To the bog again,

with the ghosts of forefathers looking on,

surveying the task before them.

Along the turf face, the marks of the sleán,

slim, practised cuts,

a tribute to skills passed down the generations

who have worked this land

beyond memory.

Still-damp turves to turn,

dry stacks to gather in.

Fuel to stave off the cruel winter about to come.

Fuel to feed the...

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Snakes don't kiss.

I know this because I used to be one,

in a former life,

long time ago,

biblically speaking.

Snakes don’t kiss cos their hiss gets in the way,

and that long long tongue you see with the V?

Gets all tangled when two snakes frenchie.

No, snakes don't kiss.

But never take a bet on it,

especially with a snake.

'Cause apart from not kissing, ...

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A pizza base to die for,

I eat the edges first,

With toppings I can savour

Until my tummy bursts.

Its taste cannot be faulted,

With mushrooms, not a few;

There’s capers, small and salted,

And ham and olives too.

It’s heaped with mozzarella,

And a spiced tomato paste;

A taste of vita bella,

So let nothing go to waste.

I’m going there for dinner,

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We went to the seaside to sit in the sun

Sending home postcards suitably dutiful

And on them we wrote with a sense of good fun

Weather is here, we wish you were beautiful

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Alas poor Bill stopped writing long ago,

By now his ancient bones have turned to dust.

He’s famous for his plays as we all know;

Back then they did but purchase him a crust.

We still enjoy performances today;

The tragedies and comedies so famed,

Of kings and princes, and the Scottish play

That superstitious actors rarely named.

The words of this Elizabethan bard

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Fifty seven accusations.

Fifty seven lies. 

Fifty seven secret pleasures.

Fifty seven stolen lives.

Fifty seven invitations.

Fifty seven spiders waiting.

Fifty seven true intentions.

Fifty seven parlours entered.

Fifty seven aggravations.

Fifty seven silent gains.

Fifty seven violations.

Fifty seven acts of shame.

Fifty seven allegations.

...

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The elections are here, for whom should I vote?

They’re drilled by their parties, repeating by rote;

Most don’t even live here, they’d have to commute,

To visit the voters in their snazzy suits.

We tell them what’s wrong, and they listen and smile,

And say they will fix it, but might take a while.

No matter which party you speak to today,

They promise and trot out the sam...

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Mo Salah this season

Beyond hope or reason

Is scoring for fun

And still isn’t done

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Yesterday was summer but it’s now gone back to spring,

With just a hint of winter as it has a final fling;

The weather’s topsy-turvy, no one knows what’s coming next,

All the TV weathermen are baffled and perplexed.

They show us all their graphics, with those charming little signs,

And wave their arms and smile at us while trotting out their lines.

They talk about the weathe...

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Some days it seems like the bus is out of control,

and you’re not sure if you’re actually on the bus,

or if you have just been left standing at the stop

as the bus sails past.

Then you start to think it even might be the wrong bus,

but it’s about to pull away from the stop,

so you leap on anyway.

You ask people where this bus is going to,

and nobody seems to know;

or at ...

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There is a moment when you know,

Transcending hope and pure desire;

You feel the kindling of the fire,

So certain now how it will go.

No more ambiguous disguise,

But confidence and surety;

You see what her response will be,

It’s clearly shining from her eyes.

That instant fixed in memory,

The exultation thus enshrined,

Forever burned into your mind,

That ...

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He’s slipped from the ‘A’ list right down to the ‘D’,

His career has slid into decline.

He once almost daily was seen on TV,

Now only in re-runs on-line.

His name is no longer the top of the bill,

More often it’s not there at all.

They say they will call him, but they never will,

Such is the extent of his fall.

His fortune has slowly been frittered away,

Like h...

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Now winter’s loosed its icy grip,

It’s time to think of how you dress;

I’m not suggesting you should strip,

Just give some thought to wearing … less.

Discard concealing fleecy coats,

And lose the scarves and woollen mitts.

Bring out the shorts, a dress that floats,

Surprise us with your tailored … fits.

