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Good Times

Good Times

Cold light of dusk
illuminated through
these stained glass windows.
Candles lit for saints and sinners
cast dancing shadows
on the marbled aisles.
Prayers for lost souls,
mumbled in archaic prose
to heighten sense
of magic and reverence.

Genuflection.
      Sign of the Cross.
               Body of Christ.
      Blood of Christ
Soul of Man

The burnt rag smell
of i...

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A Wee Dram

A Wee Dram

The dancing flames lick gently at the grate,
a bottle splashes amber to the glass,
soft chimes reminding that the hour is late,
aromas drift of peat and harsh deer grass,
the smoky mist of morning, with each pass.
The glow of bonfires as I gently kiss,
letting the rich swelling flavours amass
and burn upon my lips, no thoughts but this –
“how can something so bitter bring suc...

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spenserian sonnetsonnetwhiskyscottish whiskyheatwintergood cheer

Anti-Christ(mas)

Anti-Christ(mas)

Santa Claus isn’t real -
there, I’ve gone and said it.
Just some smart-arsed marketing ploy
to stress your Christmas cards of credit,
an old Bavarian legend
glammed up and pushed by Coke
to give a job each yuletide
to some fat, be-whiskered bloke
who likes a little tipple
and knee jogging some pre-pubescent cutie -
under any other circumstance
you’d report him to pro...

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alternative viewanti-christmasbah humbugchristmas

Arroyo

Arroyo

The rain has fallen down for twenty hours
from a dead sky of slate and granite hews,
dampening the walls of urban towers.

Cobbled streets the colour of an old bruise,
tyres rattle over pothole dark drains,
counterpoint to some distant splashing shoes.

The day cast in monochromatic stains
as water forms itself into a lake
that eddies into inner city lanes.

A passing car cre...

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homelessnessrainfallrichpixstreetsTerza Rima formurban livingwet

Last Orders

Last Orders

I come on Thursday, sit on wooden chair
where poets congregate in strange half light,
sharing their thoughts with those who gather there -
the words are spoken, soaring, shining bright,
warming us as we leave to face the night.
The bear pit darkens, but forever hosts
the rhyming, raging, ranting, Tudor ghosts.

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A Tree In The Elephant's Graveyard

A Tree In The Elephant’s Graveyard

It began with a pen
and paper,
beneath a tree.
Carried here
upon a rat
to rest awhile.

The paper was white
and stared at me
insolently.
The pen hovered,
dripping ink
like tears.

A serpent
coiled itself
around My neck.
I thought of stars
and dreamt
of gouache landscapes.

Still the paper
would not
fuck the pen.
My thoughts
were clear,
...

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richpixelephantParvatishindu culturemuseGaneshatreedeathmythwriters block

Philae Shakes The Hand Of God

Philae Shakes The Hand Of God

What is the etiquette
for shaking hands
with God?

His ancient skin
so cracked
and old.

We have travelled far
to penetrate
His hide.

The cold, dark cosmos
squeals with
indignation.

“Know your place,
you of greens
and blues”,

sing the disregarded
stars and
planets.

We pass through
the blazing tails
of comets.

We burn money
in plasm...

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cometebolagodphilaeprioritiesrosettaspace travel

Wounded

Wounded.

Black bullet hole wound
blooms red November petals.
Blood and remembrance.

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haikupoppywoundremembrancearmisticeblood

An Unexpected Ghost In The Yorkshire Post

An Unexpected Ghost In The Yorkshire Post

She stares out at me from the page of white -
all pixels, paper, print and phantom eyes,
a child of contrasts under exposed skies
dancing somewhere between the dark and light.
I recognise the features well, despite
the brutal glare of histories disguise.
This archive feature caught me by surprise
for we are separated by times flight.
You are a g...

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miltonic sonnetmumnewspapernewspaper archive photophotographtimes pastyorkshire post feature

Foot Soldier

Foot Soldier.

We were sent to fight a war
that we didn’t believe in,
knowing that there would be
civilian casualties.
Paid a pittance
to be on the front line
facing hostiles every day.
Privately hating
the faceless generals
who stayed hidden
in the bunkers
giving their orders.

