Thursday, 19 October 2017


I had a strange turn a couple of years ago whilst on hols. This came about as a result. I have written in the style of a famous Shakespeare poem; "The rape of Lucretia" although the content is very much my own and this is much shorter.


As high as a kite

My mind is adrift today, flying high.
I let it glide awhile in the gentle breeze
As high as a kite, soaring in the sky,
Contently drifting and controlled with ease,
Like a loved pet or child, easy to please.
Precious possession under my control,
I’ll pull you back safely, child of my soul.

A boy of nineteen

Long ago, I was a boy of nineteen,
Perhaps not mature as some my own age.
I had not the wisdom to calm my spleen,
No lover to still my frustrated rage.
I wore a clown’s mask and numbed that sad stage
Of my life by getting drunk, taking drugs
And hanging around with dropouts and thugs.

Does that sound familiar? That chestnut
Of teenage angst and unsatisfied lust?
Youthful frustration’s a pain in the gut,
A hard path to tread, but tread it we must
(And some never make it and turn to dust).
Yes, we’ve all been there at some point I guess.
Alone, despairing, our heads in a mess.

But now to return from that digression,
Back to a night; August 1980.
I had some acid in my possession
(It being fashionable incidentally,
These being the days of pre – ecstasy).
“Ying Yangs” were the blotters I scored that night
In my quest for psychedelic insight.

In the early evening I took two,
Waited impatiently to no avail,
Till another dealer I barely knew
Entered the pub with some “White tiles” for sale.
He said “These will work for sure without fail”.
So I purchased two and took those as well;
Thus began my unwitting trip to Hell.

With Simon (a friend), I took a taxi
To the Essex University where
I bought a blotter immediately.
I’d already had four, I didn’t care
And I took the fifth one just for a dare,
Then (God!  My brain hurts to think of it now)
Took a trip to the top of a tower.

I peered o’er the edge of a balcony,
Watched the ground, like a giant lift rising
And I had a kind of epiphany;
Stepped over the edge, not realising
My mind was playing tricks and disguising.
The distance between the top and ground floor
Wasn’t two feet but a hundred or more.

Let’s pause for a second (as I did then).
Would be Buddhists, meditate on this:
Was God contrived by superstitious men?
Did Satan tempt Jesus at the abyss?
With a voice, gentle as a mother’s kiss
Saying, “Isn’t it strange the ground so near?
Jump off the edge now, there’s nothing to fear”.

Was that you, my mad mind, talking to me?
If Simon hadn’t stopped me, I’d have jumped
Like a happy child into a warm sea
And my young heart would no longer have pumped,
My immature life, by death would be trumped.
The memory of this cuts like a knife.
I thank you Simon for saving my life.

(Speaking of whom, I wonder what became
Of Simon; he was a strange one for sure.
After that night things were never the same
We both found each other hard to endure.
I heard he succumbed to heroin’s lure,
But still later (I heard) he took the bar
Though I can’t imagine he got that far).

Sitting in a flat on the highest floor
Surrounded by people I barely know,
Talking nonsense. There’s a knock on the door,
Someone opens it and outward we flow.
The spiral staircase to the ground below
Goes on and on and on and on and on.
When we get to the bottom, my head’s gone.

”Infrared complex”

The memory of this causes me pain.
Alas for the truth, it’s necessary
To re-view the line between sane and insane,
And lay it bare so a reader might see
An account of a boy’s insanity 
That arguably was the price of a thrill
And so long ago, yet it haunts me still.

I’m sitting in a bar, sipping a beer.
I’m feeling agitated, paranoid
And inferior to everyone here.
I’m an insipid bore, one to avoid,
Open to ridicule, or else destroyed.
My face is a book, a bland one indeed,                                                                           
Very wide open and easy to read.

A man of superior intellect
Looks at me and says “Infrared complex”,
And those two words have a profound effect
On me. It’s like he knows his phrase reflects
Exactly how I feel and my reflex
Response is to feel humiliation
And lose my bent of communication.

I suddenly find myself in a room
Full of people watching a video.
I sit down with Simon who I assume
Has led me here but I really don’t know
If I can concentrate on a film show.
There’s a “Clicking” sound from behind somewhere,
I turn around but I see nothing there.

I try to watch whatever’s on TV.
“Clickclick, cliclclick, click….”What the hell is that?
I can hear laughing too, but I can’t see,
It’s way too dark, “What are you laughing at?”
Simon simply gives me a shoulder pat
And says “You’re making it a bad one mate”
And right now, I’m in a pretty bad state.

