are not us, we do not identify with them.
But I saw them cry when their loved one died, they hug their mothers, I saw them enjoying the fruits of the earth, raising and encouraging their children, just like us, I watched every nation enjoying sport. They are us.
So sorry no, I don’t enjoy the flags or the anthems, everything that encourages us against them, I’d bury the flags, and silence the anthems.


My one vice

How do folks drive at the speed limit on motorways?, sure in the city there is danger at every turn, and country lanes have blind bends that you must watch out for. But the motorways are huge expanses of wide concrete, gentle curves and no junction, yet they ask us to drive no more than seventy miles per hour, a ridiculous pedestrian speed, a speed to send people to sleep, and that is the last thing you need while driving, one moment awake, next moment asleep permanently. The cure for this boredom induced sleep is speed, and lots of it, see how fast your car will go, no matter what car, fearsomely fast Ferrari or sedate Citroen, they will enjoy the challenge set for them, a break from their usual meandering pace, a chance for them to clear the arteries of sludge and fill the lungs. An Italian tune up they used to call it. When some poor car driven by a little old lady who cannot see as far as the end of her bonnet clogs up their cars engine from lack of use, the mechanic would head out and give it the thrashing of its life, and enjoy it too. Comes back purring like a kitten.
So let your car run free, it is a wonderful feeling to be going as fast as the car can manage, smashing wind aside, thundering along the road screaming and bawling. making the dawdling cars shudder from side to side as you barrel past. It’s a little piece of rebellion and freedom.



If your teapot dribbles,
you need to be more
committed in your tip,
confidently pour it
and you will not
spill one drip.


In a garden far away, a long time ago..


Lisa pedals her tricycle around the pond, she pedals carefully as her dog Rigby trots alongside her, he looks up lovingly, tongue lolled out of his smiling mouth. She has secreted in her pocket, plans, plans that could bring down the overbearing  power in this garden.
While pedalling, a menacing presence sneaks behind in his pedal cart, Darren has slyness written all over his face, like a fox on the wrong side of the henhouse fence. He has an air of superiority ever since the treehouse was constructed, it looms over the garden as a powerful stench. Darren reaches out and grabs Lisa’s handlebars, “Stop, I know you have my plans, where are they?” he whines,
“Stop being so stupid, what plans?”
“The plans to my treehouse that’s what!”, throwing his cart down and waving his hands in frustration. While he is distracted by his strop, Lisa quickly secretes the paper under Rigby’s collar, “Go to Mom” she tells him, encouraging him with a push, he trots off obediently. Darren is incensed, “Turn out your pockets” he demands, but finds nothing, ‘Right you are now my prisoner” he unreasonably demands and shoves Lisa unceremoniously up the ladder, into the dreaded tree house. From up there all is small, all vulnerable to its presence, and this had gone straight to Darren’s head.

