Since I lived in the shadow of Grenfell in the 70s in what is now the 'Latymer Christian Centre' the tragedy has moved me more than I can adequately express

Here's a pome comparing Grenfell with the Parsi towers of silence.

"A Tower In Silence"

High above the city
On Malabar Hill, Mumbai
Stands a mist caressed silent tower

A shrine of mystery
Where carrion birds flock to feas...

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God swept me off my feet

When He captured me

I was not expecting that

In Plaistow Lane, Bromley

On a mundane autumn Tuesday

As I walked to apologise

To half-baked Jesus Freaks

For mocking them on Monday

When they sang at me

And told me ‘Jesus loves you’

And I had to be a baby to get to heaven.

The electric cleansing fountain

Of love thrilling through m...

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What urgent malevolence

Impressed the metalled highway

Burying the cartwheel rutted tracks

Where mummers danced and acrobats

Indulgence sellers and potion vendors

Preyed on pilgrims singing praises

Making babies, telling stories

Wending their way to Walsingham?

A sombre day – progress spoke,

“Fell the ancient Hangman’s Oak,

Lay concrete carpeting on

Field...

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About an Owl

Sore from a long night’s traipse

Soaked from the storm I trudged through

Knees raw from the chafe of

Trousers heavy with puddle splash

Arms aching from pushing

Palms blistered and heels

Long miles from home on the little-used track

I prop my punctured bike against a five-bar gate

And it’s sunrise.

I rest my elbows on the gate

Absorbing t...

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We walked the windswept hair wildness

Stepping upon the swamp tussocks

Avoiding the slow-worm slow-warm

Sandal soaking rainbow water

Rain ran down her face, her laughing eyes

Her nose and into her smile

And I knew I must apologise

She had never asked much

She had not stood with hands on hips

Demanding more love than I could give

I looked at her, I look...

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I saw the mother of my youngest son today

She was walking straight-backed, erect

Head high but not haughty

Sandals, delicate flower dress

Flowing like her hair once red but now hinting grey

I hope she did not see me.

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The expected news still shocked

Her family and loved ones at her bedside

With good humour and bravery

She passed away.

Was the cancer biding its time

Those wet windy evenings

On Marine Drive, Southport

Awaiting her last bus to Rufford?

She could not come home with me

I had no home

The upturned boat I sheltered in

Did not have room for two.

I was a...

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A long one from me book:

June 2006

I was drinking coffee in a deli in Haifa

When a sepia photograph caught my eye

A man, his wife and family posing stiffly.

The café owner said it showed his grandfather’s father

And brought my order and the story.

June 1906

When Black Hundreds pillaged Bialystock

And the cry went up, “Kill all the Jews!”

Moyshe ben Mendel, c...

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Everything is disappointing

Everyone disappoints

Fall in love with me

I will disappoint you

Like you will me.

It’s factored in the leaving

Everything leaves through

Theft or damage or familiarity

The glow of ownership

Pride of possession

Will gutter and dim

Everything is tinged with disappointment

This we know

But pretend we don’t

We arm in arm a...

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coupla romantic pomes
It being Easter and what have you, I've been watching Irish fillums and the melancholy and the music and the yearnings gush through me.

'Before The Wind Blows My Ashes Away'

I will present that which I birthed
That angels might have whispered
Or demons hissed
In the night hours
When darkness before dawn ached into my bones

I will produce my truth
And sing my s...

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“Please don’t love me, Cazz,

This is just another fling.

That ex girlfriend – you know who,

Will always come first for me.”

Cazz tried to win my heart.

We had days of fun.

Romping nights of lusting. All

Overshadowed by

The former lover lurking,

Behind veils of memory.

Cazz wanted to ask

If my, “Darling, I love you,”

Whispers were for her

Or meant fo...

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What a Size!

She stood uncertain centre-stage

A tremulous tethered kid

In a jungle clearing tiger shoot

Shielding her eyes

Against the spotlight glare

Apologising for her timidity

“I’ve never spoken in public before”

Softly expressing women’s rage

At fear of rape and violence

Her quiet seething anger

Enhanced by gentle diffidence

She should have b...

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I had a dream

I had friends who dreamed

I had dreams that showed me my dream

I had an insistence

I had to obey.

