Poetry

If ever you should take a drink with a witch make sure you leave the very same night before the break of day or the dawn of light by which time you might just find yourself in a very unfortunate plight of being subjected to a JuJu cat's emasculation bite that leaves you as some sort of strangely sculptured hermaphrodite .

A whale song dream turns out to be the huge squealing brake drums of a distant trash truck it's sound distorted by the wind gusting through gunnels and gantry's ; thrown dustbin lids cymbal into the sensetive sobriety of your very unwanted monday morning anxiety .

A little poem I wrote about our Neo Omnipresence that seems almost God like in its power and control , the all seeing eye that invisible entity watching over everything we say and do.

Her swan song is what you hear just before your love boat runs aground and the scent of sulphur be the final pheromone you smell as you slowly begin to drowned .

A birthday poem for NENO it's called Black Rod because for the first time in Britain's thousand year parliamentary history the position is now held by a women , this spiritual and temporal appointment of power is long overdue for a changing of the guard . The willow may look soft an gentle but inside lies her heart of oak .

When you turn on a virtual assistant such as Alexa , Siri or Cortana , for the first time even as an adult but especially as a child it feels like You've tuned into a God or Goddess of wisdom channel children of the future will almost certainly give up on any parental guidance and move into spacebook or a Walt Disney crack house .

The human hunter gatherer brain is so very hard to truth train but maybe not if you start using the new silicon scopolamine dream and drip feed it daily with some digital dopamine served up from our omnipresent Turing machine.

A person who's cranial capacity is cast by abject austerity remains of that mind set  even though  they may elevate themselves  to a privileged position of prosperity it will always have the mentality of a miser .

A musing about the private member's bills passed with rousing British Parliamentary pomposity it sounds as if they're committing a serious aural atrocity but it's usually being diatribed by someone whos spieling loudly through their own suppository .

Blue bloods are quite simply mad !! , they treat normal reality as an inconvenient triviality rules to them don't exist  and the rest of us mere mortality are kept around as fluffers for their joviality in what's usually a porno drama of pansexuality .

A musing about a greasy spoon girl we call Nigella from the Favela If cook's could kill then this girl is definitely licensed to grill !! she's always standing by ever ready to kill your stomach acid with her peppermint pill .

Another crazy  sketch about the life of Thornton Harding the junior an aristocrat who is mad about his pets he calls them by the strangest names such as his dog Greyfriars Warton Benson the junior who i might add is allowed to do anything even attempting to drive the car.

Sooner than later we as a species will have to address our crazy situation of over population due to land perish and pollution in the final stages we may well end up as refugees building flood barricades ready for the rain storm revolution .

A poem for Katy on the reception desk who drives ever man crazy by giving them a glimpse of the promised land only then to watch gleefully as they walk into her paradise of quicksand .

A poem for super tramp who had a very good cure for his halitosis panting out perfumed breath after drinking your bathroom cabinet dry , Slaking down aftershave aperitifs .

Big Manchester Pete the hardest looking man you were ever likely to meet his face was made for a trick or treat but inside he carried a big old heart that was softer than a boiled swede of sugar beet .

Looking at the selection of sapiens on a train station I was wondering if we mixed all of them together as if they were paint in a garden shed, would we all end up resembling something khaki like an olive coloured bread .

Buying power tools at the hardware store? you truly may as well  arm yourself with a weapon of war and become yet another one of the do it yourself casualty score , around the world figures run into the hundreds of thousands the body counts are much higher than in most actual modern theatres of war .

The loss of a lion's mane is similar to that of a man's hair as it recedes they both become timid and tame loosing pride and prowess both these mammals are now out of the game .

A poem written for a crazy young woman who I fell hopelessly in love with during the summer of 1992 whilst working in the South of France aboard yachts in the port of Antibes . Together we stayed in a huge stone pile called the chateau Laval courtesy of Jack et Michelle Olga was a green-eyed goddess with olive skin and a temper that she'd borrowed from the dog cerberus , I was a dotting fool but hay to everyone who's ever suffered from the lightning strike of love at first sight or as the Italians call it "amoure a prima vista" or in the French" le coupé de foudre", all I can say is that like myself i hope that you've never recovered and never do because it's a beautiful feeling of being processed by the madness of passion.

A musing for Lily's tenth birthday with leather jacket to match my own design of cause -- mother not too keen I have a sneeking suspicion she'd like one too by ten years of age kids of today are silicone valley sage a decade old an they're ready to fledge the family fold far too cool for school they just let their TiK ToK Rule !! .

An English king's breakfast could  consist  of swine flesh, embryos , fungi ,congealed blood , kippers, herring's, pike , roach various birds venison, cockles , pilchards .    when thinking about the Buddhist belief of  reincarnation  wouldn't it be a devine justice  if these gargantuan gluttonous  came back  as screaming red faced tomatoes in a vegan salad bar .

This is a poem i wrote about the catastrophic creations cause through having too much cosmetic surgery leaving so many a patient in the perpetual state of a reconstructive purgatory the surgeons are called the picasso's of the plastique, well they certainly end up with a foot an mouth or a tongue-in-cheek , they sculpture and scalpel at something that once started out as the face of the fantastic but by the final phase come cut you're left with a gargoyled freak.

Paint me warts and all said Olivier Cromwell who had the skin of an old toad after his death he was hung at Tyburn then decapitated his head was put on a pole outside Westminster palace the parliament he'd spilt so much blood to put in place . I have used some archaic English which is still used in many Yorkshire rural communities to this very day.

A poem about leaving the steel town of Sheffield at the age of nineteen , I stood wondering why the train left at the minute past midnight until I heard a hundred steel whistles blew from the industrialised Armageddon of the east end , at a minute past midnight when the steel sirens had finished the train guard blew his whistle and I never looked back the same could be said to teenagers today free yourselves from the silicon slavery of the technology totalitarianism !!.

The last update of a human brain was in the mid to late stone age hence why we still carry the trait of wrath , some believe it's one of the seven deadly sins whilst others say its an instinct left over from the sapiens savage survival upon the African savannah .

The Oxfam shop or as we call it "The dead man's drop" is an essential part of our high street culture we all of us at some stage find ourselves sifting through their silt as if stroking and smelling the scents and spirits of our past relatives like some lost and found bric-a-brac burial ground we old elephants come to rummage around amongst the bones and skin of our not so long ago departed kin. Unfortunately all the objects mentioned in this musing is what I have purchased and given away to friends and family as Christmas and birthday presents including many more objects d'arts or as most of my recipient's see them , jumble sale junk.

A poem for Lily who mother is always in a constant Spring clean dusting and polishing until everything in the house begins to gleam, then again she could be addicted to the smell of Mr sheen or has she been drinking far too much caffeine, perhaps it's something to do with the covid vaccine that's turned her into this dopamine drama queen, what about the lack of vitamin b12 is she missing the red meat protein she's never quite been the same since she read the vegan magazine, oh for heaven's sake someone please intervene and turn off this terrifying domestic terrain cleaning machine .

