There once were two cannibals called Devour and Crunch,

Who were sat at a table demolishing their lunch.

Devour said,"I don't like my mother-in-law!"

"Never mind, " said Crunch, "just eat the veg."

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The evening paper and the scuffers

brought revelation. Sammy wasn’t even

his name I discovered and the prayers  

I’d offered were misplaced and useless

or somebody else had stolen salvation.

He wore Ben Shermans, Doc Martens

and a Harrington jacket but a uniform  

isn’t a suit of armour and a five-inch blade

punctured his stuffing, left him clutching

at nothi...

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CHORUS >

O Lord lead me to the right road!  O Lord lead me to the right road

O Lord lead me to the right road...that's where I long to be

...................

I was a sinner man - yes sir-ee... I loved sin and sin loved me

We were thicker than flies could be - be wise and heed this warning

REPEAT CHORUS

The easy life was what I sought - everything that could be bought

A...

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Do not go for a walk

And aloud do not talk

As the thieves are all around

And you’ll easily be found.

Do not sin, you’ll get the AIDS

And will walk on the edge of blades.

Don’t eat nuts or something solid

As your teeth will be soon spoiled.

Don’t run quickly, you can fall,

Won’t be able to walk at all.

Do not sit, take care of...

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(Where do all the shirts go when they've lost?)

I saw a dozen Man U shirts

Proudly on display

Worn by fellow gym members

In Selby yesterday;

I went again this morning

(Tottenham won away)

They must have all been in the wash

     -  Not a one today!

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hear the sound of every rusted, blunted mace

as they greet and meet  through gravity’s lack of grace,

each at thirty two point two,

the fateful rate of this heaving season

where fruits misplace a summer’s trust to kiss the dirt

and, where they fall, corrode and stall the wheels of love

for those we find untouchable

while yet our hearts may still enmesh, b...

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Candle flame doth gently sway
Conjures the demon usually kept at bay
Lover’s felo de se shines bright as the moon
She knows the timing is far too soon

Shriek of hungry vixens surround
She runs to him on frozen ground
Barefoot beneath does not chill
the hunt to have the desired kill

He pulls heavy curtains tight
Blocks out the descending night
She claws ...

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The Raceless

My body is just a shell that I wear,
quite how it looks I have scarcely a care,
for I have no sight to cause me any pain,
or to make me view you with any disdain.

I'm told I have a colour but what does that mean,
perhaps it's like the flavours that I taste in ice cream,
I like the taste of all of those I've ever yet tried,
vanilla, coffee or chocolate, they slide smoothly...

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Hi Everyone,

I haven't posted anything here for some time now; not through lack of interest - but simply time and inspiration. However, I am hoping that some of you might feel willing to help me with something that's very new - well, it is to me anyway. Those of you with whom I've conversed over these last few years will know that I have regularly been an advocate of freeing poetry from the...

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Man waged his final war and got it over with.

Border disputes were settled, cities bombed, military bases raided, jets shot down, people killed and nations pulverized.

At last it's over, the killing and guns silent.

What now in this quiet wasteland world?

Guns were out ammo, bullet factories bombed flat, soldiers dead.

Flowers grow on their grav...

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To allow the thunder to strike me

I must dismiss it

And retaliate

With silence not fear

Mustn’t let my ears fool my heart

Into fooling my head

I’ll let the vibration take me

For now

While the heat pushes the air

To my ears

From afar

Now that’s what I call Music

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Window latch

Forced open

Intruder enters

Velvet curtains

Pushed aside

Silent shadow

Tight leather

Plastic gloves

Feeling direction

Careful footsteps

Creaking stairs

Bedroom door

Turning handle

Pulse racer

Mobile phone

No signal

Heavy breathing

Coming closer

Anxious moments

Body contact

Nervous grip

Holding on

...

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It was cold in Grandma's attic:

Like the chill of her last rest -

How I loved her! - and her dying

Left me sad, alone, depressed -

And the key that she left for me

To her wooden, japanned, chest

Now unlocked what was my portion:

Now, could my soul find its rest?....

In that chest, a vast profusion

Of many a gorgeous evening gown,

And the silke...

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What is life worth?

We live and love.

We laugh and cry.

We scream and Shout and fight.

For what we believe is right

Is this what makes us whole?

He will never experience

the totality of humanity.

He will never understand

the reality of existence.

He will be all that he can Be

and will see

all that he can see.

