Quite nice, on the whole, that religious chap.

High up, apparently. (Could even be the boss;

‘Numéro Uno’, said a bodyguard.)

He gave me forty minutes;

Has some good ideas.

Drinks shandy with lunch

(‘Must keep a clear head’).

Unsurprising views on midweek sex (he is sceptical)

And Elvis impersonators (better in the North).

Unlike his autobiography,

Entitled ‘Who’...

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Poupée de glace modelée par les regards 

Figurine de lumière 

Mais carcan de toile 

Fuite impossible 

Grâce piégée dans la création.  

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Lips polished by the red design,

Dove eyes talk about the beauty fine,

Intricate thoughts about you in totality,

You look like an old wine…

Taking my mind to the cloud nine.

Thy lips express the cheer,

How pretty you look! I swear.

Mannequin or the celestial nymph?

To every eye you must be dear,

Precious you, simply take care.

Your eyes are the emblem of rom...

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Wrote a few lines on Kangana Ranaut, the bollywood celebrity, who wears too much black to look like an assassin.

So you believe, arrows are sweet;
You have made your mind not to retreat,
Not absolving me any more…
Set sail on the track and therefore,
My agony elevated, fetching me more trouble,
I am in my lonliness unable to even wobble…
Oh God! How can you be so great?
Sealing my beauti...

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Windsor Street

No bunting flutters in the breeze,

no boys and girls, dressed up so neat,

with not a scratch upon their knees.

There are no flags on Windsor Street.

There are no parties in the yard,

the sandwiches will hold no meat.

They will send no greetings card

‘from the residents of Windsor Street’.

There are no beds of scented flowers,

there are no...

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This Is The News

You know that there are statistics

waiting to be displayed

when a BBC reporter

stands to the left of a brick wall -

and when the report’s about finance

and they’re stood out in the rain,

you know they’re going to make a pun

about saving for a rainy day.

When did the news become a vehicle

for cheap shots and sound-bites?

Where young report...

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Everything watered down as to not offend
There's no relationship you need to mend
WHen you've got the tv as a friend
Taking comfort in Big Brother once again
Your day feels like the one before
Sick of all your slavery chores
Throw everything down on the floor
To find out celebrity whispers behind closed doors
The A to Z of who's banging who
The story of the latest murder on the news
A zi...

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The flow I enjoy to come and go,

As I please with or against the breeze,

Like water flowing without the resistance,

Of opportunities for autographs or selfies

It is the privilege of the obscure majority,

To live without resistance to our liquidity,

To not owe every gratitude to new found difficulties,

I don't want fame, let me stay a minority.

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Christmas Day and New Year has been and gone but, the false enthusiasm is still here,

With the pan stick you plough on, because it's your duty to instill cheer,

It's just that time of year, except it's the 8th of Jan, the presents have been unwrapped, carols have been sung and the roasting tin packed away.

John Thompson nurtures his whisky hangover in the Green Room gloom,

And wonders ...

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Driven sick of fame today

Fuelled by tacky magazines with nothing to say

Driven insane by things I see

Stuck in a hole by celebrity apathy

A-listers claim their right to riches

Turning them into divas and conceited bitches

Not enough to pose woodenly in front of a lens

But to sign contracts from the gullible to suit their ends

Celebrity today is purely cheap

La...

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When all the laughter stops, when it abides,
And all the tears of joy begin to dry,
When all the world looks up from aching sides,
And all the breathlessness allows a sigh.

A light, so brightly shining starts to wane,
But hidden out of sight, battles in vain.

When all the smiles are full, when they recede,
And straighten out into a furrowed frown,
When all the life in vibrancy concedes...

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The breath had left her, not long ago.
Her face, pressed into the pillow
Drained black tears onto white linen.
Her fight had been lost; the long battle had ravaged her
And her iconic war paint scrawled ironic defeat in tracks
Down her pale skin onto paler sheets.

A motionless husk; as she lays there;
Her raven hair, unravelled from familiarity,
Fall's delicately on her back,
...

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Not much rain that month they say - May of nineteen-forty-six;

the ache of war, still in the bones, where Cregagh boys kicked tries

down at Malone and dodged the sixes from the next-door cricket pitch. 

Wednesday, the twenty-second, an ordinary Belfast day,

but some alignment of the spheres, some sorcery, conspiracy of Gods,

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Annabel and Dave are sorted

toast the life they always courted

with Johnny Walker Black (imported)

by a geezer in Gibraltar.

Dave’s new boat’s a thirty footer

cowhide seats as soft as butter

room to practice with his putter

cruising down to Malta.

Made his pile in double glazing

take and margins just amazing

dreams of days of golf and lazing

on the Costa’s beac...

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