Many were wounded,
left for dead,
injured in ways
that civilians
wouldn’t understand -
because some ...

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'bankers''good' banksanti-bankanti-warbank clerksoldierunfair target

All The Little Creatures Of Glass City

~All The Little Creatures Of Glass City

They built this ghost town
before there were any ghosts.
Large glass canyons
where the wind whistles,
drawing dust and smoke
into whirling devils.
Reflections bouncing
from linear surfaces.
Where once there was life
there is none.

You pull a coat,
tightly, against your chin
and comment on the chill air
that scrapes way
at exposed flesh,
l...

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deserted city centresglass towersinner city regeneratrionrich pixsoulless communitiestower blocks

Excavating Aldgate Tube Station (1876)

Excavating Aldgate Tube Station (1876)

Underneath the rat infested streets
dead bodies were piled high, row on row.
Enshrouded in their grimy, night-soiled sheets.
- thrown to the devils down below.

Dead bodies were piled high, row on row.
Plague pits rampant all around Aldgate.
Thrown to the waiting devils down below -
unmarked graves meant no one knew their fate.

Plague pits rampa...

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aldgatealdgate tube stationbubonic plaguieexcavationslondonpantoumplague pitsebola

Afraid Of The Dark

Afraid Of The Dark

what you can’t see
cannot hurt you
ghouls and ghosts
things of the dark
things you don’t understand.
close your eyes go to sleep
think of happy things and places
let your mind move on
be at peace child

the thing that scratches at the window
you know it’s just a branch
the creak of a floorboard
late at night
a cold chill that drifts
through a warm house
the un...

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afraiddarknessfairy taleshalloweenillnesswhite liesrichpix

Weird Sisters

Weird Sisters

when did we four last meet
with doctor martins on our feet
hubble, bubble trick or treat
kiss and tell arms to greet
looks that kill in a heartbeat
concrete steps as a seat
stir the cauldron feel the heat
cool as fuck neat neat neat
no surrender no retreat
angel faces so petite
whiplash smiles sugar sweet
weird sisters of the street

 

Inspired By: photograph by Ri...

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enjoying lifefriendshappyrichpixweird sistersteenagersgirlsyouthstreet

In The Beginning

~~In The Beginning

leaving marks
that’s all we’re doing
leaving marks

daubed on cave walls
scratched on parchment
prodded into submission
on a plastic keyboard

blood ink
drying
becoming permanent

or
crossed through
with a graphite swipe
erased by rubber
white paint
lost

ideas and musings
bold statements
of intent
waxing lyrical
outpourings
of joy
of hate
of love
...

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beginningsentiencystory tellingwordswriterswriting

funeral days

funeral days

funeral days
should always be like this

early mourning dew
in the eyes of those gathered
under a slate grey sky
(not blasphemous blue)
whose heavy tears
will splash
the golden Judas kiss
of leaves crackling
beneath disrobed trees
betraying the sadness
with their joyful colour

the heavy damp sods of earth
clinging close to the coffin
like the grief
that surrounds...

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autumncoloursdeathfuneralrichpix

Blockhead

Blockhead

He had a disability
and didn’t mind that you knew it,
tumbling around on callipers -
his attitude was ‘screw it’!
Spasticus Autisticus -
an anthem for the broken.
Poet, musician, human being,
not some crippled token.
A war cry in this normal land
for those who were disabled
and through their bloody mindedness
became the walking, talking, enabled.
He hit us with a rhythm st...

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disabilityian duryliving with disabilitypunk

STILL IN THE WAR, BOYS! - new CD and download from THE CROWS OF ALBION

My music project THE CROWS OF ALBION have released their new CD and DOWNLOAD on 1st October 2014.

21 tracks across 80 minutes featuring 14 poems I first posted to Write Out Loud (see link to tags below) set to musical backings. The remaining songs are covers versions (Motorhead & Bob Dylan) and traditional wartime favourites 'Pack Up Your Troubles...' and 'It's A Long Way To Tipperary'.

Ther...

