Thursday, 8 March 2018

Fractured City

I walk along on cracked paving stones in a fractured city

With feelings of sadness and anxiety, yet I try to be witty

When asked for my opinion on a political topic,

Despite fears that our future will be fraught and dystopic.

It’s hard to be optimistic with people sleeping on the street,

Ragged clothes on their shoulders, cups of change by bare feet

Discarded by a failing society of the elite

In nylon rubbish bags on a concrete trash heap.

While our attention is focused on nostalgic ideas

Of going back to blue passports and “cheerio, my dears,”

We’re missing problems at home, we should look at ourselves

Before casting blame on migrants or refugees or elves

Or whatever other magical, mystical scapegoat we find,

When it comes to our own faults we seem to be blind.

So if we’re ever to repair this damage that we’ve done

We need to stand and be counted and united as one,

Rebuild and regrow what once was abundant,

Beauty and friendships and all that seems redundant

In this world of “us and them” and he who has more

Where the little guy loses, this can’t be what’s in store

For my children and yours, the next generation,

Let’s not have our nation end up in isolation.

Thursday, 28 September 2017

Umbrella Army

Is there anything more fearsome than a Londoner with an umbrella?
In a September shower, hustling in rush hour
hypnotically spinning like an airplane propeller,
seeking decapitation, making me cower

like a peasant in the face of a charging knight
a waterproof lance heading straight for the face –
the pointy bits of a brolly are always just the right height.
So I duck and dodge at a frantic pace

like a cockney ninja hidden under my hood.
Then out of nowhere comes the leader of their gang,
A Mary Poppins type looking wholesome and good,
I think I’ll evade her – at the last second, bang!

I’m gouged in the cheek with a stainless steel spike,
blood flows freely and she doesn’t even slow.
Then I’m soaked with a puddle by a speeding superbike,
Steam rises from me as my ire starts to grow.

I stomp off in a strop with my hand to my cheek,
duck my head into a shop where it’s warm and dry,
check the weather forecast for the rest of the week

and buy a brolly of my own to poke in someone else’s eye.

Wednesday, 15 March 2017


Down through that yawning maw,
On moving metal machines,
Where people leave their manners at the door,
and the end seems to justify the means.
Hustle, jostle, push and shove,
It's the same on multi-coloured lines,
For fellow man there is no love,
Just a destination to get to on time.
Ladies stood, clearly with child,
A barging businessman must have the seat,
Survival of the fittest in this underground wild,
Leave the less able struggling on sore feet.
Does the lack of fresh air make us morally redundant?
No excuse me's or sorry, my apologies-
Seemingly assholes are abundant,
Is mine the rarest of ideologies?
To be as polite and friendly as I'm able,
On seeing an elder, offer to stand,
Maybe manners are fantasy or fable,
This Underground must be a different land.

Thursday, 6 October 2016


Words bleed from me,
Letters leave my body from open veins of creativity.
Sometimes jumbled, incoherent,
Into the aether they're sent, to be read or ignored. Augment
them, turn them outside-in,
anagrams or acronyms, with pride or chagrin
put your poetry out there.
Language is to be shared, embellished with flair.
Emotion translated into verse,
Eyes will traverse stanzas and then we converse
about what makes us really sad
or what makes us angry, or glad.
We realise that life is the best poetry we ever had.

Monday, 7 September 2015

For Those Left Behind

For the loss of a loved one there is no cure,
You aren’t sick. You can’t get better.
You move forward, metronome,
stutter, stumble, slip, trip and fall.

Pick yourself up and lean on me,
Cry salty tears upon my shoulder
and I’ll be your rock, nay, your boulder.

In times like these your friends are sentinels,
Standing tall, showing the way,
guiding you along a path to a better day

where the pain will fade;
no longer a cut from a sharpened blade.
Just a dull ache surrounded by the warm glow of
memories from better times.

Let us hold your hand and walk on together.

Monday, 8 April 2013

Through the eyes of a baby

I'd love to see the world through a 1 year old's eyes,
A place that's devoid of corruption and lies,
Where everything is adventure and opportunity awaits,
And where you go next your imagination dictates.
Where the world is big and scary and fun,
You don't speak- you scream, you don't walk- you run
Where flatulence fascinates and laughter ensues,
How I'd love to walk a mile in those baby shoes-
Where each step's a move forward into the great unknown,
Where there's never the fear of being alone,
And every mistake's a new lesson to learn,
The worries of the world are of little concern;
A double dip is a game where daddy throws you around,
Fighting is just play and War is a baby sound,
Climate change is when mum puts the central heating on,
I miss those days where the sun always shone.
That world must be marvellous from a baby's point of view,
The fascination of experiences that are alien and new,
And at the end of the day when it's time for a nap,
Fall asleep with loving cuddles in mummy's warm lap.

Thursday, 11 October 2012

Chocolate Digestive

A chocolate digestive,
Can be quite suggestive
When you’re trying to watch your weight.
The cocoa infusion
Causes confusion
And an anxious mental state.
You steadfastly refuse,
And sit and peruse
Everybody devour theirs whole.
While they all savour
The chocolaty flavour
It’s the death of a part of your soul.
I shouldn’t risk it,
The beautiful biscuit
At the risk of destroying the diet.
Shoved under my nose
My conviction dissolves
Oh go on then I’ll just try it.