Friday, 11 October 2019


Now, time has come full circle
back to where we began - these words
unwritten, but spoken face-to-face.
Ah, such joy - truth is, last night I invaded

your aura in search of belonging,
my only bearings a juvenile obsession.
And, there, in imagination's furthest reaches
we touched - just for one mad, crazy instant.

It was the silence that provoked me -
and the absence of your physical warmth, as I lay curled
like a foetus, haunted by our shared history:
shrivelling here, cold as winter's frozen wasteland,

until daybreak...'til this...this torment
that defines my future in it's entirety took over.
And from the depths, what self-survival withheld
in compassion was brutally revealed.

For separation is our love's cruel metonymy,
and ours is this barren real world's
hollow persuits, that can neither comfort nor fulfill
the heart's endlessly brooding, desperate need.

Friday, 4 October 2019


I first learnt to drive in my brother's bedroom,
sitting on a Meccano box planted in the middle of the rug.
"Back straight, head up!" Feet resting on Lego pedals,
I drove awkwardly: hands ok, feet twisting around each other,
as he barked out instructions like a cross Sergeant Major.
My knuckles turned white as I gripped Father's spare gear stick.
"Look ahead up the road!" I stared into the dark space
beneath his desk. What at I wondered?
He positioned himself in front of me. "Imagine I'm an oncoming car."
He swerved as I approached him in the middle
of a non-existent road. "Remember to check your mirrors."
He held them up, but I could see only the ceiling in them,
as I drove on the rug against invisible traffic
and concentrated on changing gear.
"Don't forget the clutch!" he yelled.
It was so much to remember
for a ten-year-old's constantly wandering mind.
But I persevered, all the while
dreaming of getting my PSV license next, easy,
and driving a school bus - or a coach ultimately -
further than the high street, the far side of Surrey even;
the farthest reaches of Europe...

Friday, 27 September 2019


How she loves the glowing embers
in the dying of the fire:
those luminous pictures, ever changing,
that fascinate and tease

imagination's wild subconscious
into a prophecy foretold
of fiery nature and jealousy's curse
that characterize all she is.

Plucking Mars from constellation
to justly worship, she absorbs
His qualities: powerful will and masculinity,
condensed into female form.

The embers now fading - a childlike lament:
the pulse between ashes and Soul.
Reawakening of something older than time -
Destiny in the flickering of final flame.

Friday, 20 September 2019

So sorry everyone...I am currently in an area where the internet coverage is extremely poor. 😬
Will visit you all when I return home, in around a week.
Do hope you receive this...

Friday, 13 September 2019


You're here again,
inside my head when I'm trying to sleep.
You're here again,
smashing my confidence on a level deep.
Harsh words echoing around my brain
'til I feel like stepping in front of a train.

You're here again,
tearing me apart layer by layer.
You're here again,
as always the central player.
Bruising, belittling, crushing self-esteem
because I failed to live up to your dream.

You're here again,
shouting, criticising, putting me down.
You're here again,
ensuring that in tears I finally drown.
Oh why am I here if I'm worth so little?
You are so cruel and my ego so brittle.

You're here again,
reminding me of how flawed I am.
You're here again,
insinuating what a failure I am.
You insult and wound with every word
and yet keep me caged like a helpless bird.

You're here again,
only this time I'm finally closing my ears.
You're here again,
but you've no longer power over all my fears.
Oh I'm sorry, Inner Voice, that I've cramped your style,
but now let me be me, without being on trial.

Written on World Suicide Prevention Day...with deepest compassion.

Friday, 6 September 2019


He adored her
but their bond was fraying.
They flitted between being lovers and strangers.

He'd bought a vintage Cadillac.
He sang in the garage.
She shouted at him

and a spider dropped from the rafters
as if he, himself, was fair game.
He incensed her. It snowed.

The Cadillac got polished. It shined.
She threw her hairbrush against the wall.
He sat in his car, in pure ecstasy.

"I'll enter her in the Concours d'Elegance" he said,
"I'll clean her engine parts!" They gleamed
from all the loving care and attention.

The engine purred like a contented cat. He was in his element.
She wanted a night out.
He was checking the oil.

They attended a friend's wedding.
As he threw confetti, his eyes never left
his beloved car out there in the street.

The Cadillac won 1st prize in the Concours.
Winter mornings cast long shadows
across all except the garage.

She stayed in bed. She was fed up.
He was fine-tuning and tweaking the points and electrics.
She threw his breakfast in the bin.

And when her home made cakes flopped
and when she failed an important exam
and when their son moved out

he was lying under the car
and tinkering with the exhaust system.
The car looked brand new

and the aroma of oil and polish permeated his clothing.
He stumbled upon her this morning, sobbing in the garage.
She thought she'd lost her keys in there -

at least, that's what she claimed...

Friday, 30 August 2019


Are we or aren't we going to leave?
No one is sure quite what to believe.
The nation has elected to be taken out.
Yet now the decision is in grave doubt,
courtesy of the minority "remainers"
oh such irritating complainers (!)
who've thrown the country into disarray -
civil unrest can't be far away!
They're demanding another Brexit vote,
although the majority chose metaphoric moat
between ourselves and Europe's State,
intending to firmly close the gate
on laws imposed from a foreign place.
Embarrassing it is and such a disgrace
that elected members refuse to honour
the people's wishes and so dishonour
all that made Britain great:
democracy and fair debate.
So come on guys, don't you think it's time
to finally behind Boris stand in line
and support him in a united front
against dictatorship's power hunt?
This is our domain and not theirs,
a precious inheritance to leave our heirs.
We are not German, French or Irish,
but independent and singularly British.
Just think for a moment all you who doubt,
what has our culture always been about -
a self-sufficiency and inventiveness
that makes us unique in our Britishness.
And how do you think we managed before
to survive through more than a single World War?
Before the Union we could hold our own -
and now, deal or no deal, we'll be stronger alone.