The sign at the inn swung like a gallows

the light lay low on the heath.

Old Ben was in his settle

sucking baccy through his teeth.

Puddles formed on the flagstones

where a one - eyed dog stood watch;

underneath a ragged sky

the inn was dark as a crotch,

except for a fire - lit window

that glowed like a winter star,

through which a cluster of faces took in

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Of sleeping rough i've had enough

and the pointless error of my ways.

I've seen the light the other night,

a man from the Church was doing research

on how we spend our days.

Now i've turned myself around

like others sometimes do.

Well, after all it's a waste of a life,

so now i'm looking for a wife

to love me for what I might become

instead of just a pathetic bum...

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Battersea lay on its back

like an old dog in the sun,

its legs in the air.

A postwar indolence

hung loosely at the kerbs.

Rails gently simmered on their way to homes.

Factory chimneys were idle,

and on this Christmas day

for those still about, dawdling

there was a pint to be had at a corner pub.

An air of honesty led to no false hopes,

no promise of ...

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The shortest day rolls away like a brief lament

in a book near its end, and my, how it's flown

in the reading my friend!

Even as we mourn for the light

half blinded while waiting for inky night,

we celebrate with incantation as if

there's fear in the shortness of it, like dying breath

on lips that talk of its passing away.

A celestial hound sniffs amongst leaves

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Hi Charlie, hope things are going well for you and the family.

It seems such a long time now.

I had to find a new spot to kip down last week

as there are some dodgy types taking over,.

I thought my luck couldn't last.

Still on the scrounge at the moment,

but the hostels were doing my  head in.

Once you get used to the streets

it's like an anaesthetic, plus the odd cider

...

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Sing to me of city lights,

of good time girls for lonely nights.

Sing to me of guarded spaces,

of feuds and rights, trading places.

Talk to me of stars above,

the hushed embrace of once tried love

and I will talk to myself in doorways,

sleep the sleep of the undead.

I will hide an outrage tight

like a possession to keep out the cold.

I shall s...

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After toddlers are potty trained

we can all breathe a sigh of relief

as the earth turns recycled shit into slurry

packed in plastic

in no great hurry to regurgitate.

Their beautiful little smiling faces

not showing signs of our easy disgraces,

as we bury our faults in earthy vaults

while showing off our progeny,

who soon enough will start to bewail

our cont...

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"Take me with you wherever you go," I cried.

She looked at me with star-studded eyes.

"There is no need for that," she replied.

"You have a life of your own to live,

and although you think you love me

I can only hinder you.

The life she held back would never be mine,

nor her shy and gracious face.

The moon with its dark side explained it all

with its finge...

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You can keep your Monte Carlo

your islands of celebrity.

Give me Haven Holidays

a blissful week at Allhallows on Sea.

You can keep your crab and langoustines

by candlelight in harbour bars.

Give me whelks, cockles,

a plate of mussels,

chips and a bowl of Haagen Daas.

You can keep your romantic settings,

tropical playgrounds under palms.

Give me a mist on ...

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Close by the summer spire of St.Barnabus

Flossie Sheridan waits for a trolleybus

statuesque with her mane of auburn hair

knowing all there is to know

from flowing crown to tippy toe

in her school blue and grey looking neat.

Here comes the red and gliding bus

with a hiss and a spark past Clissold Park,

the conductor bright buttoned

swings out to welcome her aboard.

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A record slides from within its sleeve

palm supported to the deck;

the needle descends,

he takes  his place

to where she curls up with that special face.

While reaching down to pull him off

he stays her hand for Rachmaninov,

a musical climax steadily building,

his spirit soaring.

Something about his isolation worries her

as he closes his eyes;

she sulks a...

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It was hiding itself amongst wet flannel leaves

given up by the ghost of the earlier year - a challenge I was willing to take,

the incinerator

like a dustbin with holes.

Last week I had burned free offers

lurid lies and half promises

all crated in with a stick

despatched with a match or two.

Now it was different.

Old skeletons of cuttings stuck straight up

hard p...

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There are fields of lavender in England

gathered into bottles, bags, pillows

to inspire with calmness.