We’re having a row now, Simon and I.
He’s annoying me as much as that sound.
I get up, chairs, tables and glasses fly.
Somebody screams but I don’t turn around,
I’m heading for the exit, homeward bound.
I have no money for a taxi fare
So I walk. Now begins the real nightmare.

Madman on the road

A madman wandered along a dark road
Toward his landmark; a water tower.
He watched it jumping around like a toad,
He bade it “STOP”, (but he had no power).
He bowed and drank piss (it tasted sour),
He looked up, noticed the tower had stopped.
Then looked down again; his trousers had dropped.

Some drivers (teenagers?) mocked him and japed
And others remarked as they passed him by:
“A lunatic from the mad house escaped,
Standing in the road like he wants to die”
And, “There but for the grace of God go I”,
“Another casualty of drugs or drink”,
“I wonder, what must his poor mother think?”

He wandered and wondered “Why am I here,
What is my name and where do I come from”?
He saw the water tower disappear;
In his head, a mantra beat like a drum
And then it exploded into a maelstrom
Of despair, anguish and things meaningless
And he quite forgot his name and address.

That was when he knew that he’d lost his mind.
All his inhibitions had gone away.
To reason, meaning and logic now blind,
His world view was warped and in disarray.
He’d no concept of time, of night or day
And if he could talk, he then would have said;
“I hate this feeling, I’d rather be dead”.

So then, a grim choice before him was laid;
Life as a madman or death as an end.
This considered, his decision was made;
Death’s end was an incomparable friend.
As from buildings afire jumpers descend
His suicide, born of desperation,
Was an instinctive consideration.

He jumped in front of an oncoming car,
That knocked him down but alas did not kill.
He smashed his head back against the hard tar
But unconsciousness evaded him still.
He smashed it again and again until
The driver came over to remonstrate;
“Why did you do that? Are you all right mate?”

A crowd had gathered around him amazed
(They’d come from the pub where they’d been drinking)
He looked at them all as they stood and gazed,
Oblivious to what they were thinking
And suddenly asked with eyes unblinking;
“Am I witch? Are you coming to take
Me off somewhere to be burnt at the stake?”

A woman approached him, her face concerned,
And asked him his name and where did he live?
Not knowing this, a reply he returned
Asking if she had some water to give,
(His voice cunningly disguised and plaintive).
She gave him a glassful which he smashed
And screamed as his neck with the glass he slashed.

An ambulance came and took him away.
As life vividly flashed before his eyes,
He thought of his Grandpa; what would he say?
Only then he began to realise
That Heaven’s a place for someone who dies
By whatever fate deems, but not suicide.
He was for Hell then destined to reside.

To Hell’s gate the ambulance soon arrived.                                                
A demon - policeman disguised - asked his name.
He thought of an answer and then contrived
To fool the demon with a truthless claim.
He stayed silent until more demons came.
Being dead and with his memory restored,
He was wheeled to where Hell’s furnaces roared.

“Police brutality”

Demons disguised as doctors and nurses
Placed me on a high bed and lay me there.
I uttered unrepeatable curses,
(Being dead, resigned and beyond despair)
I swore and spat and punched and pulled hair
And kicked and smashed a cabinet of glass.
They held me down and injected my arse.

As the needle went into my backside
I screamed at the demon’s effrontery.
And like an apathetic child I cried
And questioned their methods and their cruelty.
One demon shouted “Police brutality!”
Then I was handcuffed, my legs were bound tight,
I was left tied up and drained of all fight.

I lay there for hours in Hell’s waiting room
(If time can exist in infinity).
I pondered my fate, considered my doom,
Questioned my small role in humanity,
And the path that had led to calamity.
And as I lay there alone, in deep thought,
I knew that my life’s summation was nought.

Come down

A policeman held my head in his lap.
As my mind came slowly down from the brink,
He then proceeded my legs to unwrap.
And asked if I wanted something to drink.
And as reality started to sink,
I looked at that kind human being
Scarcely believing what I was seeing.

They drove me back home to my bedsit flat,
Read out some charges and made it quite plain
That I was in trouble, but for all that
They were pretty decent and humane.
They said, “We don’t want to see you again”
I apologised and away they sped;
I was fairly copped, it has to be said.

I awoke the next day and felt my neck
And the bandages placed there by a nurse.
I was a mental and physical wreck,
But still alive for better or for worse.
And to dwell on that, is to weaken this verse;
The young foolish boy’s long since departed
And his history can’t be restarted.