The Belles Angels a bunch of hell raising Harrogate girls all leather an lace with lipstick an curls they murdered the midnight hour an slaughtered sobriety swapping sex an saliva like a real lady Godiva , to all those super sexy Ladies college girls I say God bless to you all .

Today the cardinal sin that we call greed was ultimately born out of the necessity for us to gorge and feed whilst trying to out run a savage predatory rival in what was the flight or fight of our stone age survival, greed also ment that we could sire and seed across a much stronger lineage to the next burgeoning member of our breed; later religion took over the lead and ordained that its newly found christian creed should be brought to heel and made to heed in order that it's gluttonous heathen soul be freed through abstinence and fasting allowing at last for its salvation to succeed .

A preacher man told me that all of us come pre packaged with the seven shades of sin which are basically our primitive seven instincts of survival that were needed whilst hunter gathering on the savage African Savannah, through evolution and ecclesiastical endeavours we have been trying to adapt our mammalian species to a more sentient state of being ever since .

A poem written for two old Bohemians who through reckless behaviour in a younger year did so destroy the fragile entity of love , and are now left with just the ghost of her to haunt their old empty hearts .

This invisible foe of fear is here our café laite life styles are over we're living like trappist monk in self isolation cells our secular society has all but been defunk .

A poem about a mafia boss who was born in Le panier de Marseille the last bastion of Beelzebub who then rose to become France's ultimate crime Capo Di Capo lasting fifty years before being gunned down in Paris for an old corsican vendetta .

Greta has an almost impossible sales pitch she's to demand that the incredibly rich dumped that expensive pieces of kitsch , they fly to the cop out climate meetings in their lear jets and show not the slightest hesitation of any regrets, her gargantuan glitch is to try to move these people towards the green dream of a beggars itch, but these dinosaurs who block destiny's drawbridge are mega rich and have no intention of surrendering any of their Kardashian kitsch. To quote Churchill sardonically, , "Never was so much owed by so many to so few".

The British boarding schools were without doubt what built the British Empire, anyone subjected to this kind of cruelty or brutal treatment could easily subjugate a sufferance over someone else especially another colour or creed which the British empire managed to achieve for a few hundred years . These Schools each had peculiar painful traits, Eton for instance use to be famous for its flagellation fridays where in the library boys would be placed onto a specially constructed birching block and duly thrashed .

A poem about a very beautiful woman called Claudia who's powerful persona and laughter use to roll around us like a midnight thunder.

As you get older looking for love is similar to rummaging through a jumble sale you sift an shake through the worn and torn fragile an forlorn usually to no avail due to people male or female being stretched to the size of an old grey whale .

A musing about my father's experience aboard a super cruise liner where he and most of the old poeple on board contracted some terrible infection that almost killed them and this was before the Covid Cruise Lines came along , interestingly you can see how you could end up with a Marie Celeste where everybody aboard ends up dead.

A poem I wrote for my father who was born in 1926 and now similar to an motor car needs constant tinkering to keep him up and running , I've done my best to copy his gasping Yorkshire accent he was born in the days of horse and cart starting work at the age of twelve down in the steel mills on the east side of the iron river ; he mentioned that not only were the steel dreys pulled by the huge shire horses but during the second world war they also used the elephants from the zoo due to the lack of trucks and fuel for a boy of twelve it was a terrifying experience walking past these huge rumbling beasts that were stabled under the railway arches each time a train grumbled over the viaduct these massive mammals would bellow out their deafening roars.

Prostitution is one of the oldest professions in the world which was here before the four angels of Samuel, it's about time the government had the bravery to take control of this modern day slavery let's face facts  the chancellor's been selling narcotics i.e cigarettes an booze for hundreds of years so why allow the criminals any vice take over all their operations and save these poor girls any more torture legalise their profession too .

A musing about two relative's who should never have entered into a doomed relationship due to their persuasions and personalities being planets apart one a reclusive miser and the other an extravagant extrovert ; perhaps now with the internet we might make a much better match . com or sexual selection of it with God Google's precision and profiling us to the last detail of our mortal minutiae it should make for some interesting parings that are not left to the seven senses of the sapien .

Twenty years ago it came as quite a shock when someone we were living with became bisexual especially as they'd been such a lady killer and then became a maneater still what seemed such a big squeal is now an every day done deal .

A musing about giving your offspring a strong sounding name something that will inspire an aspire them towards fortune and fame .

It's about time the human realised that a tree is flesh and blood not just timber or a price of wood ,  these beautiful living entities give us shelter shade and our lifesaving breath ,without them we are condemning our selves to curtain death

The birds and bees have joined us from the flowers and trees you find them at Macdonald's an champagne bars lapping up our left over cream teas they'll hardly be floaty lite on the breeze after feasting on our fat fantastic sleaze .

Ruby's a teenage dream queen that's been hand made in heaven to a cat walking cool talking size number seven , she glares an glints guilty as a guillotine , her temper is a mix of gunpowder an nitroglycerin.

A poem about an artist girlfriend who's Spanish African temperament could turn from a soft mistral breeze that gently caressed your skin to violent blood rain Scirocco that rip's the blossom from trees slamming doors and smashing flower pot hearts into pieces washing them down the drain like biscuits in the rain .

Setting off on a world tour in the late seventies was nothing like it is today there were no mobile phones or multimedia just the odd phone box for calls your thumb and forefinger were used for hitchhiking thousands of miles around the globe taking years and years almost a decade to the point where many of us became wonderless with our own wanderlust but we did become quite skilled in the art of conversation due to spending so much time speaking with strangers back when you had the safety of being completely anonymous due to not having any mobiles or multmedia where as now the new wage travellers or tech tramps are so guarded due to the sapiens surveillance of God Google and the silicone starzi Siri .

Being at sea aboard huge luxury vessels is very glamorous and as a skipper come captain it is so easy to be wined and dined each evening by billionaires with the finest foods and drink the only drawback is that you steadily become an old soak, I worked alongside many captains who became just that, thinking back to a collision at night with JJ the skipper and a refugee boat he had got drunk with a stewardess and gone to bed leaving the vessel on autopilot the similarities to Titanic are on a much smaller scale but just as deadly , doing double dog watch shifts doesn't help instead of 4 hours you do 8 covering for someone or even the milk shift when you start at midnight and finish six hours later dozing asleep is so easy if the auto pilots on many of our crew used to come on the milk shift smelling of booze - sea watches disorientate you I've seen quite a few old sailors having a beer for breakfast as they come off the first watch at 4 am .