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cddownloadSITWBstill in the war boysthe crows of albionww1

kraken

kraken

leviathan
rusty bones
supporting hide
of rotting wood
the pungent smell
of seaweed

digesting
long dead things
its aged frame
crawls ashore
clicking like
fighting crabs

groaning
exertions
sand sloughing
from its skin

primordial
grey skies
clinging mist
clothing it
in gloom

a thousand
scrabbling legs
gripping claws
taking root
heaving carcass
to the shore

...

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krakensea monsterpiersexual awakeningrichpixsea

Snipers

Snipers

was it out there
that I became a ghost?

I may be an unreliable witness
the constant stress does that to you
the days spent outside, unprotected
with a local population
that won’t look you in the eye
or when they do
they have the look of hate
that you are even there at all

if only the locals were less hostile
to my cause
if only I could count on my military team
to back ...

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attitudeshomelessrichpixsoldierveteran

The Crooked Beast At The End Of A Crooked Path

The Crooked Beast At The End Of A Crooked Path

I saw him rise like a dark spectre
in the clouds
at the end of a crooked path
his horned head cocked
spreading his cloven claws
astride the graves that nestled
safe beneath the trees
his wings unfurling
across the sky
and gathering in
the long dead souls
beneath the ground
and I thought
I heard the demon say
“I told you I would not fo...

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crooked pathdevilgraveyardlost soulsprayerthe beastrichpix

Armistice (Gods Of War)

Armistice (Gods Of War)

The ink upon this document
dries twice as fast as blood
that seeps into this continent
and mixes with the mud.
The war to end all wars they say,
though many have their doubts
that a piece of paper, signed today,
will quell the zealots shouts.

So they dance beneath the spires
of Britannia’s grieving towns
and let the mourning of sad shires
taint her flimsy ta...

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armisticegods of warpeacewar to end all warsWW1WW2SITWB

Death Of A Poet (Anthem For Doomed Youth) MUSIC VERSION

Death Of A Poet (Anthem For Doomed Youth)

The grey November sky has lost its light,
 just one more boy has fallen to his death,
 another lad who won’t survive the fight
 or pass beyond this final exhaled breath.
 Though many soldiers leave this war unheard,
 their stories lost forever, never told,
 this one will paint us pictures with his words
 that will not lose their power or grow old...

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SITWB

Death Of A Poet / Anthem For Doomed Youth

Death Of A Poet

The grey November sky has lost its light,
just one more boy has fallen to his death,
another lad who won’t survive the fight
or pass beyond this final exhaled breath.
Though many soldiers leave this war unheard,
their stories lost forever, never told,
this one will paint us pictures with his words
that will not lose their power or grow old.

A week beyond that fatal can...

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wilfred owenWW1Shakespearean SonetAnthem For Doomed Youthtribute

Dead Men's Boots

Dead Men’s Boots

tough as old leather
their souls worn down
eyes vacant of lace
collected by the door
the day they swapped
their pit-boots
for the Kings shilling
and donned their shiny
new military issue

there they stayed
gathering dust
and old potatoes
in their safe grasp
neatly lined
waiting for the return
of father and two sons
to the safety
of their hearth

day after da...

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bootsdead men's bootsrichpixsoldierstelegramWW1SITWB

TILF

TILF


They parade down the catwalk
outside of number ten
it’s David’s new TILF army
taking over from the men
cause he’s not likely to be a winner
at next years general election
and if it doesn’t work for him
well, he’ll still have the erection
as he brings some lovely ladies
into the cabinet
because the wrinkly bastards
were as bad as it could get
so here are some ideas Dave
that ...

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cabinet reshufflecameron's 'babes'conservative desperationcycnical ploysatire

An Angel Bathes In Tears

An Angel Bathes In Tears

Diniel rested for a second
and turned his eyes away
from those that he was caring for
and in that moment all was lost.
Now he bathes in the cascades
of acidic human tears
that flood the world with grief.
Erosive and corrosive
at the passing of infant souls
in a war that has no meaning
in a world that has no morals.
Now his dainty angel features
disappear unt...

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Child CasualtiesDeathJerusalemPalestineSorrowThe Angel DinielWarrichpix

Thor (He's A Jolly Good Fellow)

Thor (He's A Jolly Good Fellow)

Another bloody immigrant
has just moved in next door -
he’s North East European
and goes by the name of Thor.
So as good old Mister Farage says
“There ought to be a law
that stops them coming here
cause we can’t take any more”.

