The Ballad of Brexit

They’ve banned the salsa in Stretford

Stopped pasta in Heaton Moor

They’ve put a full cork on prosecco

As part of the First Brexit War.

No pizzas allowed now in Burnage,

Chopped Salami in Cheetham Hill.

Bratwurst are now quite forbidden,

For fear Krauts may make us quite ill.

Olives are spiked now in Chorlton,

 Spaghetti is banned in Mos...

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Hide and Seek

Put fear on the list of things you should lose

With odd socks and gloves and your second best shoes.

Let regret go with burdensome guilt,

Give them away with your second hand quilt.

Composure and peace can often seem hid,

Like the start of the sellotape orTupperware lid.

The loss of the key to your bike lock or shed,

 Is nothing to losing control of your head.

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Written in Widnes Station, in tribute to Paul Simon

I’m sitting in the railway station

Life’s meeting all low expectations

New philosophy, half full bucket

My way forward? Just say fuck it!

Don’t hold back or hide your talents

Go for life and keep your balance,

Just remember, long time dead,

Your only brakes are in your head.

Your angry chimp can’t hold you back,

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It’s not you, it’s me

I fell for you years ago, a coup de foudre,

With your Mediterranean looks,

Your art, your culture, your Latin moods.

I devoured you, from the hors d’oeuvres to the tapas,

From the fondues to the Swiss Roll.

We blended like fine wine, like Cointreau and ice.

But now we’ve got tangled, like spaghetti

Distance relationships are always nice.

City b...

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Standing on the corner, there seemed little hope of a taxi. Horizontal rain drove into my face, despite attempts to tilt my umbrella, like a knight’s lance, against the elements.  Each car which passed seemed to chuckle as it sprayed a rainbow of shower drops onto my sodden trousers which clung to me like seal skin. Drips rode down my neck and I could feel a growing paddling pool forming in my squ...

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Specs and Mugs and Sausage Rolls

(With apologies to Ian Dury)

In this world of parties, life can be quite frantic,

But my sad old life can feel quite anaesthetic,

Some may go to clubs, I nibble a club biscuit,

Worry ‘bout my mortgage, and my broadband bandwidth, 

Some go shake their asses, I hunt for my glasses,

Some do lines of cocaine, drink coke I get a migraine,

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Fuck It

I’m sitting in the railway station

Life’s meeting all low expectations

New philosophy, half full bucket

My way forward? Just say fuck it!

Don’t hold back or hide your talents

Go for life and keep your balance,

Just remember, long time dead,

Your only brakes are in your head.

Your angry chimp can’t hold you back,

Best form of defence? Attack!

So watch o...

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Labels

We called them tramps in those days, dossers or, with condescending

And ironic respect, Gentlemen of the road.

For they were all men, of a certain age, certain smell,

Clutching their plastic bags, with coats tied round with string, or rope.

They walked the land, in laybys, country lanes, from King’s Lynn

To Bury St Edmunds in search of a meal, the next doss-house in which

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Wanted to write about the creative urge and how it relates to ego.  A bit philosophical, so Descartes' famous phrase I think therefore I am, Cogito Ergo Sum, came to mind for a title.... Not really polished yet, but see what you think...

Poetico Ego Some

I write therefore I am

What I want to be,

I read because I can

Have others listen to me.

I think I’ve found a rhyme,

An...

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