The pocket book with its red cloth cover

well thumbed by a neighbour's hands

offered self improvement of a spiritual nature

via prayer and procedure, hymns,

holy etiquette in a cruel world. 

If proof of this condition was needed it was evident

from its cursory disposal in a skip

by her grandson after her husband had died. 

Inside the cover in enthusiastic biro script was:

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Cup your hand to your ear can you hear it now

the sound of the past coming through the mists?

the Scots are coming once again

unleashed on a trip down memory lane.

Those Christmases in black and white

with Andy Stewart and Kenneth McKellar

burst with goodness like a dose of salts

to set our hearts and voices aflame

in the middle of our monopoly game. 

For fires...

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The long slow fields come and go in languid succession

the speeding hedgerows, the infinitude of destinations

with their suspicions, lessons to learn. 

Inside the car sterile familiarity,

function carrying your body as planned. 

Is there a reason I wonder

in that hanging moment between signs, features

of landscape to be subdued, anxiety accepted.

It's all a j...

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The comforting feel of a blued steel weapon does it every time

the solid trust you put in it.

the protection it affords

the ownership is where it starts

takes you all the way

we ain't gonna let that go, no way Jose. 

It's what we was brought up with

it's about what we won't put up with

it's a territorial thing we take up arms,

when a situation develops where others ...

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I know they're under the eaves scheming

for a next move nothing left to chance. 

My torch reveals one taking the outside air at night

in a strung rocking chair,

a perfect design in its world of complexity. 

By day nothing is visible except threads

in corners, where futures are made. 

A sense of privilege holds me back from destroying them

allowing full rein over my dis...

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Bullets in the breach waiting waiting

a baby in the balance gestating gestating

who one day may take up arms

swept on by war's desperate alarms. 

Then the blood flows in the streets

and in the fields

When the men of God will come;

while there are bullets in the breach

men of God will come as a consequence

for without them where is the glory?

glory and mud do not ...

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Our dishwasher went on strike, fed up with being taken for granted,

the penny dropped as we stared at the full up sullen machine,

white goods amongst others in a kitchen designed to please.

Our back up plan: taking out every plate and pan

cup and glass, immersing them into a sink with forensic thoroughness,

working as one, sharing the washing and wiping, an ebb and flow

immersion...

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For every cloud there's a face

born to carry its message then lost without trace,

there's no death in a cloud, only transformation

but faces we can't forget

some on their way to redemption

and others to damnation. 

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A baby, a bullet

one up the spout

who put it there,

who put it there?

waits in the breech

both must come out

awaits its time

awaits its time. 

God's design

man's desire

seeking the air

seeking the air

Is there a God?

this is your answer,

a bullet, a baby

maybe maybe. 

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As if by Royal proclamation

the ears of the present incumbent

of Hanoverian proportion stick out noticeably,

though lately since becoming head of state

they have blended in nicely

as his head seems to have grown in stature

equivalent to the gravitas of a Margaret Thatcher. 

Somewhat cumbersome his bonce is now ready

for a crown, which should sit well

without sl...

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First for cups two willing ears

prepare to fill with much sweet sound

blend and beat turn up the heat

add you crotchets and some quavers

add your woodwind strings and brass

for a touch of class remember to stir,

the magic of music will surely occur. 

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Get on the bus at the hospital stop

just by the Stag and Hounds,

the conductor in his uniform will clip a ticket

you'll ride in a chattering of joy past fields

a cemetery and a farm. 

In no time at all you'll enter Staines

its shops with blinds drawn down

past the depot with its crittall windows

the town hall and its welcoming square

Church Street's quiet calm.

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The woollen balaclava surrounded the head of a young boy

like a facsmile of the Norman chain mail helmet

on my mother's knitting pattern together with fingerless mitts,

in today's world of sports gear an anachronism. 

Bestway Knitwear no. A 2624 4d. guided her as the fifties demanded;

said balaclava was as hot as molten lava,

as itchy as a false beard in a Shakespeare play

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Jupiter with its boundless grace

reaches out tonight on a cold sweeping ellipse

and I see its pinprick face with supporting actors

stuck in some catastrophic race for arrival

emblazoned on a velvet curtain

closer tonight on its visit from outer space,

like any thespian it senses its moment,

the spotlight of our life - giving sun reveals it. 

From some haunted vault on ...

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Earthbound, spellbound in thrall to majesty

without a sound. Silence that fills some monstrous need

never to be satisfied with so many mouths to feed. 

Still they come with muffled tread as if their mourning

might raise the dead. In years to come these thoughts

now fresh will set like the stone of ancient walls

witness to a light that dies, a silence weeping to the skies. 

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Boots in the hallway leashes on the hooks

the smell of broth as it simmers and cooks,

John McTavish man about the moor

rubs his hands after closing the door. 

Up at the house the fire made up

our gracious Queen is laid a - bed

the family attend to witness the pause

of a ritual stretching across the borders

to lands of bondage, of freedom gained.

Sunlight peeps ...

