Friday 29 January 2021


It began with a copy of Wuthering Heights.
Echoes of intrigue lept out of the pages.
I felt them weave themselves into my being.
Another's creation. But where is she now?

Death cannot erase greatness. It is
her immortality, her irresistibility. Why
not before? Had I lived then, could I
have known her, perhaps better understood?

Imagination. So she first entranced me with those miniscule
booklets: Gondal resurrected in my psyche.
Now, when I move, her pen moves with me.
Just out of sight, she directs my life, ever watchful.

And if, as she claims, Heathcliff truly loves Cathy,
then what kind of love is so obsessive
that it rips both Souls to shreds
and condemns them to eternal unrest?

Or is it my unrest - her words merely evoking
my deepest, most tormented desires?
If, as I suspect, I am Cathy; then I must find him -
he is the prize within the maze of words.

But, why should I read, when living it is more persuasive?
Or long to touch, when feeling without touching
is so unexpected, so exquisite and so rare?
Today, his proximity. Ecstasy is in the air.

Saturday 23 January 2021


Call me boring, but I'm never predictable
when I sit down to write. What is it 
about that particular activity
that triggers such dramatic transformation?

Weekdays, admittedly, I'm conformity's slave,
with kohl-lined eyes and high heeled shoes -
ostensibly fitting in with society's expectations. You know,

it's taken me twenty years to perfect
this duel identity - the near seamless balance
between civil servant and poetic visionary.
No one has ever known me, not really.
As soon as they think they do, I confound them.

I cannot fully live up to another's ideals,
so I vanish into thin air; feeling my way,
intuitively led, into the Lands Adventurous;
deeper and deeper until my head spins
with a million and one impressions
that condense themselves into my pen.

And I just scribble, scribble; letting them flow
unedited, cascading like a waterfall
of emotions issuing from the memory banks
of the Cosmos itself. Perhaps
I'm a part of that macrocosm - or, maybe,
simply it's messenger. Either way,
I am mere flesh and blood - but inside
something colossal is stirring:
an irresistible call to the Quest
for universal empathic connection.

So sorry everyone, but I'm running late this week...will catch up with you all tomorrow hopefully! Have a super day xxx

Friday 15 January 2021


My apologies, guys - but I simply HAD to vent my fury after seeing this on the TV news...

You conned her out of her savings -
a lifetime of toil erased.
You stole her independence
without a care for the effect
on her sense of dignity.
All you've left her with is fear - of people,
of even leaving her home. A frail
elderly lady of ninety-two.
Oh yes, such easy prey
for you, wasn't she - to
pose as a doctor and inject
into her arm God knows what,
professing it to be a Covid vaccination
and then charge her a fortune for the privilege.
And, furthermore, to have the audacity
to return again and demand extra payment!
Oh you're so cocky, aren't you,
so fiendishly clever...

Ah, but you were caught on camera.
Yes, you - you heartless, worthless scum!
Think your sweatshirt hood pulled up
will protect your cowardly identity?
No chance!
Just think on this...

There is a Universal Judiciary System,
way above the scope of mere CCTV
and earthly Judges and courthouses,
which observes all, is all-knowing -
and it is closing in around you.
Better be afraid, moron, because
there's no escaping the consequences
of your inhuman criminal activities.
They'll rebound on you
as precisely as an echo, only

And just one more thing, creep,
before I conclude.
A quick check to ask
how you're sleeping at night?
Have you noticed and changes yet
in your dreamlife? No?
Well you will. Believe this, 
you will!

Soon it will begin: the demons
rising up out of the bowels
of your nightmares' darkest recesses.
And they won't ever go away.
They'll pursue you day and night,
will eventually drive you insane.
What, then, of your ill-gotten gains?
What use will they be
when you're locked away
in your lonely, claustrophobic,
padded cell?

Saturday 9 January 2021


The replacement valve that saved him 
was crafted from tissue of pig, so
he no longer ate pork. It seemed inappropriate 
to be devouring his benefactor's relatives. 
The heart specialist concurred,
but for a different reason - namely
that less animal fat would mean 
a much healthier cardiac system.
He also developed a strange compulsion
to visit pig farms - to the extent of once 
sneaking into a pigsty and sleeping there overnight,
just to gain an insight into how it feels to be a pig!
Perhaps, one day, he could even learn 
to communicate with them, a bit like
the legendary Doctor Doolittle!
Sometimes he'd sit in front of a mirror
and almost convince himself that his features
we're gradually changing, were becoming
more and more pig-like: his nose snout shaped
and his ears like those of a pig.
And he dared not admit to anyone
that he had an increasing fear
that he'd wake one morning, to discover
he could no longer speak, only grunt - and that
he had trotters instead of hands and feet!
And even worse - what if
the metamorphosis eventually became total?
What then?
He considered his wife and children, his friends.
What would they think?
Would they even realise he was him?
He would have no way of letting them know he was.
And what if he should fall
into the hands of a butcher? Surely
then there would be the horrifying possibility
that his family may inadvertently consume him! 

And still, today, the paranoia continues to escalate...
for there is no escaping
                                       the pig DNA inside him. 😉😉