He’s got long blonde tussled hair
and a chiselled square jaw
and he’s taking British jobs
at the local Ikea store -
yet all...

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immigrationjealousysatiresexthorthunder god

Remember Scarborough!

Remember Scarborough!

The day our town was visited by war,
we hardly had the time to ring the bells.
The bairns were playing on our golden shore
and savouring the fish and seaweed smells,
building castles of sand, collecting shells -
though these were not of molluscs but of steel -
and all at once a thousand blazing hells
fell from the sky with each chiming peel.
Remember Scarborough – ...

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naval attacks. east coastposter campaignscarboroughSpenserian stanza formww1SITWB

Canary Girl (Chilwell, July 1st 1918)

Canary Girl (Chilwell, July 1st 1918)

When she went there her eyes were clear,
just seventeen, her skin was fair.
She was my love, my Jeanie dear,
she wore blue ribbons in her hair
of blond, and I could only stare
and wonder at her beauty wild.
The sweet songbird - my only child.

She had a voice that raised good cheer,
when Jeanie sang we were aware
in chapels (and after a beer),
th...

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Ballade Royal Formbomb factoryCanary GirlsChilwellDisasterWW1SITWB

White Feather

White Feather

I didn’t see her pass me in the street,
the woman with the husband at the front,
but felt the tell-tale tickle of a feather -
pressed discreetly soft against my palm.
The accusation whispered in a hate-filled voice,
“Coward”, dripped with venom from her lips
and I assumed she talked to me, although I couldn’t see
if the feather in my hand was truly white.
For I had returne...

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conscientious objectorcowardicehatemissunderstandingpacifistwar poetrywhite featherWW1SITWB

Blood Moon

Blood Moon

“Sweet Katarina, dance for me”,
said the man with the black balloon,
whose face looked rather like a wolf
if glanced in the back of a spoon -
and for each dance she did for him
he would pass her another string
with a midnight helium ball
tied on to its end with a ring.

She danced until her little hands
were full of the magical twine
and the villagers all agreed
they’d ne...

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blood moonchild abductiondark fairy talefolk lorelossmagictemptationwolfrichpix

Craiglockhart (Not Yet Diagnosed Nervous)

Craiglockhart (Not Yet Diagnosed Nervous)

When I kicked over the wheelchair
I couldn’t do the simplest task,
except the epileptic flailing
of my military antimasque.
Turning on the hissing gas-lamp
had me reaching for the mask.
You opened up my mind
and you didn’t even ask.

Sh-sh-sh shut the fuck up,
I think I’m going insane,
I’ve got all these bombs
going off in my brain.
I’m lik...

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Craiglockhart Miliotary Hospitalmental illnessPTSDrichpixShell ShocktreatmentWW1SITWB

War Boys

War Boys

“YOUR COUNTRY NEEDS YOU”

We’re going to war boys,
we’re going to war,
Lord Kitchener asked us
so we formed a corps.
Joe and Jack from the factory,
Ted and Jim from the farm,
the recruiting sergeant assures us
that there’s little chance of harm.
We’re part of the great pals army
and we’ve fallen for his charm
as we march away to war.

We’re in the war boys,
we’re in the ...

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deathghostsglorykitchenermarching songpals armyposterww1you're country needs youSITWB

Roadie

Roadie.

When heavy metal bands reform
it’s nothing like it was in the day,
when daily excess was the norm
and we needed drugs to help us play.
From riding into the teeth of the storm
we had to curtail our wicked ways.

The Roadies still get us up to speed,
tune guitars - get everything we need.
They’re an invaluable, yet dying breed -
Roadies still get us up to speed.

Even though w...

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anti-drugsdrug referencesdrugsreformed bandsroadierock

Children Of The Glamned (Resurrection Shuffle)

Children Of The Glamned (Resurrection Shuffle)

We found out all we knew about sex
in Youth Clubs and the disco-teques
grinding slowly to T-Rex
pumping from the Teac decks
then with Pans People our flames were fanned
we were the children of the glamned.

