Part-time poet
Of those transient images. Only one was on celluloid:. You are smartly dressed, my eye drawn. To the striped tie, buttoned breast. Auburn crumple over polished shoes.
In a certain light a cobweb. Holds the dust up to the light. In a certain light a cobweb. Turns black straight into white. In a certain light a cobweb. In sight tempts sense to touch.
A prank of deceptive admission. Ill fated transfer and shame. Broadcast post-legal submission. Indemnification to claim. Newsprint blown out of proportion. Foul bellows of media fame.
I AM MAKING POLICY It is framed by the evolving landscape that we find ourselves in today, I have been using a blue-sky-thinking-group To helicopter above day-to-day issues And perform a radical...
The table gone and cupboards bare No knife no fork no spoon no chair No couch to slouch no socks to pair No dirty marks or errant hair Now every room is looking spare Even the carpet is...
With donated sorrow, His fix killed young joy, He thieved from the girl, Gave bribes to the boy, Thumbed charities silver While jangling gold, Told BBC bosses "Forget what you're told.".
It filled him with sorrow Buying toys to bring joy To his little girl And his baby boy: He took trinkets of silver New Cash for Gold And never told granny What he had sold..
There are weddings beheadings it's not very clear where the difference lies between red wine and beer and they're talking they're talking they're blinking their eyes and you're telling them telling...
From the silken quiver. Nested arrows have all flown. Blown sideways in quicksilver. Specks o'er the rain-flecked loam. And on that guilty shiver. Gilded fletchers strike for home.
We were close, them and us, before distance and time turned them into memories.
Those dry words in the sauna sounded plangent in that box of hot air.
Nights of late, I tell you, I've been having trouble sleeping; we have to shift my servers so that they can keep on leaking through the walls of the establishment, staining brown their white gloss...
Compressed layers of sedimentary pasta separate igneous tomato aquitards, over a base of metamorphic mincemeat. A leafy sprig sits rakishly on top; ephemeral..
Walking through airport departures I deconstructed, lonely as a cloud, wondering 'what is a cloud anyway?' a union of oxygen and hydrogen, a transient arrangement of familial water...
I wonder whether the weather would ever. leather the heather like never before,. for such an endeavour could sever forever. the numinous tether from foot to the floor;.
With a receding evening sweat From the Olympic cross-Kings Cross 200m civil-servant-dash: Shirtsleeves, brogues, overweight laptop bag And a phantom-of-the-opera Dichotomy, though that is too easy...
Sometimes I find the words, Sometimes the words find me, Often there's just a page, Waiting expectantly..
These are the words That fight on your lips When you're sleeping. These are the words That ring in your ears When there's no-one at the door.
"The thing about the sandman," said scientific Kate, "is that he acts unstably: odd for a silicate.".
I give my mate a croggy when he walks to Vernon Park, his black eyes are always open and he's game for any laugh.
Worries over global warming In an old goldfish bowl Above a radiator He's not sure if it even exists If what exists.
There is something therapeutic. about submitting to hot water:. muscles relax;. patter-pleasure-patter-pain. acupuncture. is just bearable;. cleansing steam. inducing anoesis;. bubbles of thought,.
I'd quit my search for Anusol in the supermarket aisles, And hobbled to a pharmacist’s to seek balm for my piles, But when they saw my sorry state it was straight to the GP, They’d phoned ahead to...
Je parle un peu de français,. un peu and little more;. Bar Deux’s about as far as it goes m’duck,. and whilst I won’t demerit the beret,. I find no joie de vivre in French restaurants:.
First it was a hiss Then it was a roar Ladles clanged on saucepans As they went to war They’d rustled up some mischief A most rapacious menu Each of their objectives A television venue Their schedule...
There's a difference between what people say and what people mean.
When the wind of the wivering woggeldy woo. Came prowling the village of Kamchatkaroo. It wiggled and sniggled and squeezed its way through. And the whispers it glummoxed were steely and blue.
"Haven't you got one of these?" they said, Haven't you got one of those.