Japanese come with cameraphones

to record the novelty -

news for a small island.

"There, there! they say in Japanese

and worship colour in nature.

They have Mount Fuji, bullet trains

and problems of their own

to do with factories and yields.

Lavende...

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As I ascended the hill

the air became ever more still

until it hung crystal as a chandelier,

pine forests leaning dark

against a clear stunning sky of biting cold.

and when I reached the lake

it was glass as sure as a dream,

as deep as its needs required,

a secret hid from man in his selfish trance.

and I thought looking back to hear no sound

there was the w...

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Spare a thought as he comes amongst you

prepared to burst like a boil of hate

on the line he crossed many times

between sanity and that other place

he had to face,

to live his life in the shadow of death revived

knowing the price he has paid

for being witness to exploded breath

spare a thought for him

the one who came out of the storm of fire

remember him

.

visi...

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And the great and good of every country held an assembly

never the like of which had been seen before:

Consorts, despots, legitimately voted leaders,

church representatives, tribal gurus,

shamans, every nut and bolt of power gathered there

on a beacon lit hilltop, with no security presence

at a propitious time in the calendar decided upon by wise men

in their small u...

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When the sunrise loses hope

birds stop singing,

an aura gathers around the rim

then there's too much remembering

looking back for answers

which never come,

only questions that hang in the air

then sink down with secrets

in the blood red setting sun.

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Take the Stannah Stairlift to Paradise,

now wouldn't that be nice,

fitting included in the price.

Sitting there with slippers on

watching the downstairs rooms receding,

a quiet hum as the clouds drift by.

Stoked up on medicated bliss

life could never be better than this.

As the landing hoves into view

wallpaper looking down at you

to meet and greet the carpe...

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The drop in centres were dropped,

post offices closed,

banks blanked off,

supermarkets fully automated,

high street stores awaiting budget announcements,

benefits savagely cut,

surgeries under threat,

local bus routes severed.

      The community relief specialist paused

      near a gap in static traffic

      to check a crumpled heap,

      spotted a note wh...

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I thought the entering knife was bad

until I saw a bullet wound,

photographed in black and white

as when a life is ripped apart.

In the darkness of emotion

held securely in case of threat,

lies the answer to man's endeavour

for war to drive the body apart.

Such is the game that pulls men in

with all the weight of industry behind,

all its trickery and enterpr...

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The House of Usher is up for sale

with a casket of secrets

and a built in tale.

Family histories tainted, unclean

bursting to be told

by those unseen.

The House of Usher increased in price

when it turned its back on Paradise,

with skeletons in cupboards

and other artefacts,

like unspeakable things in sacks.

The trees in the garden, weighed down in sorrow

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Amongst those I admire most

must surely be the Holy Ghost.

Indefinable, unfathomable,

a lesson to us all

in how to remain invisible

yet unfailingly enthrall.

With a presence compulsory

though indescribable to most.

Yes, amongst the Ones I much admire

must be the holy Ghost.

Something you will never meet

except on a lost horizon;

nevertheless its place ...

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relish your dark woundings,

prime your pellets,

Check your powders,

For soon comes the hunter's moon.

polish your stock,

let your barrel breathe oil, 

make slick your cloth's 

preparations,

practise footfalls of stealth,

For soon comes the hunter 's moon.

While fen and forest

Sweat and furrow,

While fur frets

In the burrow,

Hold fast your dreams ...

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Isn't nature wonderful, she thinks

holding the tip of her Mont Blanc pen

against the ruby of her lips. 

Gregory is in the city as usual;

behind mullioned windows

a weak sun lights up the estuary of the Dee.

Her red setter lies fully stretched

on the killim rug

and suddenly it is time

for the pen to write

        describing the turn of the river

almost out of s...

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The Angel of Death was dancing 

in a veil of gossamer grey,

close by her side the Grim Reaper pressed

as night faded into day.

He grinned through his hood like a gentleman should

while her wings caught the light of the moon;

like shattered glass in a ravaged dawn

they sparkled then faded away.