A thousand miles we’d gladly travel
for Noddy Holder’s voice of gravel
then watch our hopes and dreams unravel
in brief encounters wi...

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BARD COMPANYglamglam rockpopretroseventiessweet

the small matter of a white screen at midnight

the small matter of a white screen at midnight

the mocking cursor blinks upon the screen
and my flagging muse sinks
still unable to find links
and then little englyn winks

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blank screenwriters blockenglyn formovercoming writers block

Passchendaele (Autumn 1917)

Passchendaele (Autumn 1917)

Blind, wide open, eyes.
Dripping poppy petal tears.
Crimson rivers flow.

Fields transformed to mud.
Deep cut trenches scar the earth.
Wounds that will not heal.

Gas clouds drift from hell.
Death exhaled in fetid breath.
Lost boys fall like flies.

Ghosts haunt no mans land
searching for their bitter souls
in butchered bodies.

Finding empty shells,
...

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godless warhaikupasschendaelewar poetryworld war 1ypresSITWB

Slamming Flies

Slamming Flies (Gallipoli – 5th June 1915)

Arriving at the Dardanelles
guns flashing, the sound of rifle fire.
they heaved our ship right up to the shore.

We sat there waiting for the dawn
And saw a big marquee
that made us think of village fetes.

We all rushed to it
like boys going to a circus
but found it all laced up.

Unlaced and opened, It was full of corpses.
Dead Englishme...

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Akenfieldburial detailfound poemgallipoliLeonard ThompsonRonald Blythewar poemworld war 1SITWB

the vegetable man

the vegetable man

the vegetable man proclaims his entrance
in a voice as crisp as iceberg lettuce
the aroma that surrounds him is as pungent
as stewed cabbage on a grey cloudy Monday
children cross the road to avoid him
in his coconut overcoat and jaunty aubergine hat

the vegetable man has cauliflower ears
that dribble cheddar cheese sauce
the hair that hangs from his grimy head
is t...

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brain injurycharactermanoutcaststream of consciousnesstrampvegetable

Home By Christmas

Home By Christmas

I fear I let my feelings rule my head,
that you would have no trouble getting leave.
You would be home by Christmas as they said.

All through the Autumn, sleeping cold in bed,
I dreamt of all our marriage would achieve.
I fear I let my feelings rule my head.

Not since the day that both of us were wed
had we missed carols, sung that holy eve.
You would be home by Ch...

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deathhome by christmashopelossvillanellewar poemSITWB

Under The Bridge

Under The Bridge

hunched up like a demon
grotesque and out of shape
tip tip tapping on the keyboard
mouth permanently agape
looking for hurt and misery
searching out the weak
twisted soul and brainless
an ever growing clique
devouring our innocence
inflicting further pain
they look for human tragedy
their claws dig in again
we cannot understand them
so we underestimate
their capac...

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internettrollhateignoreseek out & destroykeyboard warriorsfeeding on pain

Digital Clock Blues

Digital Clock Blues

the pulsing dots on my digital clock
are slightly out of sync
with my thumping heart and spinning head
I’m so drunk I can’t think

I see your face like neon taste
it makes me want for home
my hair’s a mess my clothes un-pressed
Oh Christ! I need a comb

my love’s shot down in rainbow ruin
I’ve played the game and lost
now the drinking’s stopped me thinking
and I...

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hangoverdrinkretributionguiltwaking

remembering the terrible lizard

remembering the terrible lizard

my blood is ink
my words the beating heart
a page of skin
tattooed  stories
etched upon it

my vinyl soul
each hiss and crackle
pop and scratch
a wrinkle on the face
of times gone past

my music cries
with fuzz guitars
and thunder drums
cacophony of chaos
transcendental

my world is dark
each pinprick light
a star to gaze upon
and wonder at t...

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booksdigital v analoguedinosaursformat warsIT revolutionvinyl records

Grandchildren Of The Somme

Grandchildren Of The Somme

the dead lay on the injured earth
all wearing grey death masks of mud
a tally of what life is worth
just bone and sinew flesh and blood

attrition wrought its deadly cost
the river Somme held back its flood
humanity forever lost
just bone and sinew flesh and blood

sixteen miles wide and just six deep
survivors wondered if they could
block out the dreams t...

