How do you fancy ripping tents up, Angie,

instead of nipping to the corner shop?

Here in the town of Stockport, Lancashire,

when sirens sounded, townsfolk gratefully fled

to shelter under arches stout and strong;

but now, the stench of death pervades the air,

the body politic is now corrupt;

no air raid shelters for the innocents

of Gaza under rubble, three months gone;

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Know You Better

I know you will be there at the agreed date and time.

I open my screen and there you are;

no excuses, not late, nor disinterested, never vague,

rather switched on, involved, intense, passionate, reflective, attentive.

Called to the stand I find a voice.

You listen quietly as I speak the unspoken.

Kindly, you allow me to continue

neve...

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Birds in nests, delicate bluebells

Thrive in demanding abundance

Nature takes its course

As the animals go wild

Overcoming your insecurities

Whether swimming in lakes or crossing gateposts

Catching ghosts in the shadows

But you must let them go.

Run through the wind

And John said "Oh dear! Oh dear!"

Lozenge lawns running through the winds

He is ...

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Boxes of snore, law and war

Old soldiers in days of yore

Endless revising for the school dance

Go West across the park and guess

Who Fred could be

The black lab drags behind

Whilst a parrot swears

The social workers say it's OK

Not that I'd wish it on his people

But isn't it a shame that Kim

Can't have the wrath of Irma -

Or was it him that caused it...

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An apt public hanging, packed treasure

Not like mine

The past zooms into focus in blow-up

In camera obscura

No-one spoke,

And the silence said volumes

Spuds and carrots and don't forget

To pick up the horseshit!

All sit in Domino rolls

I never told my students of stories

Waiting to escape

Pictures of matchstick men

Waiting to escape...

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Blue enchantment, starlight pallette

Nazi visions of underworld clowns

An evening of art, newborns, and profanity

The clown is still king.

The bubbling, squeaking sound rising

Shaking in a frantic situation

Blood swept under a script

I saw the fox and he saw me

Creatives of the underworld

Bleed out onto the page, voice rage

We sit in a kaleidoscopic wom...

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Iron bird, place the peg

On your nose and press your hair

Pale Beyonce dances

Uncertainly with clowns

Blonde power Olympic salute

Curl your fingers around mine

On a dancefloor of angels

I am so angry that those lies

Still dominate those folks

To cut into the last horizon

Fragmented thunderstorms

I was scared to death

Clicking heels

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Sombre words, rigorous debate, helpless giggles:

Poetry lives. Don't play out, girls and boys:

The moonlight is dangerous!

My ambition to be described as: "Never mediocre"

Sleepless shadows on chintzy walls

Kiss of life was full of passion

Pity it was only a fish!

They recede, like wounded soldiers, into forests

Swathed in mist. Mask of beauty, height of...

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Tense reticence, the kiss of limbs

for Hanging’s biggest fan

Free and easy

Scattered island red

Poll blood hundred to the dozen

The long, elastic tug-of-war of love

Forgive me if I did not understand:

Lord, may my faith grow ever stronger

A voice cracking on the radio,

Giving some sort of verification

That the static’s home.

I know that it’...

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True tale of invitation at an early hour,

To rhyme or not to rhyme?!

Are we antique if we park where indicated?

Teddies and teapots, soft sleep suits, downy duvets

This is one passage that I will pass

Antique books; antique folk; antique buildings;

And the greatest antique of all – poetry.

A giant poo stuck in the loo

Place is now and the ...

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Recycled memories

Fall like snow

Smothered across

Degrees of memories

Bits of paper flutter

Along the pavement

Get to work, boy!

I would like to wish you all

A really nice, safe new year

Taking stock of empty boxes

Mrs Browne is a mean old witch.

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Strong families keep the memory of the nest alive

Music and life lasts a lifetime,

And each cloud holds a smile

I’m cold and thinking about John Denver for a while

Listening to the tumbling words that spin

I’m on the asparagus spectrum

And what with where-withal and where-without we face

And poets, when called to hate,

Are drawn to hope and love...

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