Three poin...

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Good morning campers

 Time for more ramblings from my mind, spewing forth on the page like a student at a house party. Something a bit more story based from me this time, Inspired by a recent trip to Berlin and a simply amazing club called Weekend. I think the poem tells you everything else you need to know.

Weekend Quest

Low lit square at 3AM
Carriage pulls up
Exchange m...

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A child divides the second

it is born

into infinite places.

All our usual selves

carry out the menial statures.

Some will die,

some will live forever.

Our multiversal persons

protect and extract

savagely and in the most

perfect, foremost differences.

A child divides

because man, woman,

beast and lover

breed in...

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Billy Joel’s rejects

“Touch my taps of polished chrome”;

“I’ve just covered me in foam”;

“You’re my sticky honey comb”;

Good God - an instant pleasure dome.

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A little poem that is very much not in my usual style!
 

Dear Facebook,

 We have known each other a long time now,
 and whilst I know you will always be there for me,
 it is with a heavy heart that I must tell you the following:
 We can no longer be together.

 It’s not you.
 It’s me.
 Honestly.

 I find I can’t keep away from you,
 and I have so much work to do t...

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Miserable grey, damp wet Days

Days shorter and winters Long

Long bleak dark Evenings

Evenings as black as pitch.

Bright frosty cold Mornings

Mornings glistening in the Sun

Sun shines cold as the Day

Day soon will become night.

Snow crisp and White

White flurries fall from the Sky

Sky as white as the Day

Day fades into a crisp evening.

...

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my mother was a slut

who liked cute babies

and went on marches

to ban the bomb

her own mother

named her so

for leading men on

with her ration book stockings

and sooty eyes

I knew her

as a gentle woman

who never looked her father in the eye

nor my father

though she wasn't shy

we drew on the walls

and bed sheets t...

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'ThePoetry Spoke'

Great poetry and acoustic music

This Tuesday - 25th September (Tonight!) - doors open 8pm

Egremont Ferry Hotel

Tobin Street

Wallasey- The Wirral

CH44 1DF (a stones throw over the Mersey from Liverpool)

Check us out in the gig guide...

Our Guest Poet

John Hulme

'Spiritually strong, yet humanly fragile'.  Philosophically ...

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The lonely years spent on his own,
his romantically barren existence.
The humdrum job, the pittance pay,
he never shows resistance.
Every week he clings to hope,
by the TV screen he’s praying.
Fourteen million to one, a so slim chance,
yet he thinks this is mine for the taking.

The machine it turns, the numbers drop,
he can’t believe what he’s seeing,
six in a row, ...

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FIRST CUT

The first cut is brutal

always deep with cold

blade tearing into timber

opening a pathway

for subtler strokes

slicing with sharpness,

carving strongly,

the base for intricate designs

on blocks gripped tightly

in the jaws of steel vices

The last cut is gentler

a loving after thought

adding a signature

to shaped and sha...

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There is one scoffing,
high and winsome
even now about the town-
pointing, looking, directing traffic
this way, that way up and down-
then anointing,
lay the mantra-
cries- 'I love you'
I'm walking side-ways with a frown.

I feel the hem of your thinking...
only to have it tugged away...
only to have it tugged away...
 

words and foto T Carroll

revised

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A small bud, withered

But just a few drops of rain

Beautiful flower.

I was inspired to write

this haiku after reading

Nigel Astell's poem/comment

on my poem "Despair".

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Hey, who ate all the pies?

I’m not saying you are fat

But the last three tarts are gone.

My tin’s empty, fancy that!

Say, who ate all the pies?

It is not that you are plump.

Someone’s had a midnight feast

And is asking for a thump!

Right, who ate all the pies?

Though you’re clearly not obese,

How can you tell such fibs?

I shall call ...

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Outside my door. ..............666 .............maybe the thief was right. ..............no new tricks. Poop!

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And in whatever houses a cat has died by a natural death, all those who dwell in this house shave their eyebrows only, but those in whose houses a dog has died shave their whole body and also their head.  The cats when they are dead are carried away to sacred buildings in the City of Bubastis, where after being embalmed they are buried - Herodotus

Somehow, we’ve acquired a statuette o...

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                                                Sahara April

     This little girl be no strange little girl,

She is a baby,

No stranger,

No strange inclinations

Born of colour – no prejudicial ideas

Taught from strange folk

With strange little minds for;

     She knows not the resentment of

A callous World.