Rigby arrives in the kitchen and is immediately distracted by the smell of bacon. Sitting at the kitchen counter is Leo, eating a bacon sandwich, Rigby sits at Leo’s feet and looks up longingly at the sandwich. “OK Rigby, but only a bit” he tears off a little strip protruding from his sandwich and hands it down to Rigby, who takes it in wagging happiness.
“So where is Lisa? you never leave her side”, Rigby looks sideways at Leo, he is still distracted. “Where’s Lisa, where is she?” Leo sings excitedly to motivate Rigby. The young spaniel’s ears bounce as he runs in a circle and out of the kitchen door, turning to see that he is followed.
He trots to the bottom of the garden and looks up the tree.
“The tree?, she wont be in the tree, Darren wouldn’t allow anyone up there, come on, lets go get a drink”. Rigby’s enthusiasm engaged in another direction he runs over and follows Leo back into the kitchen, Leo sits back down on a stool in the kitchen, through from the hallway Hank arrives, taller and more sure of himself than Leo, for he is two whole years older, “What are you having” said Leo,
“Oh just lemonade”, Leo pours two lemonades and they sit and stare out of the window, down the garden over the pond towards the tree. “How come Rigby is here?, he never leaves Lisa alone, where is she?” asks Hank,
“Ha! I just asked him that, he went over to the tree”
“Darren wouldn’t have let her in there could he? lets go check it out” They both finished their lemonade, jumped from the stools and walked out into the garden, Rigby ran around in excited circles as they got nearer the treehouse. “Where have you been Rigby?” Lisa shouted down from up the ladder, “Shut up you!” stropped Darren and both Leo and Hank could hear some scuffling from up the tree. Now they had their dander up! so they shot up the ladder and confronted Darren, “what do you think you’re doing you loon?!” demanded Leo, “She has the plans to my treehouse..” whined Darren, “So what, you cant just do what you like” Hank interrupted. “come on Lisa, come back and have some lemonade, let this twit to his treehouse alone”.
Leo, Hank and Lisa all climbed back down, back to an excited twirling excited dog.
All four sit in the kitchen, three enjoying a lemonade looking out at the abandoned tricycle and cart. “What the heck was Darren on about? plans?” asks Leo, “come on Rigby!” Lisa calls. and he trots over and sits next to her as she pulls the paper out from under his collar, “Here it is, the plan to his precious treehouse”. Hank and Leo unfold the paper and spread it open on the kitchen counter, looking at the plans and wondering what the fuss was for, “Just a minute” said Hank, “If we cut this bit here, it will all fall down” he said and pointed to the ‘Achilles heel’ in Darren’s grand treehouse.
“But it is a nice treehouse”, said Hank, “But nothing!” countered Lisa, and marched to the shed, she returns brandishing a saw. “Well ok, we’ll help stop any trouble from Darren”.
All three arrive at the foot of the tree, Lisa shouts up “Get down now, or come down in bits with you crappy tree house!”, “I’m not going anywhere, wait till dad hears about this!” Lisa spots the bracing piece that holds everything up, “Come on Hank give me a bunk up”, he laces his hands and Lisa steps into the stirrup and reaches up wobbling with the saw and begins to enthusiastically attack the brace.
“Come down Darren, stop being silly” shouts Leo,
“No way, it’s mine, you’re not having it”
Lisa still sawing with vigour, the saw is sharp and is biting deeply into the wood, her face is getting rosy and she starts to sway with tiredness, Hank steadies her and she gives the sawing a final attack of anger and breaks through to the other side of the brace, at first nothing then at the sound of a loud crack, all three retreat back to the pond, Darren heard the crack too, and can feel the unsteadiness of his treehouse, He hugs a large branch that juts right through the middle of his beautiful high room, from there he watches, as with every creak and snap the house tumbles down around him, leaving him clinging to the bare tree. Now he can see the three laughing faces on the lawn. “I’ll get you back!” he bawls “I’ll get you back!”.

Tom Waits


There has been much written of Tom Wait’s eccentricities. His vintage cars filled with magazines, books and newspapers, his flat refusal to conform to any prevailing fashion, his vague descriptive instruction to his musicians. What to write that hasn’t been written already about him. And who would want to know any more?, the enigma must surely remain intact. So…
He spent the time between Black rider and Mule variations training elephants, not to do tricks you understand, but to help them avoid looking bright enough for people to want to train them. Instructing them to look dumb, so no numbskull human will come and try to teach them to lift logs or balance on one leg while juggling a harpoon gun. ‘Oh no I can’t do that I’m just one of those stupid elephants that can only trump, stomp and eat, look elsewhere. Maybe you’ll be wanting one of those horses over there’.
After this Tom expanded his animal whispering to dogs, a lucrative market if he could only figure out how to charge a dog for his services. The owners seem dead against wilding their dogs.
For a time while at the circus, Tom worked the high wire. He would cycle backwards nonchalantly, while eating a banana, a simple trick for one so gifted, sometimes he would feel he must add more danger by playing the piano on his bicycle, he played tango while racing along the wire, before the flame burned right through the rope holding the hot coals in a bucket just above his head. Both the audience would go wild. Ticket sales are not what they once were.
After the much publicised toenail incident that ruined a promising career as a foot model, Tom was forced back into the studio.