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We think of pageantry a wave of the hand

a face behind glass or high on a horse

also of course the rows of pews

where sat at times the blessed, the chosen

and never thought it strange,

but that was what we cherished most

engulfed in ordinary lives

the pomp and then the surprising descent

into crowds of you and I

who tried to grasp the glory and wealth

in no ...

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Pierrepoint, solid reliable

sense of humour

essential for the job.

Made light of pulling pints

and the death lever

carried out the law at the blunt end

humane but resolute

a Yorkshireman after all,

after all is said and done

before the drop the fall from grace

when death wears someone else's face. 

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Born into darkness

a life unanchored

severed from reason

strangely unreal

to himself a threat

to others an enigma

and variations on a theme

as yet not worked out

and little hope of it. 

And how should we feel for such:

should it be disgust

or perhaps pity, sorrow at least

If we look hard we may see

some unhinging of purpose

a vast limit...

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There's no romance or magic at Euston any more

no solemn glory since they took down the arch

yet on a flustering blustering  visit before my train departure

I met the eye of the actor guy

who played the son in law of Alf Garnett, Tony Booth

the personification of the awkward git, now hatted and scarfed

and red of face at the sharp end of a Johnnie Walker.

I joined him in ...

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During the night a storm erupted

holding us hostage

under a cabin roof. 

I lit small candles when the power went down,

the night became a sightless eye

and we were afloat, unblinking

in the coracle of a disturbed dream;

tall pines thrashed the sky

whose shimmer was a dance

to thunderous applause from the rain. 

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Beware of broken glass, stinging nettles

wasps, steaming kettles.

Beware of writer's cramp, rising damp

unshrouded wires, congenital liars. 

Most of all beware the bewitching one who smiles

lonely and needy with wild eyes.

Beware of your own stare, your desire

and where it might lead,

an unhealthy place where wild dogs may feed,

unpalatable before you even realize. 

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One thing they forgot to teach us at school

is the law of disappearing surfaces,

as inevitable as water finding its own level,

stating that a static surface will always

attract objects in direct proportion to its

convenience and accessibility,

and yet

they never teach you that at school,

once full, the surface disappears

after serving its purpose.

The phenomena i...

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They waited for the heat

and the heat waited

building up its forces,

they were in dread of it

imagining blisters

spontaneous combustion

hallucinations

tongues too swollen for mouths

to accommodate,

the salvation of lollies ice creams

and secret wells. 

The heat caught some out

the dismissives

the torso worshippers

whilst old folk settled

into dark ...

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Christine was pristine

never been touched

not in the way that endears or repels

being so pure

increased her allure

attracting attention with perfume and gels.

By nature she stayed

in the realm of the frigid

never entrusting herself to the rigid. 

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Don't even think about it - that's my advice

but who listens to that?

certainly not me, though it's all my idea

thinking of DIY at seventy eight. 

I'm nursing my wounds just now

and re - grouping as my energy falls

it's all about screws and nails

twisting and shouting with pain and frustration

trying to match the plan with the dream

of proud completion, standing back

...

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The last two summers had brought  false widows

out onto window sills, eaves and sundry surfaces

 hunched up or splayed according to chance.

The summerhouse, home to a cocoon, was overstacked

with tiered objects that I occasionally disturbed

to reveal  dark access points musty from winter damp,

half obscured  by jaundiced plastic windows

turned opaque by years of heat.

...

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There's gladness in the crowd

but also the sublime madness of worship

and of freedom, subordination too

to something somehow superior

an outpouring overdue. 

There's the unsung song stirring again

the serving horses, the unquestioning

of the display under control,

pecking orders strategically followed,

even the skies look up,

and those in the know

will say thi...

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Dear Queen I'm ten years old

and I like you a lot

and also Dear Queen my mum is forty

she's also a fan.

My Dad liked the Duke of Edinburgh.

My brother is keen as well

and likes all the royals,

and Dear Queen

my cousin is twelve and is also a fan

and my sister likes Prince Harry. 

Dear Queen i'm ten years

in case you have forgotten Ma'am

my uncle is fifty, h...

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With their shadowed brows and camouflaged stealth

soldiers are practising on the heath

as I awake, the put put of small arms fire

dotting the distance on the rutted scrubland

with sweeping views over Cove and Aldershot,

controlled aggression telling a staccato story

primeval dreams coming true

scattering the wildlife with their restless presence

likewise uniformed they...

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On the subject of coffee houses

I find the Starbucks at Walsall very good

original in many ways

residing in a Birmingham Bauhaus style building

nestling enticingly off of a popular roundabout

near the ring road

you get the picture. 

The serving style is second to none

and the staff have an almost come hither look

which reflects their desire to please,

and please they ...

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On the subject of coffee houses

I find the Starbucks at Walsall very good

original in many ways

residing in a Birmingham Bauhaus style building

nestling enticingly off of a popular roundabout

near the ring road

you get the picture. 

The serving style is second to none

and the staff have an almost come hither look

which reflects their desire to please,

and please they ...

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I came alive by night

brought the night to life,

music bled through every pore

a career of sound in black and white

black and white the piano keys,

and when the light came calling me

summoned again to stoke the fire in my veins

I played and prayed for the passing of time

its metre was my game. 