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kyrielle formmemorialthe sommewarwar poetryWW1SITWB

The Walkin' Man (Audio Version)

some of you kind Write Out Louders offered me some great encouragement when I posted this poem earlier this year (tribute to Pete Seeger) and suggested it might work well with a musical backing -so - I've been in the studios and produced this version - I hope you like it:

The Walkin’ Man

Serendipity Spangle was a walkin’ man -
of that, there is no doubt,
he walked across great continents
...

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pete seeger tributebirth of american folkprotest songsmusiccrows of albion

Bruises Of The Norman Yoake

Bruises Of The Norman Yoake.

True Levellers dig over public field,
enclosed by hedgerows, cut by ditches deep.
Allow the earth to ultimately yield
its bounty – for you sow what you will reap,
a crop that’s fit for kings, the poor to keep.
This land is not the property of lords,
no matter it was seized by force of swords.

True Levellers defend the public field,
for nothing changes from...

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true levellersdiggersrhyme royalgerrard winstanleybarton mossanti-fracking

Children Of The Glamned

Children Of The Glamned

preying on the teenage Kohl eyed panda
tinfoil fumbling back stage
now fear her mature rampage
finding strength in her dotage

 

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accusationsenglyn formgary glitterjusticeproject yew treeretributionvictims

The Bicycle Scout (21st August 1914)

The Bicycle Scout (21st August 1914)

bicycle wheel spins in blood drenched Belgian hops
as the echo of a gunshot fades away
behind the gorse hedgerow Private John Parr drops
amid the yellow hypnotic summer sway
he is the first scythe-cut of Britain’s young crops
many come to deathly harvest from this day
and when the madness eventually stops
for him, and those that follow, the world will...

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bicycle scoutsfirst british casualtyprivate john parrsicilian octavethe great warWW1SITWB

Flamborough Head

Flamborough Head

the flimsy frame rattles
as a doom laden bellow
pierces the smoky milk
shrieking  away unwary
sailors straying close
to Yorkshires crumbling coast
like some creature
lost in torment

we cower
beneath dull yellow light
from sweet smelling
gas lamps
their cog wheels
turned up high
and wicks ablaze
to ward off the dark

a jigsaw unattended
its pieces spilling
c...

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caravan. holidaychildhoodflamborough headfoglighthousesiren

this woman's work

this woman’s work

warm breath on ice
baroque and roll
dancing windmills
flaming soul
the purr of cats
a stolen kiss
of peppermint
serpent’s hiss
touch of lace
Cleopatra eyes
pianoforte
dolphin cries
weeping angels
laughing clowns
heartbeat flutter
ninth wave drowns
waterfalls
windswept moors
kangaroos
painted whores
chilling wind
waxing moon
midnight
in the afternoon
ban...

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this woman's workkate bushmusic

the red regret of Thomas

the red regret of Thomas

my fingers drip crimson apologies
but now it’s far too late

I wanted to feel the red in you
to let the steaming  coils
wrap themselves around my disbelief

so when you offered your wounds
I was cautious at first
but needed to satisfy fears

apprehension turned
to blood lust
even as the sticky mess of truth
congealed upon my skin

tears dribbled down my ...

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doubtdoubting thomasregretfailed relationshipmistrustbloodwound

Cycle Of The Scarecrow (audio version)

Cycle Of The Scarecrow

before she came
I stood here
for what seemed like eons
with a blood red sun
setting behind me
my head full
of nothing more
than sawdust
straw and dreams
a hole in my chest
where beetles scuttled
happy come rain or shine
my only fear
that crows might see
through me
be brave and bold
and strut towards me
then peck out
my button eyes

now as the shadows g...

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CROWS OF ALBIONcycle of lifemagicscarecrowseasons

breathing in the dusk

breathing in the dusk

bonfire permeates failing light
on this humid August night
midges cloud the air in flight
amassing as they dance and bite

the ghostly moon yet to rise
haunts the pale indigo skies
a rook upon a wire cries
failing breath as summer dies

heavy mist on stubbled corn
scarecrow’s jacket ripped and torn
path to orchard frayed and worn
twilight bleeds across the law...