I was quite horrified to read that the human is responsible for the slaughter of three billion aninmals each day , i wrote the poem in a pompous manner after listening to a hunter talking about his blood sports, he believed it tobe his righteous privilege to kill similar to royalty who once regularly pleasured their pallets with the flesh of the endangered species some are still doing so today by buying licences from secret corrupt African auction houses , In many poor countries gluttony and obesity are seen as status symbols held in high esteem it's a way of portraying ones wealth .

A poem written for my father who was born in 1926 and now similar to an old model T ford he needs constant tinkering and maintenance to keep him running also I've done my best to copy his gasping Yorkshire speech ; born in the days of the horse and cart he started work at the age of twelve down in the mills on the east side of a steel river , he mentioned that not only were the steel dreys pulled by the huge shire horses but during the second world war they also used the might of the elephants borrowed from a nearby zoo due to the lack of trucks and the rationing of fuel , he told me for a boy of twelve it was a terrifying experience walking past these huge rumbling beasts that were stabled under the railway arches so that each time a train grumbled over the viaduct the massive mammals would bellow out their deafening roars.

The third slave uprising of Rome was crushed a hundred thousand men lay dead on the battlefield and another six thousand were crucified along the appian way and left to rot as carrion crow fodder a lesson for anyone else minded to rebel against the might of Rome.

A short sketch about a friend who was constantly in and out of dry out clinics and the Shrink clink where he would telephone us to explain what his psychiatrist was doing and then in exasperated tormented tones shout "it's nothing to do with the drink " he called his depression Belfry the black bat.

Emblazoned bright upon his breast he carries that noble heraldic crest , tis the colour of blood and fire be it a blessed response to his lovers desire, suspicion states that he was at the passion of christ , an there by thorny crown was blooded an blessed , is this why today he doth still sanctify the arrival of our christmas fest .

A poem about an angry old man who was released from his angst after being administered oestrogen hormone therapy for a prostate cancer which freed up his feminine side he's a much happier person now that they've let loose his lesbian libido .

A poem written for a woman who lost the love of her life then tried to replace and replicate it only to end up living in a dreadful union of strife .

Riding aboard the busiest train in Britain the 7.32 woking to Waterloo a hundred million passengers a year pass through Waterloo which makes for some terrifying or tantalising flesh to flesh points of view .

A short sketch written about a Christmas bash spent with my old deaf and dementia ridden relatives , trying to talk in between cooking programs and war movies choosing TV channels can become very exasperating.

For someone who's fifty something plus tax and sexually straight it's quite hard to understand all the new sexual genderisations that are now taking place but as they always say let love rule .

A living monument of mystery , Robin Hood's oak is by far the most famous tree in all of ancient history a thousand years of silent sophistry , with all its empty holes and hollows the winter winds howl through creating a mournful sound of sadness and sorrow.

We lived our lives like nocturnal belfry bats fuelled on drink and drama, cranial crashes and darkness of depression were common place an the only way to fight against them was with serotonin smarties and a daily dose of humour and laughter .

The Westminster war of brexit has spilt a lot of blood onto the backbenchers but who will win the feudal few or the milky middle class crew .

Two haiku poems , TEAR DROP shows how a Tsunami can start from the slightest ripple. REVOLTING, another haiku poem on how if you distract someone with something revolting it can avert a revolution ie Rome's Colosseum or today's violent multimedia sedate the sapiens savagery and let the status quo grow .

Similar to the Eskimo fishing through a cut in the ice one could easily imagine a soul catcher waiting patiently at the edge of a black hole in space in order to capture the very essence of life then freeze drying us as fish in the absolute zero of infinity we'd be ready for a renucleation or reincarnation and what better freeze dry facility than the perfectly vacuumed packaging plant of infinity .

A musing about the Star Trek scientists who make our intergalactic fate sound like a subway ride through a station Stargate .

In the swinging sixties it was to own a car especially a Lady Gaga jaguar, then you were truly nouveau rich a make believe millionaire the fake faux movie stars . Members of my family and their friends were just this usually their balloons burst into bankruptcy debt and divorce, too much money in young hands is like mixing desire with hell fire .

In medieval times quacks were dressed to resemble large birds wearing a huge beaks they believed the soul was delivered and despatched by avian transmigration i.e stalk''s babies , Ravens , omens, Cuckoo's madness . I suppose to the superstition of the ancients cancer begins as a small egg shaped lump and then hatches out of its embryonic stage into a vulturous flesh eating bird .

A poem about the complacency of our society which is tantamount to exuding a kind of trendy triviality towards the forth coming temperature rise of two degrees you'd think we were talking about the arrival of a couple of cream teas not the apocalyptic destruction of our species.

When you get to fifty something plus tax an see yourself as a sexy silver fox sporting those ashtray coloured locks you may want to forget about the fifty shades of grey and perhaps put your old sex pistol away .

Hidden in her silver box were those secret letters of love from a dead lover who in a moment of war when passion was the fashion and she fed hers red and raw to his hungry dog of amour .

This is a poem about the complacency of people and their attitudes towards the temperature rise of two degrees you'd think that the powers that be were waffling about a couple of cream teas or the price of peas, some have the audacity to blame the up and coming new economies such as the Chinese after we have been pumping out the smoke and sleaze since the early 1750's others think that it's just a temperature tease and come the next year we'll all be back to the big freeze I don't know what it's going to take to move the world's most powerful trustees maybe when it begins to back flush the drains up around everyone's knees .

Every day the paparazzi serve us our blood and gore all freshly sacrificed red and raw no good being a herb eating herbivore what you've really got to be is a cover story carnivore with the stomach of a blood thirsty toreador let's face it the press room's a slaughtermans stable and the editor's desk is nothing more than a butcher's table.

A poem written about that green eyed monster of sin the secret schadenfreude that we all keep hidden away within , usually it's only seen in young children as they rival for survival craving their parents attention a lowly leftover from our anthropological ascension , however this instinct can also be witnessed later in our lives when the males begins to assert their dominance at the procreation stage of life .

What was once a stamp for the lowly tramp or the cut of a criminal class is now adorning the faces and physique of the aristocrat royalty and supermodel chic .

A poem i wrote for the fire and brimstone preacher who baptised me in an ice water stone trough a wild religious Celt with raven hair alabaster skin and husky dog blue eyes a true blood line of the ancient Bretagne .

A poem about lust the seemingly deadly sin that if the devil be shamed and the truth be told is an instinctive desire that all of us do so hold .

The green eyed monster of sin is a secret schadenfreude which we keep hidden within usually it's only seen in children as they rival for survival and parental attention the lowly leftover instinct from our anthropic ascension ; however this terrible trait can also be witnessed late when the male asserts it's dominance in the procreation fate.

A musing about Lord Kitchener who's Sabre rattling speeches come sermons raised rampant applause back in Whitehall and Westminster whilst unfortunately his young Virgin soldiers were dying by 6000 a day , he had printed into their guide books for war , "avoid wine and women" meaning french prostitutes , with a life expectancy of 17 hours catching the pox would have been the least of their worries .

