Seeing how mother earth is raped every day

Polluting the air and water with no end

Scraping the oceans for the last bit of fish

 Saving the forests is a joke, they just pretend 

While COP 26 trying to make some rules

taking Air and Water for fools

Exposing that 1% of us, more or less

is producing 66% of the mess

Now, they want to go to Mars

with no air to bre...

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in my soul she dances on,

tuned to a polka her feet,

swish of expensive velvet

big teeth white and neat

dance band chords echo

wind and brass combine

but can't erase the stink

of spilt burnt turpentine

smoke up my nostrils

provoked by her deeds

loung lizards basking

careless of my needs

tunes one after another

standards she'd adored

at her f...

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you say I'll get what's coming to me

that I'll pay for making your life hell

one day I'll be on the receiving end

when hot flames I no longer quell

there's a smouldering hell in every heart

waiting its moment to rise up and burn

it lurks beneath the smiles and glances

you're lucky if you don't get your turn

yet I never meant to make you suffer

I'm no saint but ...

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It seems only yesterday we were fine

How I yearned for the feel of your mouth

Your every touch would set me on fire

Whether north west east or south

The sight of smoke on the horizon

Haunts me now when I look back

For it was over yonder hill we flourished

Before my thoughts turned so black

That  dark column taunts my tortured eyes

Acrid embers still fly off in ...

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on the roof hawk chicks

secure at

twenty-three

floors high

nestle their mother

under bright sun

watching

the male soar

free to hunt,

enquiring amber eyes seeing

colours we can't

no

flames

disturb the

eyrie no

screams ascend or

smoke black as

seventy-one funerals

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Blue Smoke Ghost

A matchbox scratch

A flare of light

The smell of sulphur

A yellow patch

Above his chair

On the ceiling

A row of pipes

Hung in a rack

Saliva drips

The suck

And suck

And suck on shank

Red glow

In the dusk

On a back step

The aroma

Of spices

In the ready-rub

Scratching

Grey ash

From the c...

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A visitor
(Arthur Mee’s England: Gloucestershire; 1939)

A book arrived yesterday
- a visitor from the last century
Visiting our modern-times day.

Carries news and views
But no photographs or maps.

Tells us all about
The places
And the faces

Of the people
Who went there.

But most of all of everything
It brings the smoke
Of years gone by -
An incense offering to the gods.

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Neutral mind draped across grimy windows,

Got to be cocks and screwdrivers

Ducking and diving across unexpected surprises

Policies of strange girls from Blackpool

and Brief Encounters recycled in Staleybridge

Lumps of snot tubes or mask

Red sore skin rubbed to rust

We meet in hospital corridors,

Platforms of abandoned train stations

It was 50 yea...

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Playing with the idea of this place.Aplace which takes in lost souls..Is it a good place or bad place.

Time will tell.

The cigarette smoke hangs heavy in the air.

Looks good in films

But in real life,

In this place it clings to you

Like a broken dream.

The neon beer light covers many sins

And many more failed lives.

In the corner sits a man,

P...

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Read more …

FIRE

Fire is so beautiful in its own deadly way.

A diverse visual cacophony of colours

all thrown together, each a different

element back in its base gas. Chemical release.

Thick dense smoke curls upwards,

forming a choking cloud which glows

blood red from the wicked flames.

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I’m glad the steam rally won’t be here again.

I can ride past on the 85 with no reminder.

Nothing to make me dwell on those three days each year

When you were so engrossed – in steam!

Although we had the ancient taxi – off  the plate -

You had to go there on your bike - I bussed it.

It seemed so romantic, meeting up

as you removed your cycle clips

while I f...

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