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Benjamin Britten strode out

one crisp spring morning to a crowd of seagulls;

North Sea clouds parted

to let the sun through.

This was his muse, his choir,

a thin gruel of music in his head

preparing for release.

Harps and the voices of boys split infinity

over the shingle.

He worried about the cause,

the great horizon of gestation held tight

in an unaccep...

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Benjamin Britten strode out

one crisp spring morning to a crowd of seagulls;

North Sea clouds parted

to let the sun through. 

This was his muse, his choir,

a thin gruel of music in his head

preparing for release. 

Harps and the voices of boys split infinity

over the shingle.

He worried about the cause,

the great horizon of gestation held tight

in an unacc...

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I want to feel important,

i'd like to meet the Queen,

even a minor Royal would do

as long as i'd be seen. 

The spin - offs could be useful

online and in the pub,

i'd like to get a selfie

with Queenie in the scene. 

I was born quite humble

and havn't changed my name

unlike Sir Elton and other knights

I have no claim to fame.

But i'd like to feel im...

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Death for a cause

pain beyond belief

Crucifixion;

A following.

After two thousand years

the old planets roll,

eyes cast up to God

or down with grief,

seeking answers. 

All is silence

beyond belief. 

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Yorkshire stands proud of its men

(not sure about the women).

It's what can get you famous.

Nobbut a lad etcetera

charming the arse off the elite

with mud on't feet. 

And as for that painter fella

stained glass window in t'Palace of Westminster

seat a't power,

no problem now they've got rid of the bloody tower. 

So! We stand tall, grander than 'em all

and...

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Where I live the lanes run this way and that

all confused changing their minds.

On scowling days they run with rain

to remind you which is up and which is down. 

Back on myself I go to places I thought I knew

and wonder about: doors replaced under feathered slate

this year's car behind a rickety gate.

A freshly dug bed behind a hedge privacy nevertheless shared.

A...

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There is no poetry in music, not this way:

a room pulsating with dance,

the detritus of meals discarded,

some celebration of sales figures achieved,

the mutual masturbation of praise

for the highlight of successful days. 

There is no poetry in noise,

a hell machine driven to death

on the sweat of drunken breath. 

No, no poetry for me;

although I play the songs

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Next to the food bank

a tiny table had been laid outside,

with fine linen, silver cutlery

best china, napkin keenly folded,

a resolute chair of some repute. 

The town awaited with baited breath

a celebrity who was due to dine,

to be waited on there.

Soon a butler arrived,

the ceremony commenced. 

lavish dishes from a special vehicle

a team of news guys in...

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Songs my mother taught me at the breast

sweet hauntings while to the nipple pressed

too late for memory's supplication now

though promises made of life a silent vow.

The song of dust and bones is grinding slow,

what the finger writes

we surely cannot know.

Then her sweet lips were pressed

into a grave;

a shovel rang, the music of the spheres

enchanted echoed back

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Subtlety ?  forget it.

Put it in and you'll regret it,

Might as well talk to yourself

in an empty council toilet.

LIke any private moment, wasted,

someone's sure to spoil it. 

Most of the readers will miss your point

then move to something safer.

So make your gestures obvious

for easy quick consumption.

Nobody likes to think too hard

without the wit or gumptio...

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I wasn't upset at the funeral today,

my cup already full of misery.

Death shouldn't be a matter of numbers,

but they were clocking up

in familiar places,

with unspoken duties of sadness.

The last one was different

which I couldn't attend

nursing my shocked and tender heart,

but families are full of expectation

and familiar strangers,

so this time it didn't cou...

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Here stands Tim Quiney

porter at Defford

for over thirty years.

In the background, undisturbed

the station he knew so well,

in the Vale of Salty Tears. 

Such men are copied

on heritage lines,

celebrating the way things used to be,

but on that day we see him

he went down with history

along with the Vale of Salty Tears. 

He lost his job along with others

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"How're ye doin' honey?

I got here as soon as I could."

    He's all strapped up,

    tubes like spaghetti,

    leg in a splint. 