A poem for a dear friend of mine who's charismatic appeal with women is so legendary that it led to him receiving a pseudonym of The Valley Drive Lady Killer even whilst laid on the surgeons slab awaiting a serious operation he was still able to twirl the attention of a young nurse who was at the time wet shaving him of all body hair ready for his open heart surgery.

To port a vicarious redemption on behalf of someone else is a burdensome weight the preachers daughter still carries hers each moment of the day a beautiful quiet soul who was given the substitution of sin by her callous caretaker , her atonement isn't due any time soon .

The forthcoming poem is about our fixation with fear which I might add is definitely here we're all living like mendicant monk our decadent cafe latte lifestyles are all but defunct , this virus that hangs about us like the prophecy of Macbeth creating a constant hysteria as though it be a new strain black death .

Growing up in a witches coven with all of them casting spells over everything and everyone I couldn't understand the horoscope stars then or now  , they  were always fighting for the Sorceresse's supremacy .

The Mustang Men were Wild tameless stallions with sports cars suntans and gold medallions , once they were war faced warriors now they're warfarin worries they part of the night time disco scene , now they're scared of cottage pie and cholesterol cream .

The ghost in our mortal machine is like a spiritual symbiotic twin that collaborative companion that shares our secular sin so silently from within accompanying us from a womb to the tomb an then ultimately giving evidence in our final doom .

The sloth is portrayed as the epitome of sin or laziness but this little arboreal adaption turns out to be the perfect green dream a hairy little leaf eating machine which has a zero carbon footprint and could save the world all on its own , we would do well to put a little of the sinful slow sloth back in our own fast food life styles in order to try and save our poor planet .

A poem come prayer for a child who never got the chance to live who never knew their love to give, if I could swap the soul of this old spive and just for one day let you live then I would gladly God forgive and trade my old soul for the life of that new born foul.

The building blocks of life are made from nucleic acids , Lysergic acid has also been around since the dawn of time doubtless it would have been eaten by our early primate mammalian species increasing hallucinogenic and conscious brain capability hence where the homo sapiens may have got their jump start on the evolutionary ladder the human is now beginning to experiment with the capabilities of LSD administering it to elderly patients in order to awaken the parts the brain that had shut down due to dementia and other brain disorders with remarkable results.

A musing about an old friend who has now divorced and gone back onto the Mating sites looking for lust not realising that his old sex pistol has long since turned to rust . Men of curtain age with faint hearts and feeble flesh really they need to be careful whilst looking for a piece of fresh . I told one chum that his site" Bumble" might be better called crumble due to the dusty dispositions of its clients .

A short poem for Todd's forth birthday his name means the fox although the only thing I've seen him foraging for are lollipops from the ice box.

A poem about an old rag and bone man who started out with just a horse and cart then after a life of skinflinting strife became very rich but even after acquiring great wealth he still retained his beggar man roots and rhetoric.

A poem for the king of rock and roll he was born into extreme poverty raised in a shotgun shack but managed not only to break out of but also to attack the musical apartheid of America he was one of the first to start singing the black man's blues , he went from busking as a bum on Beale Street to having the world worshipping at his feet .

A short story I wrote about doing a favour for a rich friend which then turned into a terrifying experience of trying to get back to some semblance of civilization .

Janine used to be a traveller with wings on her feet then Gabriel gifted her a baby daughter to drink from her teat she named her after his immortal horn the beautiful Lily now plays at her feet.

For 20-years we so bonhomie use to rave in such revelry our favourite haunt was the Montpellier quarter Harrogate we were called the Montpellier mice who eventually were picked off by the birds of prey the pubs we drank dry were the blues bar and the slut and fetish today Were all caught in the big dry we lost quite a few friends to that old and filthy drink we unfortunately survived.

Three Haiku poems WISDOM , SUNBEAM , HEADLINE NEWS.

This is a poem I wrote for an innocent looking girl called Alice who when tempered up turns into a hell's angel of malice she resembles a fairytale princess fresh from a folkloric palace yet soon as she opens her mouth you think she's been drinking from the poisoned chalice with her hands in the air she stands about four feet tall but after a rise through with alcohol she turns into a native neanderthal, forget all about etiquette and protocol this little tomboy is more likely to be found scrapping at an away game of football.

Simmer the sapien inside a tin can especially in a stop start traffic jam and they quickly revert back to primitive man and that includes pacifists and your little old gran .

Emperors Popes and Kings believe themselves to be the devine demagoguery even as children they  had whipping boys  to take away their punishment and guilt scapegoats for them to stripe and slaughter If the true devine deity did arrive on planet earth these mobsters and megalomaniacs would soon see them quickly murdered .

A poem I wrote for a terribly crippled girl called Daniella she lived in agony all her life but there wasn't a day I didn't see her gorgeous smile or hear her wonderful laughter , she has a soul so big and beautiful it certainly casts long shadows of perfection over my own Quasimodo anima and many others .

This is a musing I wrote after listening to my father who'd been conscripted into the British army during the second world war you can quite easily see why by year twenty three most members of the military have gone completely mad with OCD its perhaps due to the cour d'esprit of the British army which has a relentless marching rhythm beating to the sweet spot tempo of 120 from day one your heart soul body and mind are recalibrated and realined to the measured metronome of the military kind in order for you to keep in perfect tune whilst playing together in the theatre of war with the other synchronised members of your platoon .

Krystyana Skarbek was a polish beauty queen a countess and the longest serving spy in Churchill's war time SOE , with a life expectancy of just six weeks she lasted seven years as a field agent fighting against Nazi tyranny   only then to be   betrayed by her own trusted powers that be the British who at the end of the second world war with a stroke of their Judas pen  turned her  into a stateless  refugee and also leaked her name to Stalin's newly formed KGB . On the day that she was  due to fly out to be married and alas finally set free she was murdered this bravest of the brave   Femme Fatale of destiny .

In the swinging sixties a sexpionage spy scandal took place called the Profumo Affaire unfortunately two of its players were amateurs and didn't know what the rules of their spy games were ; one was sacrificed as a scapegoat and the other Christine Keeler lived life under a long dark cloud until she died and all because they were enlisted by MI5 into taking part in a Russian honey trap for Queen and country which went dramatically wrong ; Dr Steven Ward a brilliant osteopath and gifted portrait artist was demonised and double crossed to the point where he took his own life with an overdose of sleeping tablets the poison chalice , Baron Profumo who was the cause of it all retired in disgrace cleaning toilets and working for a charity where he was eventually awarded an OBE to pin next to the MBE and bronze star that he'd won as a military hero in the war . A wax statue still stands of Steven Ward in the house of horrors at Madame Tussauds a terribly cruel homage to say he was only doing what the British secret service ask or doubtless ordered him to do . The scandal also brought an Iron Curtain crashing down on the conservative government of Harold Macmillan .