     This little girl be no s...

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About your mother’s face.

Now your memory has degraded,

a suspicion  that mother’s beauty was overestimated.

Youthful photographs, like early snaps of Marilyn,

offer no clues as to her face’s full potential.

The portrait celebrating her beauty’s climax in middle age

disfigured by melancholy.

Mother was ordinary until class mates informed

Y...

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People who have a cushion with a hand sewn folk art owl on

Will at some point draw a moustache on their finger

They will place that finger under their nose and pose

For a photograph

The members of the BNP will not study philosophy

Since they are given the label ‘the far right’

They assume they have all the answers

Whether you cut carrots into batons...

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MUD

Mud is good,
It's dead good mud,
It's in me blood,
but where not understood,
us people of mud,
In the shadow of a gas tank and born on a mersey bank, i lived on cobbled streets dark and dank,
i played on a ship that sank, and for anything else i wouldnt thank....... you
On king street docks, girls in cheap frocks, curly locks, time tocks, the boat rocks,
The tanyard sme...

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When I was first alone

I cut off all my hair

time turned upside down

sleeping in the day

sleepless all night long

world service mornings

warmed by the rayburn

with a cat for comfort.

For weeks my fingers were so cold.

I'd touch faces -

people would recoil

at my icy icy hands.

It was my party piece...

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rott  ing

birch es

like  to

bacc o

summ er

fall    ing

green now

yell      ow

so man

y  oaks

so  few

a corns

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spills out of the cafe

bouncing off formica tables

wreathed in steam from pint-sized mugs of tea

rolls out across the concourse

to dance in autumn sunshine

prancing round the buses that will leave

from this place no-one’s heard of

to another one no-one knows

and the drivers smoking cigarettes

and the mothers who are barely more than girls

and ...

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PILGRIMAGE

We need to walk a pilgrims way,

Hard firing for we men of clay,

A palmers cross and scallop shell,

To close and clasp the gates of hell.

Celestial towers beyond each cloud,

The trumpets sounding clear and loud,

The golden footpath leading on,

Bright dreams eternal, all doubts gone.

But pilgrims roads have chasms deep,

Th...

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President Kennedy, won’t you come back to me

Tell me all you know,

Tell me about Marilyn Monroe

Tell me about Oswald, Ruby and J Edgar Hoover,

The CIA and their secret manoeuvres

Tell me about Dealey Plaza and the Dallas motorcade

Tell me about Elm Street and your final wave

President Kennedy, won’t you come back to me

Tell me all you know,

Tell m...

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As life's wheel rotates 
Sometimes it seems that all is lost,
Or that the newest, will be the greatest turn.
But, since we have to learn to fly
Before we ever crash and burn
See each move or generation ahead instead,
As simply the latest in an everlastingly long line of revolutions.

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I love the air at this time of night,

cool and forgiving upon my skin,

the scent of the garden leaves

and the heat of the day,

washed away by the soft gentle rain.

The birds have stopped their chattering,

Quiet for a time,

and the outline of the distant

building blurs for a while.

They say that ten is the healing hour,

when the angels listen to our prayers,

whisphe...

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In Germany

I'm Herr

In Church 

I'm Hymn

In Letter

I'm Sir

In Birth  

I'm Twin.

In Rome 

I'm Italian

In Summer

I'm Hot

In Love

I'm Stallion

In Truth

I'm Not.

In Scotland 

I'm Jock

In Glasgow

I'm Born

In Whiskey

I'm Scotch

In Kilt 

I'm Worn.

In French 

I'm Revolution

In Paris...

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Fire radiates in my eyes,

desire’s  claim is at stake,

on my bed the exuberant palm tree brightens my breasts

with the curly waves of your kisses

A prismatic encounter greeting  you with anxiety in my body

Beyond the fury of my skin

my breathing becomes dizzying,

tremulous moans the voice of sunset ,

and dresses me as Spring

Feline, sin assails me, wa...

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We’re pleased to announce the following promotions for our 24th September OpenMind event at Fuel Cafe Bar.

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You can work very hard and long-

you can give of your best always.

But - do you know what ?

people won't like you if you don't 'smile and laugh'.

You can take all the stress that comes your way-

you can take lot's of hardships and the low pay.

But - do you know what ?

people won't like you if you don't 'smile and laugh'.

Yes you can take hatred,racism...