"I'm doin' jus' fine, i'm OK you know. "

    Multiple fractures,

    bed curtains fastracking, 

    stethoscopes wagging,

    emergency vehicles

    not long from the scene. 

"How'd it happen, what's the news?"

"Well, h...

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When the men came a-knocking

the die was cast,

plans in tatters behind the door;

then mothers wrung their hands in grief

clinging to tragic hope and belief. 

On their final visiting list

were sons of Derry

who had drank and talked

sealing their fate

without a trial. 

When the man came a-knocking

to take them away

those dreamers of freedom

espousers ...

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Nirvana

Elysium

Arcadia,

unlike holiday destinations

don't exist in brochures

or online,

don't make false promises,

offer palm trees, white beaches

rolling surf,

beach bars

recliners,

bliss of a transient kind

that runs out back at the airport

with the phone turned off.

You may sense them on balmy breezes:

magic carpet rides,

in a look wher...

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Heat is sighing in the glade

so we look for welcome shade,

remembering a pond 

that scratched itself on the backs of rushes

concealing more than it could show. 

We lean together on a fence

watch some ducklings

paddling on lily pads

like uncertain swimmers

precarious and disjointed. 

Adults stay in the shallows

bobbing like coracles. 

A man comes with b...

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In the graveyard, a low sad sun

helps to reveal names on headstones,

green from time's dedication,

scrolled like a will and testament

or in bold font according to taste. 

"Departed this life"- the date obscured.

Bees choose life in the blossom;

while the old church, defending its faith

with custom, lurches into safe oblivion. 

I see a fresh headstone

with it...

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While the film was running

somebody died.

It's always like that,

just as you thought there was a plot

as likely as not

there'll be an alternative ending

that nobody saw coming. 

Except perhaps GOD

who fails to rewind

playing cinematic tricks with your mind.

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The saxophone is only as good as you feel,

a masterpiece of confusion brought to heel,

constantly seeking company.

"Speak with me

speak with me it says,

I have so much to tell."

With plaintive insistence it reaches out,

then, tired from sound

lays down in velvet ruffs.

Enough is enough the ventriloquist says,

then the dummy cries itself to sleep,

in a dre...

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"I need to improve my media presence,"

said the weasel to the shrew.

"Some selfies and a profile page,

an agent should know what to do. 

No more slinking and stinking for me,

i'll lift my image

come out of the wild.

What think you?"

"Just wishful thinking, weasel words,"

replied the cunning and baleful shrew,

knowing full well the seed now sown

he took the ide...

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"What's that, Daddy?" I had said,

pointing through the window in my memory.

"Railway engines on railway lines," he had said

in the early morning Vauxhall mist.

His cigarette smoke blended with

the stuffy morning sun,

another dying day begun;

railway lines,

crossing over an instant distance of time.

He read my thoughts,

why wouldn't he? 

Today Waterlo...

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The biggest moment of his life

was when he took it -

so big it was that it rose up to meet him

with a large handshake,

a welcome to something he knew nothing about

nor wished to,

but nothing he could imagine

would be worth remaining behind for -

all the colours bled into one

like a balloon with nothing to celebrate,

a rubber joke inflated.

Perhaps he was the joke,

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Onomatopoiea, i'd like to make it clear

is just the description of the sounds

that actions make when they strike our ear. 

Here's one example: a crash or a smash,

everyday words; a bit of a shock

when something happens to make those sounds

that often enough will cause a fleeing

like the hissing sound of someone peeing. 

Not so grating but disconcerting

nevertheless ...

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Lifting the words from the page

turning them over, it was as I thought:

different meanings

different strokes for different folks,

hastily assembled in ragged ranks

all stary eyed

come to serve the masterminds

revealing well known and trusted themes,

turning over new exotic leaves

page by page, just so much foliage,

and us reborn all starry eyed

in mangers...

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Wonder can take you that extra mile,

along with doubt of course.

They can get you a long way into

the places you don't understand but wish to. 

How the friend you knew looks up

from a bolstered pillow,

eyes betraying his stunted body,

that's today's cold compression.

How to fathom your own voice

as it rebounds into your head

where there is no expression. 

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