Trusting the metaphor of parental alienation
Drunk on the Tropic of Cancer before the hangover of reality
He left her for a bar stool

Four legs seemed more reliable than two
John and the Geisha girls are riffing rhythmic haikus on the railroad
Oh dear, don’t be late with a suggestive gift.

Little people appear everywhere.
A moment of sunlight between suicide and sex

And whatever lay ...

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You need to play blue guitar at this interview Miss.

while sitting back to the sea

Put on your red shoes and dance to Nigel’s blue guitar

strangers humming the songs of tomorrow's vocals

Shadows of sinners dancing across the years

as Nigel's guitar gently weeps

the boom and the base of neighbours shouting from next door to turn the noise down

You won't believe what just h...

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a foxglove lives forever down roman way
watching videos been recorded on Zoom in confusion
Warm southerly poem in the latest style
she's running scared
in the video matrix, seven poems for seven times, 
lockdown in a woke world, as nights are sooner 
and the transient have the final word  
behold, spake the King - my streets 
made of marble my canal’s water turned to wine
a chicken nugget...

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Spinning out of control history going mad

Gunpoetry Plotters spinning music by the River of Time

drunker and drunker with each nearer step he took on the road to Manchester

A susurration of stanzas and verses skim across the rooftops of Stockport.

relentless ripples of summer clouds

Grim it up, brother

Grim it up, sister,

graduate from sad.

a driver pausing in the...

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A heart that sleeps has a silent love that is never heard
Nicola, 
Paul 
and Vincent paint their house yellow
The below is smaller, the walk is stronger.

The journey to social disorder is closer than you realise
without any drugs.

There's more, you thief of night
with butter dripping from my brush
something stolen from the edge of midnight
unsocial distancing while on free government...

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Nigel was right of course
straight out of the other side 
walking across the zebra lane
on that promenade 
the treachery of Facebook.

The Green Man is sleeping until winter 
but spring rain will awaken him next year,
haunted by the repetition

it was a day like this 
when she was a tree 
and he wore her like a cloak
When she was smoke 
clinging to a death bed, 
no wasted anger arra...

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Wake up to the glory of a legendary Nigel we do not know
Nigel was gone when we rioted that night time 
Nigel was gone when we ran out of chicken pie
It was the day they told us to learn again in insanity 
Nigel was first of course
Taking to unplug with Nigel
We are taunted or haunted by memories of the future
The inkwell was full of pulsating excitement 
hitting the right notes in music a...

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He's gone

gone

gone

I’m dreaming I’m Bohemian

Last time we met, gyroscopic diner punches back, back, back

punching mp3s isn't the same as punching records

This lockdown is never ending - send me more Vodka

The wrong place, at the wrong time, Icarus falls into the English Channel,

to be washed up on the white cliffs, and the Queen is left immortal,

as the freedom monarch

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Overtaken by cyclists heading into sunrise in your dreams  

Broke grains on Monday, counting red angels

Drunk on darkness smiling on the shadows

A phone call only a shadow away from your fingertips

We are the survivors stunned, in Stockport

Digging deeper, reflective

Talking to the walls

Church bells toll for every day without a death

We are the poets leaving our words open...

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Dreading the task of a thousand spots
Lost worlds now more than just regrets or soiled paths not taken
Walking through life with coke, crack, and endless possibilities.

In the amber of panic a book of hauntology is born
The biggest April fools prank ever

Miniature portraits of a poetic diaspora under curfew still deliver haunting lines

Gaining a better view at the edge of the world
Ta...

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Righteous and correct, the clown wilts

Rumour has it I saw someone in costume

From a magazine advertising hard goods.

It’s left my heads in bolts and screwed up.

Unlock my imagination.

No you can’t have a pancake: it’s Saturday!

Run your fingers through the rubble

At the altar of vengeance

Rumour has it, God is forgotten and pancakes need Nutella.

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There’s a rumour going round that street

Pushing past their little destinies

Caught short Shakespear relieved himself against the corn sheaves

The fox startled bit the leg of the harvest jigger

The painting has little time to dry, as poets' pens begin.

To take down a street of music, blended to new worlds of rhyme.

Underneath the moon

The rabbit did not sto...

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In the new dawn of dreams

Adolf sits on his final throne of dirt dug deep,

Wondering if the English Bard would have loved him so,

Don’t go down that street!

We are wild-walking beings with a side of dark heart.

Sheep have beautiful contours and very furry

Hurry up Steinbeck, you’re rambling

Sitting on tailored lawns through polished glass

Not as cool in old b...

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