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creatures of the nightduskend of dayenglish countrysidefaytwilight

all that is Left

all that is Left

blue blood
red heart
standing apart
from your peers
persistent
commoner
for the
common good
on picket lines
on marches
in support
of the oppressed
anti-war
anti-Thatcher
may your soul rest
in the peace
that you sought
never
to be forgotten
forever
to be remembered
and grieved
for there were few
as honourable
and noble
as you
Brother
as you
exit stage...

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tony bennsocialistpassing of tony bennepitaphremebrance

steam asylum

steam asylum

clockwork heart
beats and whirs
scalpel fingers
titanium spurs
tiffany lenses
rainbow eyes
steaming valves
sulphur skies

arabesque is brittle
she collects his spittle
in bell jars of ancient glass
sealed with valves of brass
he reciprocates
storing her tears of hate
in little silvers vials
that power system dials

lubricated slick
old joints rust
creaking slowl...

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angel of deathartificial intelligenceazraellovemachinerymechanical lovesteampunk

NEW WEBSITE LAUNCHED

http://whiteleyian.wix.com/the-crows-of-albion#

I've decided to put some of my performance and recorded songs onto a new website - along with a future blog of poems and live dates etc. So, quite a few of the poems i blogged last year now appear on this site as either performance videos or recorded tunes (via Soundcloud).

There's a quite a bit of colour and it gives me the opportunity to prom...

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websitecrows of albioncreate a websiteperformancepoetrymusic

supping at the Silverback Inn

supping at the Silverback Inn

the glass stops halfway to its destination
and the sands of time are quicksand
as you survey the crowded saloon bar
in the gently creaking Silverback Inn

see him
the one with the paunch
I remember him
he was a bully
at school
a right hard case
look at him now
fat and old

the stained and sticky floorboards agree
whispering taunting mocking
all that...

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drinkingdrunkmean spiritedold agepubregret

The Perfect Alibi

The Perfect Alibi

pick up the gun
feel its cold
deadly fervour
takes a hold
search out a target
move with the crowd
take careful aim
deliver a shroud
they don’t believe the truth
and consider it odd
that I’ve the perfect alibi
because I was with God

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alibikillerperfect alibireligeous assassintarget

(not) painting a Carr's water-biscuit box

(not) painting a Carr’s water-biscuit box

George looked at me, in an all-knowing way, and said
“paint what you see”
as he handed me a Carr’s water-biscuit box

it’s blue, I thought, and boring,
but I took it away and set it on a table
in luke-warm autumn sunlight

after a while, I had a rough oil pastel sketch
that I thought was quite accomplished
I had caught the slight sheen from th...

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art schoolpaint what you seethe obviousclose focuslesson in lifereality

caterpillars

caterpillars

caterpillars caterpillars
everywhere you look
creeping into corners
no one gives a fuck
peering from the darkness
in the shelter of a door
praying for forgiveness
hungry cold and poor

caterpillars caterpillars
down upon their luck
pleading from their makeshift beds
no one gives a fuck
pressing against cold brick
crawling on the floor
crying for their past lives
hun...

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caterpillardeath on streetshomelesspoorredemptionsheltersleeping bags

Anytown

Anytown

this could be Anytown
so long as there’s a KFC
a Poundshop
and bookie
this could be Anytown
where kids stay inside
on Playstations
and hide
this could be Anytown
where all the pubs are closing
because folk stay in
boozing
this could be Anytown
where the only things that change
are the traffic lights
and pizza range
this could be Anytown
where strange fruit hangs from tr...

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austeritydeclinederelict city centresfoodbankspoundshopsrun down

His Blue Period

His Blue Period.

Her breath smells of the peppermint
tea, that we had drunk earlier,
when I tilt her chin to the light
on this late summer afternoon.

She smiles and her eyes come alight
with warmth that breathes into the room
from the open patio doors
that lead out into the garden.

I paid earlier, as we talked
and she said she could only stay
for two hours as she had to go
and pi...