The crisis of covid-19 has caused our fast spinning world to slow to a seizing after trillions of dollars of quantitative easing it still feels like the whole world has been hit by some dreadful physical freezing now everybody waits with bated breath for the chancellor of the Exchequer to begin his terrible squeezing an just when the pandemic feels over winter arrives and again people start coughing an sneezing gasping an a wheezing .

When you're a teenager there's always one of your real tight crew who takes too much powder and drinks too much brew, we use to called him the Glastonbury gladiator , funny but with them having so much testosterone and adrenaline they also make brilliant parents when they come of age after finishing their thirty year teenage rampage .

Is vanity a sin ? or is it just the selfish substance that we need in order to win .

The  english aristocrats are completely crazy one use to ride around his country estate on a giraffe dray and as a child giant tortoises he kept  every type of animal in his house. This is a funny sketch  about Thornton Harding the junior and his obsession with exotic pets he's building a kangaroo netball team .

A short minute musing about infecting your friends computer's with a virus and how they treat it as though you've infected them with a sexually transmitted STD .

A poem about a cherub child called Lily who arrived so divine and right on time to save us from our our self destruction just as if Gabriel had gifted to us his immortal lily shaped horn .

A eulogy I wrote for a dear friend of mine who to me will always be the last bohemian fugitive, an artist for more than 65 years a very impressive figure who change my life for the better with his mindful mentoring.

A musing about an artist girlfriend from Barcelona Spain , I couldn't understand what she ment by being a spiritual suffragette , sacrificing love and life for her art , I thought her pompous and pretentious born by the silver spoon now after months of lockdown living as a mendicant monk in my own garrett cell of solitary confinement I'm beginning to understand her purgatory point of view .

A poem I wrote about the sixty three year love affair between a member of the royal family and one her dutiful long standing servants known as G M for short the old Queen mums cool companion.

Looking at some tramps in cider park i feel sorry for the poor starving pets as their masters swill down cider and they shiver in the cold , the musing is seen and spoken through the eyes of the dog .

Living as an artist's muse you can understand the expression of The Doom in the room what artist's don't realise is that there ego's can be so burdensome to everyone else and probably they have to be in order for them to achieve , this is usually why their muse's are always so miserable. Whilst living with an artist as their muse I was painted with my own blood she thought it to be a wonderful contrast of colour red onto the stark white canvas my Anglo-Saxon skin reminiscent of the old George Cross flag .

A poem about falling into destitution especially ex soldiers and sailors who you find in the beggars brigade of most British towns and how easy it is , "lest we forget " that we are all in their debt.

A prick of our precious pride is all that's needed to derail and deride our sensibility into taking a walk back onto its wild side .

When children acquire language it sings along like a simple melody then we come along with our lexicon lego box and spoil their tune.

a musing about an artist girlfriend and her crazy cultural crew,  their works of art or gestation periods of genius seem to carry similar traits and time scales to those of real pregnancies .

A musing for a women we called Ann Summers due to her working there she asked for a birthday poem and caused me a writer's block which when I tried to explain she looked at me with utter disdain so I wrote it along the lines of if I bumped into her serving at the Ann summers shop Katie scowls at all men with indifference and takes fun from them Bravo darling It's no more than we deserve. Art work by Steven Richardson .

The old post office Harrogate is located about a century behind Greenwich mean time, the pensioners there are disciplinarians by design if you slip out of sync or cross the red line then these old soldiers would quickly bark you back into the align.

A short poem about riding aboard the busiest train in Europe the 7.32 Woking to Waterloo 100 million passengers a year pass through Waterloo which makes for some terrifying or tantalising flesh to flesh points of view .

Upon seeing a cold cadaver staring back people begin to timidly tread in fear of the dead circling round as though it be some spectral apparition of dread .

A musing about the craziness of the Boer war and how lord Kitchener was more obsessed with his missing pet starling showing terrible emotional distress whilst all around him in the Boer war hundreds of thousands of people were dying of disease and starvation due to his scorched earth policies especially women and children in the first ever concentration camps with conditions worse than those of the ones in Nazi Germany , thank heavens he's not here to sort out the coronavirus .

A poem about men and their midwife crisis as a matter course men feel the need to try out a new horse so they get a divorce and set off in search of adventure usually riding a Harley-Davidson towards a hot sexual sun and what they think will be some all together brand new fun .

A musing about many of my friends and relative's who should never have entered into a relationship due to their personalities and persuasions being completely different, fortunately we now have the internet and super computers to marry our sexual selections together .

A poem written about the suicidal tendencies of snails, they started out as jellyfish swimming gravity free in the wide open sea so you can understand why they may suffer from their suicidal tendency , slithering themselves under the feet of you and me , unfortunately for us as in the Buddhist belief , we may become their reincarnated relieve .

A short poem written about the money monsters in the city of London they feed their need and greed down on London's squire mile all the while with a wry smirk and smile hence why this rapacious reptile is called Mr mercantile .

Treachery and treason never go out of season the gunpowder plot was the spy master's crowning piece of glory he'd managed to use the plot to catapult James the 1st from being a doomed king guaranteed to be assassinated into a national hero who united both Scotland and England into the union of Crowns a feat never before thought possible all by engineering a plot that was in its early stages and failing untill as an agent provocateur he coaxed it into a piece of political theatre using his mediaeval Machiavellian genius , Robert Cecil 1st earl of Salisbury was known by Elizabeth as the pygmy and by James the ist as his little beagle ,he also thwarted the Pope's attempts at a Catholic conversion .

A poem about a miserable old man who people nick named stan he once had a palace and a kingdom then unfortunately lost everything and was reduced to that of a normal man , alas such a tragedy to fall down amonst we the mere mortal clan .

The only true miracle that we mortal beings are likely to see comes in the form of our genetic immortality that gene transfer continuum better known to you and me as a baby, Throughout the humans brief biological history it has believed in many a different sherman deity an Divinity ranging from Greek gods to our present day Corpus Christi, But when it comes to the real miracle making capability then it's the female of our species that is graced with the life giving fertility. This poem is written for a close friend of mine who described the birth of his baby daughter as quite devine he said she resembled a blue Budda of death an then suddenly gasped and bloomed into life by taking her first extrauterine breath .

Looking at my Godson watching the Lion king I cast myself back to childhood where I first saw a pathetic lion used as a guard dog in a scrap yard chained toothless clawless and castrated never should these beautiful beast be caged into torment and cruelty for our amusement we should leave them to roam wild and free on their sub-saharan Savannah .

She read mien kampt and the marquis de sade a sexual psychopath who fell asleep leather clad. A blood letting Banshee of tormenting and torture That gave no clemency or quarter ; She had an iQ of above one hundred and twenty two a dipsomaniac who'd tremble you to with DTS and night sweat you to a cold freeze.