Flawed heroes and coffee

Hunter S Thompson

I never knew which way he was thinking, or which way he was walking.
His head twitching around with every errant thought spark.
His legs flailing at air making no attempt at direction.
What a dangerously wonderful mixture he was.



She sits low and shiny, and rusty, old but purposeful. I press the button in the chrome door handle, and pull open the door, sit myself into the sagging seat. the cabin smells of vinyl, oil and gasoline. The large slim rimmed steering wheel sits in my lap, a chrome horn ring smiles in the centre. To my left the long gearstick reaches up to me offering a large chrome ball. I rattle it from side to side, pull the choke half way out and push the ignition key into the dashboard, twist and listen to the starter motor whine for a turn or two, till the engine bursts into life. Misfiring and spluttering till I get the choke just so. Wind the window crank to get some air, push in the clutch, select first, look around over the low seats, all clear. give her some throttle and kangaroo into another vintage car adventure.


The sun pours in through the kitchen window.
Lighting a row of miscellaneous cups on an eye level shelf.
I take a white cup, a kitten stares adorably out of its porcelain flank.
Warming the machine at the press of a button, light glows and electricity hums.
Behind the oak door swinging open, a box, the package within crushed down.
Rattling in a drawer I find a spoon, the shiniest amongst its peers.
Spoon coffee into filter, placing cup under the spout.
Tiny aromatic clouds rise from the filling cup.
The light, the sound and smell of morning.


Today, a theme, sleep.


Lying in my bed, blanket tucked up against my jaw, plump pillow cradling my head. I drift between worlds. Feeling slips away as my mind leaves this place. I fall, waking in a start I catch my breath, my heart’s leap unsettled my breathing. I have not fallen at all. Just a feeling.
My heart rate slows, my eyelids close and I once again embark on nocturnal journey.


Tucked into a ball of heat, too hot for comfort, turn the pillow and stretch my legs out to the cooler parts of the sheet, unconsciously sigh and smile at the simple bliss, before falling back to sleep.


I look for that perfect place to put my mind, to help it go to sleep. Imagining dreams I’ve had, how they were shot and how they felt, reminding myself what dreams feel like, falling and waking, up and down riding a gentle snoozy roller coaster.


Sharing my bed,
such radiant beauty,
such warmth of heart,
such cold feet!

To be continued

Some more escapees from my head.
Just twenty six letters to form words yet they seem to be infinite in their shapes.
Well some days. Other days they fall predictably plain.
Minds, can’t live with them..

If you enjoy the words pass it on, if you do not, then forget it.


A lust for life, a passion to gorge on all, every colour, flavour and smell, every book, all sex, music and every poison too, everything excites, greedily everything is tried.
But this poison tried, to just try, was greedy too.. It saw the willing host and went to fill, and the poison took more room, there was less space for colour, less room for music, every passion shoved aside, soon the poison was almost all. This dark grip only allowed false image in the mirror, keeping truth from it’s victim.
But one lucky day, a glimpse in the tiniest of shards showed true reflection, this was enough for revelation, poison’s grasp was strong, but the stark image shown was plenty to keep picking at poison’s claws, day by day, till it fell away.
The void still must be filled, choose well.


There was this friendly carrion crow,
Where I would go he would follow,
He had a slight limp and a crooked beak,
But I haven’t seen him for at least a week,
Perhaps he thought he was too foreboding,
Crows tend to gather fear and loathing,
I am missing my shadow on my walk,
But wait, I think I hear his squawk!

short untitled

Read books to take you to amazing places.
Play music to bring your friends.

I don’t mind you bringing short people once in a while,
but don’t make it a hobbit.