Embrace the sight of cloudless skies

In clothes to set our...

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Footsteps echoing

on wet pavement.

Dull yellow light

filtering through misty rain,

casting shadows

on decayinging bricks

of the sleeping street.

A sudden movement

races the pulse.

Pausing to look,

relieved at her own reflection

in the curtained window

but the pavement still echoes….

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Leaving.

Ripping me apart.

A sense of disbelief,

beyond the ragged edge of reason

into oblivion,

where I must consign you

as if you never were.

For how could I bear

knowing you were there

and now are not.

You are a non-person,

a ghost,

a shade of a dream

to be quickly forgotten

if I am to survive.

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He was so lascivious

But she was oblivious

He tried to be devious

She thought him just piteous

He said she was beauteous

But she became dubious

Said he was hideous

That he made her bilious

She heard he had previous

His nature perfidious

So she became furious

Blew her top like Vesuvius

Then he was discourteous

Became acrimonious

But she was i...

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You know someone who knows a man

He thinks could help you out;

He’ll come around, he’s got a van,

If you give him a shout.

They say he’s in the building trade,

And very versatile;

Your plumbing fixed or paving laid,

All with a cheeky smile.

He’s got a mate who’ll lend a hand

With all the heavy stuff;

You’ll get good prices on demand,

And they’ll be near e...

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He looks around the office with his nose up in the air,

A condescending smile upon his face,

Convinced in his opinion that he is the smartest there,

And that all the rest are just a waste of space.

His desk is very tidy with his pens all neatly spaced,

With papers geometrically aligned;

When talking on the phone he’s always formal and straight-laced,

So his dignity is nev...

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There’s a man down our street, I think he’s called Clive,

With a forty year old motor car;

He takes it each Sunday to go for a drive,

But he never risks going too far.

He sits up with pride in his cabriolet,

With the roof down to relish the breeze,

Till he reaches the park a mere half mile away,

Where he parks well away from the trees.

This trivial journey that he...

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Dashing through the rain

Splashing in a puddle

Laughing like a drain

Squeezing in a cuddle

Dripping from the trees

Washing out the winter

Swaying in the breeze

Rushing like a sprinter

Singing on the wing

Warming but it’s wetter

Breaking into spring

Nothing could be better

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(to the tune of 'The Holly and the Ivy')

There's cameras in the holly

way above the line of sight,

and a neon sign on the roundabout

"One punch can kill tonight".

Well thank you for the warning

and increased security,

I'll be double-sure not to shoplift

now you're looking out for me.

It's nice to be surrounded

by markers of your greed,

and a lack of ...

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You can’t beat a good conversation

Over a friendly beer,

In comfortable surroundings.

Every Friday night we get together,

Me and the lads.

So the Brexit question comes up;

Who was right,

Who was wrong?

What should we do?

But it gets too hard,

So we move on.

Then someone mentions the Health Service;

Why is it struggling ?

Is it underfunded?

Or mis...

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The flowers in her garden are wilted and wan

And their petals are starting to spill

Her face that once shone is now wrinkled and drawn

But the light in her eyes lingers still

The bouquet she sees in the vault of her mind

Is the one that she had when they wed

But still it is deep in her mem’ry enshrined

Along with the words that he said

He’d told her that she had p...

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My hair is clean and brushed and smart.

Hers is drenched and dirty.

I am wearing cosy clothes.

She is bare and purple.

I'm inhaling bluebell air.

She is breathing fire.

I am watching pixellated subjects of denial.

I am strong and tall, unbowed.

She is weak and wailing.

I am fifty years of age.

She is but a baby.

I have biscuits on my lips.

She has frot...

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When you get a bit older,

it’s all about marbles.

Will they be kept or lost.

During her last five years,

it was my mother’s greatest fear.

Her sisters lost theirs,

suffered from dementia.

One couldn’t remember her daughter.

The other was unmarried,

and could remember her own childhood,

but not what she’d had for breakfast,

or if she’d had breakfast.

Mum was terr...