And now i've served that clarion call

I miss the calling not at all

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Putney is the sort of place

one can wear a woman's dress

and fit in I have found,

don't ask me why.

There are more things in heaven and earth

to concern us I know,

but it might be instructive in case of sudden flirtations

with hitherto untried mixed sex perambulations. 

The same may not be said of other areas

where consequences might ensue

for instance after the ...

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I dreamt that I was Roger Moore

changing into Max Wall

then suddenly remembered that 

we can have multiple personalities within us all,

contemplating no doubt aspirations

beyond our grasp, like a rush for glory or suicide. 

In the meantime I felt a desire to impress the ladies

and attend casinos wielding a Walther PPK

gravitating to putting on tight leggings and a wig....

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There is no heaven on earth

only pale imitations of sunsets on unholy ground,

but remember to love thine enemies

as they take what you thought was yours,

kill those you love.

Make music when the dawn brings them here

where they don't belong,

sad melodies, take your partners

love thine enemies

dance with death 'til the dream ends. 

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A shy sun peeps around a cloudbank like a child freshly woken

"Don't forget me" she says with an eye full of the dew of sleep.

She turns in the thick womb of fleece, her rays like tumbling hair. 

In no time she bursts into life gets out of bed

the shyness dispersed and forgotten

turning dreams into other lives that depend on her. 

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A reduced version of myself

looks back from the mirror,

an unexplored unexpected province

old fruit withering on the vine. 

As a precaution I try to seal all the entries

and exits of doubt

with hope and listless faith such as you find

in empty churchyards, behind locked oak doors

and all my veins stand out to enhance the effect. 

The internet searches for me an answ...

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Two ageing musicians recount stories

of an inglorious episode shared,

drink does the talking.

They are merely bystanders in a vivid tapestry

strewn like shroud over a past

almost forgotten by the masses -

radio broadcasts, theatre pits,

sleazy nightclubs, outdoor events

where clouds bent their heads in curiosity. 

:Lights in the pub reflect off glasses, rose tinted,

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I had a mother once

at my age it seems hard to believe,

but the fact remains with all her pains

she did her best then took her leave,

so here's a toast to a valued ghost

who looked on me with love and pride

for all the years we shared our lives

and for all she did achieve. 

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A sewage worker was born again

finding Jesus down the drain

a moment of light and truth of sorts

where the underworld contorts.

Breathing methane was the cause

yet still an event to give us pause

he underwent a strange conversion

after seeing the browning version.

As above so below

where even common faecal flow

can bring a man to God it seems

who speciali...

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I could sit and watch flowers for hours and hours

but as luck would have it I can't,

'cause something will always need trimming and so

to work with the snips I feel I must go

removing improving

feeding or seeding,

a host of golden moments lost

when I worry about an imminent frost

and reach for the fleece

there's really no peace,

and I live on a wing and a prayer

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The M 24, what is it for

what purpose does it serve?

unrecognized on any map

unsanctioned by authority

it simply does not exist

only in the vacuum packed imaginary landscape

where it streches unmentionable

like halitosis or straight sex in Bankkok

the M 24 is in the dock.

Expunged from any tales of distance

of the laying of concrete and lonely persistence

unde...

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Take a thought bubble strip it of its skin

until it fills the whole space of your mind

examine its components

describe them in a palace of time

wrap those images in words write them on paper

you've captured that bubble in poetry. 

Walk away: it remains to nag you

with its shiny or tawdry ego

bursting with love or hate

but hopefully not indifference

for ...

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We make a shoulder of the wind

of the wind we make a shoulder

and get nowhere, blinded and deaf

from effort, our inflexibility of will

mocked by the block of air

with its big bouncy blusterings

flying its flag with pride

unassailable, unreasonable

to all human effort save for windmills

in a former time. 

We make a promise to try harder

to live with these riots

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I'm on a Luton free diet

though many might decry it

my body can't process Luton,

i'd recommend that others try it. 

Denial of entry to Luton

is the only known requirement,

I feel better already as I prepare

to deny it my presence by not going there. 

If your body can't process Luton

it seems the place will bring you down,

so once you've got the hang of it

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We arrive in Dolgelley

the sun still rides the late peaks

and our day will soon be over. 

We ascend to the top floor

of a grey terrace pub

with its utility wardrobe whose door

cannot be closed. 

A late light informs the lace curtains

with its bleak projection. 

My brother's saddlebag has landed on the floor;

soon he will light a disgusting Falcon pipe,

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Tawdry Audrey is a game old bird

still seeks out boozers,

consorts with iffy bruisers. 

What's wrong with that I say

she should have her way

at variance with the precious set

and their post renaissance views. 

What should it matter if in a material sense

she is one of life's grand losers?

A day out with Tawdry Audrey could still 

be a last slice of life for ...

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She dressed the dog

it gave her a purpose,

she could manage no finer design. 

It would gaze with such impenetrable thoughts

oblivious to such infantile sports.

She talked the baby talk

the Pomeranian walked the walk,

together they looked divine. 

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