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The walls of life are closing in;

her world reduced to one room

covered in pictures that sometimes

jog memories, but more often

questions, like: ‘Who is that man?

I don’t know him.’

                      ‘That’s Dad, Mum.’

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Caroline talked in her sleep last night.

She told a story about a cat.

“The cat sits amongst the flowers,” she said.

“The cat is happy.” And that

was the end of the story.

She sometimes sings in her sleep, too.

Murmurings of lullabies,

sugared lips slightly parting

mouthing the words to forgotten songs.

As she sleeps, tells stories and sings,

...

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The Violinist

Fingers moving to fragments of chords,

he tries to connect to sounds in his head,

but buried in sand, notes slip through his hands,

and the roar of the sea takes over.

Fingers strumming invisible strings,

he can’t understand what they’re doing.

His fingertips sense a tune he can’t hear,

and the naked silence takes over.

T...

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(For the girl who thought that her freckles weren`t sexy)

Fellas don`t you sometimes speculate

Why it is only some girls freckulate?

Maureen now, to take a case,

Has many sprinkling her face.

She`s even got two streams- by eck,

A-trickling a-down her neck.

And –until the weather`s colder –

Niagras tumbling round each shoulder.

Two, more brav...

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The moon in summer
Is pure above the fields
Like a coin settled
In a clear pool.

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A salutory tale!

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Sadly, I can’t be at the BARDS poetry in New Brighton, Wirral (Magazine pub, Magazine Row, CH45 1HP) this Monday,10 September. Work commitments, you see …

But now my pal Julie Goodyear has been ejected from the BB house, I’ve asked her to attend instead of me. I think you’ll agree she is my equal in terms of pulchritude and eloquence.

If she can’t make it, well don’t worry; there are pl...

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While Poetry Unplugged was off schedule for a couple of weeks, I took the time to produce some experimental material for my performance on the big comeback night. As difficulty coming up with fluent end rhymes has always been my biggest restriction in writing poetry in my second language, I decided to seek help from a rhyming dictionary. It turned out to be a brilliant idea; I was excited, like...

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Men can't dance
But can tread on toes,
Wander pub to pub, whisper wise owl tones
About the latest football signing
And how the kids and a woman's whining
Brought them here to drink.

Men love their kids
But tend to boast
Name their first born son by the same first name
And urge the lad to lay the ghost
of their own poor luck when they came this close

to some meaningf...

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Cotton Town

‘It’s grim up north’

I heard him say

The old man knew

he’d worked in the mines

since the beginning of time

‘Salt of the Earth ‘

is what my mum said

‘Where the motorway is cobbled

and they still point at aeroplanes’

said others

- but with a grin

we take it on the chin

I can only hope she was right

she used to s...

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Never mine at first

Teenage purse wouldn’t stretch

to antique pine,

to posts

Your predecessor,

structureless,

lay low;  

squat stained

stripey lumpen

dough

First embrace in ‘88

Behind you lived a history

of needledrop and resin

I wondered if you’d ever

fruited cones

Lovers lain,

hes and shes

Dreams conceived,

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Oh!  I'm gobsmacked! Thrilled but gobsmacked!
I've been so mesmerised by the paralympics I never looked at my computer this weekend.
I feel quite humble given the great poems that were entered in the comp.
Thank you all you who voted for '100 metres' and thanks to Graham for organising the comp. XX

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Z, is it merely a typo for X,

a phone pushed too hard

or misplaced fingers on qwerty keyboard?

Or does Z mean sleep tight?

Alas I can never sleep as tight

as when I finally hold you in my arms

and wake to sunshine even in a perilous Pennine Autumn.

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In the footsteps of our fathers

we took the restoration trail

through wooded hill and wetland

from Aspull through to Haigh

sucked up the coldness

of a late winter sun

reflected on

the stillness of it all

each sunken dead tree scrum

on mirrored flash

no whispering grass

all secrets to the grave

and in the distance stark reminder

...

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Penguin woman

Penguin woman walks imaginary hills

Takes two steps, then stops and checks her pockets

Hands like spatulas slowly scooping nothing

She shrugs shoulders down into a burdened breath

Tongue clucking, looking down the road

She shifts her weight like a stood-up date, sighing

Her make-up’s three days old; her shoes are scuffed and flat

F...

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While on holiday in Sardinia, a wild storm inspired the following poem...

Read the words here >>>

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