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painterlife drawinglife modelhesitancybluepaymentbeauty

Here There Be Demons

Here There Be Demons

there is a small terraced house
on the dark side of Benefit Street
where a mother lies with cancer
and a child has nothing to eat
where a father kicks anything that moves
whether wife or child or dog
then drowns himself in self pity
and rancid numbing grog

when he leaves he leaves a hole
as wide as any pit
and a family who cannot cope
without their benefit
it ...

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benfits streetdemonisationright wing pressshit TVsocialismtory propagandavalid benefit claimswitch hunting

Walkin' Man

The Walkin’ Man

For Pete Seeger (May 3rd 1919 – January 27th 2014)

Serendipity Spangle was a walkin’ man -
of that, there is no doubt,
he walked across great continents
and was seen round here about.
With his low slung jeans and guitar,
he had no need for fancy suits,
he just roamed the great blue yonder
in his worn down cowboy boots .

Those who were there at his birth
cross their...

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american folk traditionamericanadustbowlfolkmusicmythologypete seegerprotest singerroots

Any Winter Saturday In Nineteen Seventy

Any Winter Saturday In Nineteen Seventy

multi-coloured, sweet, cloying battenberg
taking away the bitter taste of defeat
it’s yellow and pink uniformity
In sharp contrast to the soft curves of the settee
putting ones and two’s and crosses
next to the selections on the pools
a dirty yellow stain hangs over the chair
where my father coughs and splutters on his tea

blacks and whites and ...

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nostalgia1970'smatch of the daychildhoodwatching tvsaturday

Fracking (Cinquain #1)

Fracking (Cinquain #1)

Pressure
from injection
opens gaping fissure.
The whole process needs inspection.
Action!

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Adelaide Crapsey formcall to armscinquain formfrackinginvestigationprotest

Cheap Whore

Cheap Whore

I don’t cost very much,
virtually giving it away
you like to watch and listen
but you don’t like to pay
I keep you entertained
turning inventive tricks
arousing you all night
giving you your kicks
you like it when I’m oral
you like to feel my pain
you like the kick and twist of it
again again again
I try to sell you add-ons
but you won’t buy my wares
I’ve given you a p...

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brokefreebieperformance poetrysalesunpaid work

Grievous Angel

Grievous Angel

the cosmic cowboy
overdosed
on a deadly cocktail
of alcohol and morphine
to ease the pain
to ease the heartache
to ease the way
to redemption

Louisiana bound
to a friendless funeral
stolen away
in a cheap hearse
five gallons of gasoline
and a lighted match
in an open coffin at Cap Rock
under the Joshua trees

a blazing fireball
of wasted dreams
a flame so bri...

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cosmic cowboycountry musicdeathgram parsonsgrievous angeljoshua tree

baptised

baptised

the air is crackling
with anticipation
a gentle breeze
of humid ghosts
dances through
the open door

thunder rolls
and tumbles
like an epileptic
acrobat
across the muddy
thunderheads

a still foreboding
settles here amidst a
Tuesday clutter
of unfinished tasks
to watch the growling
climax of the sky

and when it comes
it splashes dark
from the bullet drop
that i...

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electric stormrainthunderforeboding. deluge

The Old School Tie

The Old School Tie

It’s very smart In blue silk,
with snazzy turquoise stripes.
When daddy gave it to me
my first words were “blimey!, cripes!”
I couldn’t wait to get it
around my scrawny throat,
it went so well with all my gear
especially the tail coat.

It made my chin more obvious,
I hadn’t known I had one.
It made the fags subservient
to get done what should be done.
It made me...

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cameronetonclassold school tierant

Thirty Plus Years In An Open Necked Shirt (audio version)

Re-post from earlier last year - now with audio and music backing

Thirty Plus Years In An Open Necked Shirt.

Johnny Clarke, Johnny Clarke
a walking bag of bones
staggers out onto the stage
like Woody from the Stones
rapid fire delivery
sprays all with Salford tones
jitters, jives, ducks and dives
wrestling with the microphone

Johnny Clarke, Johnny Clarke
in much need of a comb
sh...

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john cooper clarketributeCROWS OF ALBION

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