Male prowess in the 1970s and 1980s of British northern towns usually ment you had to attempt to drink a liquid suicide to verify your masculine side to your alcoholic man tribe .

Old Colonials talk of empire its quite shocking how they used to think of human beings as nothing more than chattels not just the natives but also the white workers and soldiers such as my old father now 95 years of age he told me during his time in India just after the second world War whilst protecting the British Raj who looked upon him also as their SLAVE OF EMPIRE .

Humorous little sketch I wrote for Jeanine who was going to see strictly come dancing live in Leeds I wrote the sketch after listening to two old men complaining about the aches and pains in witherspoons Darlington it's narrated in their yorkshire accents, the photo is from strictly come dancing the same night in Leeds sent by JEANINE .

A song about an old rag and bone man who started out with just a horse and cart then after a life of skinflinting strife became very rich but even after acquiring great wealth he still retained his beggar man roots and rhetoric.

William marwood's long drop solution brought about a revolution in the British Empires approach for delivering a more humane method of execution .

A song I wrote for Nina's birthday she's lock down with covid and the kids a soft swing song to say we all do love you take care xx All rights reserved.

Le poeme en francais ,the language of love. Forgive my French it's been twenty-five years since I was there. A poem about women should always be in the feminine hence why I use La poeme instead of Le masculine , it sounds and lends it's self much more to L'amour which is masculine in the singular and feminine in the plural , entre l'androgyne et l'ambigute'.

The four main elements to life if we do not learn to respect them as ancient cultures did then they will cease to respect us .

Thinking back to my parents fate it's hard to see how they once did romantically pass through the eden gate into the land of milk and money where they fell hopelessly in love and felt the urge to passionately procreate , after which they wore the mortgage mask that twenty five year servile task eventually paying back the bank managers seven percent overdraft , they scrimped and scrapped in a steel city strife an then this beleaguered husband and wife decided to search out a big world party and a brand new life , they both sat before a monk faced magistrate who annulled their vows of matrimony awarding one spouse the house and the other a monthly allowance of alimony, Friends and family did try to console and commiserate all in vain an far too late due to both parties now having hearts made of suede and heads full of hate .

A poem I wrote to commemorate the courage of Christine the first transexual beauty queen who back in 1953 decided bravely to have her gender reassigned to its rightful sexuallity in order that she may be set free from the burden of having to live with her very unwanted masculinity. but it would be a long haul from the first roll of that snowball before the gay community finally made they're stand for equality at the pup we now know as stonewall.

Listening to the climate conference's waffling old windbags wheezing on about saving our world as they quaff down expensive wine squandering fifty pounds a glass and then dare to set the price of carbon capture at three pounds a ton , this be the token tariff to save your granddaughter or grandson ?.

Blue September skies signals the end of Summer's lease the autumn equinox in one day changes everything tilting time and tugging tide , it's as though our seasons of life has suddenly died .

Today there are approximately forty million slaves ten million of which are sex slaves, as before these poor poverty stricken women are used as weapons of war I was reading how some had been sold for as little as a packet of cigarettes . In the west girls become slaves working out of suburban back bedrooms or cellars they account for a third of all organised crime profits billions of dollars.

Every night I usually say to the woman in my little local shop what has happened in your life today ? she usually replies by saying oh not much when I always say to her please you can lie tell me something of interest but she never does.

The high functioning alcoholic starts the day with a liberal libation of liquid sin, beneath their Celtic cream coloured skin once beat the heart of Gunga Din .

A poem about the rain cycle's continual celestial cleansing this perpetual purification of precipitation shows no discrimination of skin treating us all to the same asperging sanctification from sin .

With courage commitment and candour these extraordinary women did something that had never been done before and that was to bring the age of equality knocking loudly upon the British empires front door.

All Medieval religions outlawed usury as a sin , profit of any kind wasn't allowed it still stands as a judgement against you , the pathway to Perdition is going to be littered with alot of Gods righteous as well as the Devil's detritus .

When children first acquire their tongue they sing along like a fledglings song and on the first day of spring they chirp their rhyming swing which to them is a brand new play thing without any of our restraining ring , their simple melodic crooning needs no interference or fine tuning but unfortunately then school comes along with its lexicon Lego box tongue "dislexicating " what was once a beautiful song leaving that innocent syllable swing broken the veritable birds fragile wing. kids then become too frightened to fly and drag their dislocated diction ar in a sling untill eventually as teenagers they at last cut loose from our apron string and once again learn to sing.

A musing written for lily age 9 and her cat Sean who's got terribly fat due to been neutered, he's put on a lot of weight I've narrated it in a yorkshire accent due to Sean being born and raised in Harrogate .

A poem written for a sibling son whose quest for frolic and fun wedge hatred in-between his brothers love by what he'd gone and done , it's difficult to understand the parable of the prodigal son especially if you're looking through the eyes of the other hard working one who through restraint and strive hath managed with diligent life toiled and tilled the farm in order to fill empty bellies and winter barn now back without a crumb returns the squandering sibling pun doubtless to take the family fortune for yet another hit an run better remember this of the prodigal son who fritted away everything from dad and mum let him now work to the rise and fall of a burning sun whilst you yourself seek out some frolic an fun

Steve McQueen once said he came from the gutter and that he'd not done bad for an orphan boy , after a fifty different jobs from lumberjack, getaway driver, pimp and gunrunner etc he finally found his niche .

A song wrote about a mafia boss who was born in Le panier Marseille the last bastion of Beelzebub , he then rose to become France's ultimate crime Capo Di Capo lasting fifty years before being gunned down in Paris for an old corsican vendetta all rights reserved .

Our green  karma Queen casts her svelt shadow over we obstinate boulder brained beasts lighting an alternative pathway towards her spiritual sentient sanctuary .

My words may seem a little callous and cruel that's because they are the comments I've collected and collated from the café clientele who share their space with these disabled individuals , by the grace of good fortune there walk we .

A little tune i wrote for James who's very devout in his religion each Sunday we usually have a long discussion with him trying to convert me to his Christianity and me remaining with my humble hallowed humanity both of us respectful of each others theistic thoughts.

A eulogy for Dave a wonderful man who I knew for forty years. Grandfathers are like old sentinels that stand  guard over us in our early infant years , stolid as grandfather clocks their old heavy hearts pendulum the rhythm of life into our new born ears a mortal metronome that keeps a steady beat to the timpani of our tiny pattering feet.

A little swing jazz tune written for a friend who has an extremely high sex drive it uses the feminine and the masculine tense due to the person in question being bisexual he once called him self a sexual psychopath.

A short song I wrote for my god children who love to alternate things to risky rhetoric especially in cartoons and almost all things their word play being a speciality children always push the boundaries of imagination and give chancy candid connotations as if they're the most natural notions of naivety. . , all rights reserved.