You must slip off the velvet chains

You must loose your questor spirit

You must unlock the magick

You must discover the hidden path or

You must suffocate.

What is?  Who is?  Where is?

What is the time?

What is the date?

What is this place?

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An island Eden

Cut off whenever high tide

Covered the causeway.

A made-to-measure retreat

Out of sight of prying eyes.

The tide receded

We drove across the wet strand

Parking among dunes.

Our van inadvertently

Bedded in axle-deep sand.

It stuck fast. Fiz laughed.

We drank a bottle of rum.

Watching the sun set

Over Árainn Mhór. Blowing

Kisses at t...

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God you made me nervous

When you turned up 

At my surprise party

You smiled around the room

Kissed a cheek or two and mine

Sipped a glass of red and sang.

Your plaintive song

Breathing through the room

Stirred my reservoir of tears.

I wiped my eye 

I had admired you so long 

I never knew you had such a voice.

When your melody dropped away 

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I am a slight and lesser man,

With added prunes

To keep me regular.

My Christmas feast,

Chicken stew with added sprouts,

Is splattering the microwave.

I shall pull a festive cracker,

Eat dinner wearing a paper hat.

Lost in love

Hobbled by fervent hope, 

I stood in siling rain

Gently pebbling my lover’s window.

The curtains stayed closed,

The we...

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A handful of gargoyles on a wall

Is all that remains of the abbey

Dedicated to St Phocas of Sinope

Who’s long forgotten

Overlooking the bay at Aughnabrochan

And when it rains the leaking spouts drip

And splashed heads look up

And picture the abbey in its heyday

And wonder about St Phocas

And hope the crumbling gargoyles

Won’t dislodge and pulp their skulls.

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In thirty years when you are old

As I am now

And wondering what to say

To your forty year old son

Who wonders what he’ll say in turn to his

When his turn comes

Will you spare a thought for my passing

And ponder was it easy for me?

Will you gather with your brothers,

Greying, stooped and anxious

Around a welcome table

Brimmed with real ale pints

In Malham say or ...

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Had I not been peering at a soft-core calendar  

A women's rowing club – posing butt naked - for charity 

With discreet oars obscuring zones of 'special interest'

Our golden wedding day would have passed unnoticed

Friday, October 20 2017 – an empty square

We married - 50 years ago this very day

Deep in the autumn of the ‘Summer of Love'

We might have become ‘grey pan...

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Charles Street, Hull, 

A depression of shuttered shops 

No trace remains of the Pioneer Store 

Or the anonymous side door 

Into the Fig Tree Gospel Hall. 

The ‘blessed remnant’ entered through a porch 

Crammed with bin bags spilling 

Sweet sweat-rancid jumble sale leftovers,

“Get stuck in before the tatters come.”

The doorkeeper was a pig farmer 

From Holder...

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The driver of a leathery 

Clapped out Hillman Hunter

Reeking of Capstan full strength 

And Lifebuoy soap

Dropped me off outside Devizes.

Rain came

I prised open a door to escape

Unrolling my doss bag 

On a scout hut floor.

I crept out early while the village slept

Washing down Kendal Mint Cake 

With a pint of gold top

Pirated from some bugger’s door.

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I was a minor aspiring writer - well know locally,

Until 'Richard and Judy' deemed my book,

A 'must read on your holiday',

Spreading my fame exponentially.

People started to interrupt my incognito summer evening promenades;

White linen suit, floppy bow tie, Raybans and panama,

“Oi! I’ve seen you on telly. How's about a selfie?"

My agent told me,  

"Oprah's people rang....

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Glimpsed from the bus, a

Pregnant hump of displaced earth

Piled to fill a grave.

Some flowers too - not many.

No hearse.  No crowd of mourners.

A wreath shows Dad's passed.

Just “Dad.” Enough. Her father.

He had squeezed her hand

And breathed his last breath sighing

For loves past – and those to come.

The girl stood alone

Kicking at the grave earth pile

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I posted this in September but have rewritten for me book - hope you enjoy

- performance piece -

She devised a meeting ‘just as friends'

For evening drinks in her favourite bar.

(Soigné and the food is good)

Her finely plaited ribboned hair

Smelled of woody sandalwood.

She said I had to walk her home,

“There are dangers lurking everywhere.”

She chose the cycl...

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