Saturday 28 March 2020


So, you've procured the last can of beans?
Keep it well concealed. Hide it well
beneath your coat while walking home.
If anyone spots it, they'll likely kill you for it.
And if you surrender it, then I'm afraid you'll starve.

Hunger is knawing away at your belly,
the metal cold against your ribs.
You have to get it safely home.
If not, all hope is lost...

What a rigamarole!! And just to go out in search of a can of beans!
I feel like a bank robber!!! 😉

Friday 20 March 2020


Just in case the virus claims me...😉

I want to end up in Merlin's Cave
engulfed in it's dank darkness
beneath Tintagel Head,
my ashes scattered there
by a white-robed Druid Priest.
And with me cast some bluebells,
poppies and my favourite pentacle,
all my unfulfilled dreams,
my many mistakes and deep regrets.
And I'd like a barbeque, with vintage wine
for family members and friends -
but only the genuine ones -
outside on the beach
when the sun is overhead.
And music, too. Something offbeat
like me, accompanied
by words that don't rhyme,
so loud through speakers
mounted on the castle walls
that tourists are drawn to investigate.
Build a stone circle there if you can -
it need only be a small one -
to mark my final departure point.
But, above all, be happy.
I want no tears, just celebrations.
Remember only the best of me...

So sorry I'm falling behind with my visits, guys. I am quite unwell at present, but will catch up with you all again as soon as possible. 
Please stay safe...😊😊 xxx

Saturday 14 March 2020


No night for introversion:
inhibition's desertion,
touching another plane
spotlights aflame.

Instruments clashing,
Rockers smashing
the barriers of time
with off-beat rhyme.

My senses airborne,
I'll fly 'til dawn.
Bathed in dry ice,
a kind of paradise

that tantalises
dormant recall
of retro thrall.

And your face I see
in front of me
painted bright
in moonless night.

And I'm suddenly high,
perceptions awry.
It's Day of the Dead
inside my head,

and Mexico City
looks really pretty
at midnight with you,
it's lights pink and blue.

As the drumbeat intoxicates
far more than the opiates,
it's your eyes hold the key
to the unlocking of me,

so deep and so dark
in front of the barque
up there on the screen.
You're suspended between

reality and delusion -
oh please not illusion!
I so need you to be
on the podium, you see.

But now the band changes tack
and draws me back
to earth tonight,
where fantasy's flight

leaves such a hollow
that seems to swallow
my thoughtform of you
in pink and blue.

Now silence falls
at the death of applause,
and it's time to depart
with such hope in my heart...

Very best of luck this weekend, Checo!!

( Needless to say...this was written before the 1st race of the season, in Melbourne, was cancelled!) 😉

Saturday 7 March 2020


Visiting Uncle Bill was always amusing to my brother and I.
The adult's favourite topic was politics,
and that subject almost always became heated.
Bill and Mum could never see eye-to-eye
and then when the debate inevitably shifted onto the Monarchy,
well, Chris and I would catch each others' eye
and try hard to stifle our giggles.
Mum's face would gradually turn bright scarlet
with rage, while Uncle Bill would reach
for his whisky bottle with shaky hands.
He was firmly anti-establishment, and she
was staunch Royalist. They were never 
going to agree in a month of Sundays - and yet
they still insisted upon goading each other
into all-out war!
We children would eventually slip out unnoticed
and head for the meadow and then the river beyond,
our suppressed laughter finally bursting free
in an avalanche of choking gasps.

Oh how we relished those Sundays!
The distraction from boring homework
somehow brought us out of ourselves.
We saw things more clearly: the duplicity
of the adults, who severely chastised us
for arguing and fighting - when here they were
doing exactly the same thing, and right in front of us!
But we could forget all that
while we were climbing the weeping willows
and racing our boats made from leaves and twigs
on the fast flowing current.

Towards lunch time, though, we would
slink back to the house, all morose
and apologetic for having disappeared
without permission. And we accepted our telling-off's
without protest. We knew from experience
that it was futile to point out the hypocrisy. We were "mere children"
and so were required to obey without question.
Unfair. But that's just the way things were.