A song I wrote in the old music hall traditiion of two verse chorus which is similar to the church stanza chorus stanza chorus I've also sang it in the baritone barber shop of a beggers opera style like that of my father who born in 1925 still bursts into song similar to a Mississippi minstrel .

A musing about wine , If ever you're invited to a sommelier's soiree then you'll find that a lot of the wine tasting terminology sounds quite bizarre almost perverse at times a lot of the men sound as if pontificating about their ex lovers with phrases such as necking a couple of Frenchie's or being tanned across the tonsils, all leathered and meaty, smoking a chocolate cigar a fast finisher a cheeky sharpener foxy and flamboyant very strange but they all have real meaning that the sommelier has to learn in order to pass his exams , as they say in sommelier spiel " all great wines think alike".

A chalk and cheese Husband and wife with very opposing opinions on the arrival of some neo hippie neighbours with their green dream machine .

A little tune I wrote from a poem using the as an assimilation to getting old with various parts of our anatomy wearing out with the passage of time.

A song I wrote for Nina in lock down with covid and the kids a little soft swing Whilst you do your thing hell what else do you do whilst in Morrisons café.

Back in the sixties heavy industry was extremely hard work the way the men eased their brutal burden was with non-stop humourous quirk today its seen as a social deride that one must hastily hide .humour has become a malignant tumor cut away by political correctness until its now all but a rumour .

A song about emperors and kings who believe themselves to be the devine demagoguery If a devine deity did arrive on planet earth these mobsters and megalomaniacs would see them quickly murdered .

The Westminster war of brexit has spilt a lot of blood onto the backbenchers but who will win the feudal few or the milky middle class crew .

Covid 19 as seen through the eyes of a squirrel , watching them  fighting for scraps from the dustbins whilst under lock down ,they appear so confident and carefree without us I think possibly the only thing they'd missed about our absence is the leftover Ben and Jerry's ice cream .

The Oxfam shop or as we call it "The dead man's drop" is an essential part of our high street culture we all of us at some stage find ourselves sifting through their silt as if stroking and smelling the scents and spirits of our past relatives like some lost and found bric-a-brac burial ground we old elephants come to rummage around amongst the bones and skin of our not so long ago departed kin. Unfortunately all the objects mentioned in this musing is what I have purchased and given away to friends and family as Christmas and birthday presents including many more objects d'arts or as most of my recipient's see them , jumble sale junk.

What was once a stamp for the tramp or cut of a criminal class is now adorning the faces and physique of aristocrat, royalty and supermodel chic .

A song for Nina If I should compare thee to a wood land tree.

Our fixation with fear is definitely here we're living like mendicant monk our decadent cafe latte lifestyles are all defunct , this virus hangs about us like the prophecy of Macbeth a new strain of black death this damnable covid-19 has killed what was once a hedonistic dream . Project fear is all we hear bombarded constantly into our ear, we've become farmed fish the human hen all crushed together into purgatory pen pellet fed by auntie Bettie and uncle Ben .

The green eyed monster of sin that secret schadenfreude which we keep hidden away so deep within usually it's only seen in children as their rival for survival and parental attention the lowly leftover instinct of our anthropic ascension , however this terrible traits can also be witnessed later in our lives when when the male begins to assert it's dominance as the procreation stage arrives .

This is a song I wrote for supertramp a friend who became homeless through drink one of the Montpellier mice , our band of bonhomie brothers who lived with such reckless abandonment to the stage where some would drink your bathroom cabinet dry aftershave aperitifs and cough medicine cognacs all round. Three days a week I take a coffee with the alcoholics I wrote this song whilst looking across at a homeless person living in a doorway of an abandoned gallery and think how fragile we are . All rights reserved

The ghost in our mortal machine is like a spiritual symbiotic twin that shares in our secular sin, silently and secretly watching from within it tracks us from womb to tomb an then becomes god's witness to give evidence against us in our celestial court room .

A poem I wrote for the everso beautiful Lindsay who is leaving after 11 years she brought her LGBT spirit and colour into our drab fifty souls of grey community bombing us daily with vivid wondrous paintings she takes with her an extraordinary feng shui losing her is like the loss of a perpetual summer's day , artist are the community take them away and you kill it's soul you're left with empty plastic people with tarmac tongues and concrete craniums.

The macabre story about a great grandmother who's ashes were made into a bone china plate by her broken hearted lover , this practice of using powdered human bone in pottery still continues to this day with artists such as Crow and Kraft who call it crafting cremains .

Walking into a very expensive veggie vegan boutique i listened to the sermon of a spiritual salesman , it felt as if you we're about to adopt his precious vegetables , this high priest of the Celtic druids so worshipped his wild woodland produce I got to feeling that my blood would be sacrificed under an oak tree named Zeus after i touched a sacred sprig of his mistletoe obviously punishable on pain of death .

A poem written about my rolly Polly fat flat mate who lost a massive amount of weight becoming ever so serious and slim , I on the other hand have taken his place becoming fat and happy obviously morphing to the company I've kept .

A musing about a taxi-dermist cabbie who wouldn't stop spieling about his slaughterhouse side line job, my friend and I could see and smell the blood by the time he'd finished our short journey.

Greta has an almost impossible sales pitch she's to demand that the incredibly rich dumped that expensive pieces of kitsch , they fly to the cop out climate meetings in their lear jets and show not the slightest hesitation of any regrets, her gargantuan glitch is to try to move these people towards the green dream of a beggars itch, but these dinosaurs who block destiny's drawbridge are mega rich and have no intention of surrendering any of their Kardashian kitsch. To quote Churchill sardonically, , "Never was so much owed by so many to so few".

A short song I wrote about owning a car in the swinging sixties which was extremely rare especially for young people but if it was a jaguar then you were the nouveau rich make believe millionaires the fake faux movie stars members of my family and their friends were just this usually their balloons burst into bankruptcy debt and divorce, too much money in young hands its like mixing desire together with hell fire . All rights reserved

Every experience of adult behaviour through the innocent eyes of a child is quite terrifying now as an adult even death is placed into a calm casual context your maker might as well be a baker.

A little ditty I wrote for lillian's birthday who was born on the first of may now aged nine .all rights reserved

A song I wrote for my goddaughters birthday it's done through the eyes of a mayfly due to her being born on the 1st of may I was trying to tell her live everyday as if it be her last.

Walking into a very expensive veggie vegan boutique i listened to the sermon of a spiritual salesman , it felt as if you we're about to adopt his precious vegetables , this high priest of the Celtic druids so worshipped his wild woodland produce I got to feeling that my blood would be sacrificed under an oak tree named Zeus after i touched a sacred sprig of his mistletoe obviously punishable on pain of death .

The strange phenomenon of dizygotic twin estrangement when nothing of similarity seems to have been shared apart from their indifference towards each other .