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She waits for the access bus outside the door

Of the superstore just down the road;

Her shopping bag placed at her feet on the floor,

Though she doesn’t have much of a load.

She goes every day, mostly at the same time,

Just to give herself something to do,

So she doesn’t need much, just parsley and thyme

She will take home to flavour her stew.

It lets her escape f...

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He sits in the boozer on Saturday nights

On a bar stool that he’s made his own,

And looks a bit care-worn there under the lights,

But he’s been there as long as I’ve known.

He wears the same suit every week when he comes,

Though it’s shabby and shiny and worn;

His teeth move around cos they’re loose on his gums,

And his shirt collar’s ragged and torn.

He nurses a ...

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(to the tune of Que sera sera)

When I was  only 12 years old,
I shaved my armpits
bare as can be.
Will I be sexy?
Will I be fit?

Here's what they said to me:

'Oh the itch the itch!

Whatever possessed you, bitch,

to bulk-buy a load of Bics.

Oh the itch the itch'

When I grew up I carried on
hacking my arm pits
week after week.
Did it get better?
Did it hurt less?
H...

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Now NaPoWriMo’s on its way

If you really want to crack it,

Then write a poem every day

If you think that you can hack it.

Pick up your pen you would-be bard,

Roll your sleeves, take off your jacket,

Because you know it will be hard,

Almost any way you stack it.

If you can last the thirty days,

You’ll be in the upper bracket,

And if you turn a pretty phrase,

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She keeps secrets in me.

Lifts my lid for privacy,

blows bubbles in my guts,

leaving evidence inside

with full impunity.

I am discreet

rebellion.

He spits bile inside me.

Hatred for his mummy

and the baby

and the way the teacher treats him

like he's soft.

He's not.

I contain his scarlet ache safely.

I display names and dates,

scratched in...

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Relentlessly the traitor clock it ticks

To steal away the measure of his days

Till he is ferried screaming ‘cross the Styx

Yet while he bears the pain that life inflicts

And grits his teeth through every mortal phase

Relentlessly the traitor clock it ticks

He steers a passage through the politics

That try to trap him in their moiling maze

Till he is ferried scream...

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I see this shady bloke some nights

When I go down the pub

He rolls his ciggies small and tight

From tins of ready rubbed

He got it from a chap called Mike

Who drives a truck abroad

He’ll get you any brand you like

If you give him the nod

You see him sidle round the bar

With little shifty eyes

He’s got some movies in his car

No questions, tell no lies

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Remember watching Motorhead

in Bingley Hall in Stafford?

The time that fella's ears bled?

Lemmy's warts,

the wall of sound,

and Philthy going mad?

Remember where we stood that night?

And how that fella, six foot three,

came and stood in front of me,

so we just moved a step along

and simply carried on?

At every single gig for years

a giant stood in...

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The sound of children’s laughter,

A beautiful surprise.

Your happy ever after,

The look in someone’s eyes.

A gift you weren’t expecting,

A visitor that calls.

An old friend reconnecting,

A movie that enthrals.

A melody that pleases,

A memory that’s jogged.

Those gentle, friendly teases,

An outing, smartly togged.

That simple daily pleasure

A lo...

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We all know that someone who never stops moaning

And says that he’s right with no ifs or buts

We get so fed up with him endlessly droning

That everyone calls him old misery guts

He’s open and friendly, and never offensive

In so many ways he’s a likeable chap

But when in full flow, he’s a touch reprehensive

So sometimes you’d like to just give him a slap

When we th...

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Once again it is spring and he’s feeling the zing

And he thinks for his years he looks ace

He’s the comb-over king and he’s ready to swing

But the girls all just laugh in his face

He wears shirts that are stained with the buttons all strained

And look like they’re ready to pop

His belt barely constrains all the weight he has gained

So his belly flops over the top

...

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Someday you may find me

And I will not be there

With a cold cup of tea

Or asleep in a chair

Although I may have gone

But please do not despair

It is time to move on

For I will not be there

Looking back on the years

And the joys that I’ve shared

There is no cause for tears

For I will not be there

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