This is a song i wrote about the catastrophic creations cause through having too much cosmetic surgery leaving so many a patient in the perpetual state of a reconstructive purgatory the surgeons are called the picasso's of the plastique, well they certainly end up with a foot an mouth or a tongue-in-cheek , they sculpture and scalpel at something that once started out as the face of the fantastic but by the final phase come cut you're left with a gargoyle freak. All rights reserved.

The booze has dammed the soul of many a Keltic kin once upon a life time ago we were the Gunga Din.

With courage commitment and candour these extraordinary women did something that had never been done before and that was to bring the age of equality knocking loudly upon the British empires front door , legions of suffragettes issued their declaration of war against the centuries of bigotry slaughtering dead the fat old British empires dinosaur

A song I wrote whilst looking at the selection of sapiens on a train station I was wondering if we mixed all of them together as if they were paint in a garden shed, would we all end up resembling some khaki olive coloured bread or maybe a DNA glue that resembles a fudge fondue . All rights reserved

I wrote this little ditty after listening to a dear friend who's a lay preacher telling me that i may not be entering into the kingdom of heaven , i answered by stating that i did not want to go to heaven and he asked why surprised stating did i want to go to hell ? , i mentioned i would be quite happy to remain in limbo or purgatory rather than enter into the either where billions upon billions of souls from our past bitter waring human beings would be residing ; after experiencing the enormous divide that we have on this small mad mud island called Britain i really couldn't think of anything worse than to be crushed into a garden of eden with ever so many more people than there are here unless of course that their cantankerous contemptuous souls had been completely cleansed of all human trace in heaven's giant launderette , I have visions of souls on coat hangers totally transparent similar to the plastic covers at the dry cleaners.

This is a short song I wrote for Colette's birthday she's an angel faced florist who works out of a norman church on a country estate, surrounded by angelic statues all halos and wings adding to this heavenly scene is her being bathed and baptized in the divine light from the stain glassed windows along with the scent from the flowers you think you've arrived at the garden of Eden, but then again when she puts on her leather and lace and hits the town well that's a different story , A Saturday night sinner and a Sunday morning Saint. All rights reserved.

A song I wrote for Big Manchester Pete the hardest looking man you were ever likely to meet his face was made for a trick or treat but inside he carried a big old heart that was softer than a boiled swede of sugar beet . All rights reserved

A song I wrote about the king of rock and roll it's done in the fifties crooning style . He was born into extreme poverty raised in a shotgun shack but managed not only to break out of but also to attack the musical apartheid of America he was one of the first to start singing the black man's blues , he went from busking as a bum on Beale Street to having the world worshipping at his feet .

A short song I wrote about riding aboard the busiest train in Europe the 7.32 Woking to Waterloo 100 million passengers a year pass through Waterloo which makes for some terrifying or tantalising flesh to flesh points of view . All rights reserved

A song I wrote for a friend of mine who's charismatic appeal with women is so legendary that it led to him receiving a pseudonym of The Lady Killer.

Her swan song is what you hear just before your love boat runs aground and the scent of sulphur be the final pheromone you smell as you slowly begin to drowned .

A short song about Buying power tools at the hardware store? you truly may as well  arm yourself with a weapon of war and become yet another one of the do it yourself casualty score , around the world figures run into the hundreds of thousands the body counts are much higher than in most actual modern theatres of war .

A humorous sketch about two cats and a cowered based on real life events.

A short ditty written for the god Google children who now speak in fluent geek , They say that the earth shell will belong to the meek I think they might mean the. "GEEK "

A short song I wrote whilst trapped in rush hour on the M25 you may hear a few cars zooming past forgive the quality , its certainly a highway to hell and your brain boils in its crab faced shell; at night it turns into a Cannon Ball Run a hundred and seventeen miles of MAD MAX fun with motor cycles screaming past like something out of the movie TOP GUN. I say if there's anyone out there with good musical ability who would care to lend me a hand with these songs please give me a email as you can hear I'm only a lyricist. slr34@hotmail.com

Every day the paparazzi serve us our sadistic sacrifice all flesh red and raw, no good being a herbivore if you read the daily tabloid's blood and gore , You've really got to be a proper cover story carnivore with the stomach of a toreador , let's face it the press room's a slaughtering house stable and the editor's desk is nothing more than the butcher's table.

The Belles Angels a song I wrote for a bunch of hell raising Harrogate girls all leather and lace they murdered every midnight hour slaking an slaughtering sobriety , to all those super sexy Ladies college girls I say God bless you .

A song I wrote for Nina our green  karma Queen casts her svelt shadow over we obstinate boulder brained beasts lighting an alternative pathway towards her spiritual sentient sanctuary .

I was having breakfast from a cheap cafe overlooking a piece of small purgatory where a young woman was living on the street under an umbrella in the shop doorway when suddenly she awoke relieved herself on a blue bucket and threw it into the street and then began begging from the passing early morning trade whilst I ate blue berries even though at the moment I am in poverty earning very little money there is always someone to let me know that am in paradise compared to them.

Beware Kelts carrying potheen that Irish moonshine can certainly leave you for dead I fell in love with an Irish girl in Montpellier France who brewed her own mountain dew the first time I tried it my legs faltered and I sleep in a corridor of a hotel unable to make it back to my bed.

A song I wrote today after seeing an old Keltic companion I haven't seen for a decade a true blue eyed raven headed Bretagne . The Romans drove them to the furthest reaches of the kingdom so did Edward long shanks hammer of the scots who also stole their ancient kings destiny stone and put it under his own throne Then By the act of supremacy Henry VIII made himself a god figure to rule over all kingdoms , and so you can understand by what they did why the Keltic people feel quite a mistrust towards Westminster and why they would like devolution.

A cynical love song . My Family members were 1920s dyed-in-the-wool Yorkshiremen who believed that love be measured in pounds Shillings and pence and behind the white picket fence was a work house specially built to keep wain and wence who had a value similar to that of blood stock and foul , children being merely chattels without soul .

A short story based upon real life events of my childhood at the time they felt terrifying but now looking back they are the source of amusement for writing. Blue bloods are quite simply mad !! , they treat normal reality as an inconvenient triviality , rules to them don't exist  and the rest of mere mortality are kept around as fluffers for their joviality in what's usually a porno drama of pansexuality .

A song I wrote for a crazy young girl who's beauty could have caused Aphrodite to scream a blue rage of jealously and it was fairly obvious to see her maker man was OCD and once you're under her spell you just can't break free . all rights reserved.

A short humorous story I wrote about a man who was carrying a vicarious redemption on behalf of something else a burdensome task which was only relinquished by his death where upon he was given the cold cruel truth by his absent minded time lord who tries to make amends but far too late .

I have been scratching scribe to script and burning tallow onto table in order to bring you a fabulously free A to Z of poetry.