My mind is adrift today, flying high.
I let it glide awhile in the gentle breeze
As high as a kite, soaring in the sky,
Contently drifting and controlled with ease,
Like a loved pet or child, easy to please.
Precious possession child of my soul,
I’ll pull you back while I still have control.

Tuesday, 18 July 2017

She said

She said

Someone said, “It’s raining”, she said, I love
The rain as it falls from the clouds above.
Another said, “Shut the window, it’s cold,
I feel it much more now I’m getting old”,
To which she responded, with a sweet smile,
Saying, “Please leave it open for a while,
After all, the coldness isn’t that bad
And the breeze on my face makes me feel glad
To breath in fresh air from the world outside;
It’s a gift to me by nature supplied”.
So the window was left and wind and rain
Came into the ward, washed over her pain
And she, joining her soul with timeless space,
Drifted away with contentment and grace.

Wednesday, 5 July 2017

A word in your ear

A word in your ear

“A word in your ear” the devil said,
And the president of the easily led,                                                                                         
Reclining then in his ivory tower,
Inclined his head and the devil said, “Power”.
Acknowledging, the president breathed,
Considered the sum of all he’d achieved
And said, “This world of grand design
And everything in it is mine, all mine!”
“Power and riches won’t help you this day”
Said the devil; “Now there’s a price to pay”,
But the hapless president never replied,
He took a last breath, exhaled and died.
And now he stands in line and waits.
With dread and despair he contemplates,
In each hand a book of darkness and light;
The one in his left outweighing the right.
All around, children, women and men
Await their turn (they know not when)
To be judged for deeds committed from birth
Till death when they left the face of the Earth,
And the president of the equally led
Considers the words that the devil said,
And curses his greed, his lustful desire,
His “Power and riches”; fuel for the fire.

Wednesday, 28 June 2017



Being labelled constantly
I peel off the ones adhering to me
Some stick some come off easily
I tug at them persistently
Rip my skin and finally
Naked now and label free
I look in the mirror
What do I see?

I see a lie
It tells me my left is my right eye
I take a selfie and I try
To truthfully identify
The real me
And the real me
Label less as when I die
Shows me I am
What I am

What am I?

Monday, 19 June 2017

One last kiss

One last kiss

Fine evening, end of May
Exhibition at the V&A
Outside table, spicy food
Sultry tranquil ambient mood
Across the table gorgeous wife
Making small talk loving life
Hotel room a tube away
A perfect end to a perfect da-

Wine and dinner evening show
Pay the waiter then they go
Plenty of time before the bell
And to use the loo as well
Among the crowd they walk about
Many have their smart phones out
His map marker points to where
“Look the theatre’s over the--

Young men getting drunk outside
Swilling pints of London Pride
Shouting swearing voices loud
Stag night antics boisterous proud
A father looks on with a frown
“Can you keep the language down?”
Daughter feels embarrassed now
“Dad be quiet you’ll start a ro-

Suspicious character ahead
What was it the mayor said?
“Part and parcel” was his view
And people should be “Vigilante” too
Hurrying anxious looking man   
Funny place to leave a van
Fleeting thoughts by many shared
Each paranoid but not prepa---

Early evening sun still bright
The Thames below reflecting light
A blinding FLASH and suddenly
God I can’t see GOD I CAN’T SEE!
Wide awake confused not dreaming
Tears from dazzled eyes streaming
To my lips I hold your hand
One last kiss before we land

Wednesday, 14 June 2017

Two Great Uncles

Two great uncles

Two great uncles who I never knew
Got killed whilst serving in world war two
One died somewhere in Italy
And the other in a ship was lost at sea

My Grandad (their elder brother) was told
When he volunteered that he was too old
So he signed up for the Home guard instead
And at night as bombers flew overhead
He lay and waited for morning to come
With his wife (my Nan) and daughter (my Mum)
In the daytime he worked in Stratford and Bow
Delivering coal and he got to know
A man with connections and in a back street
He paid a bit extra for black market meat
Then he went home to his daughter and wife
And that’s how he spent the war years of his life

Now I wonder what he must have felt.
How did he deal with the hand he was dealt?
Striving to keep his family fed
All the while knowing his brothers were dead

If not for my Mum I’d never have known
Of those two Great uncles whose lives were blown
Away with other young men in their prime
Who fought for our lives in that terrible time

Long after the war my Grandad died
I remember him being a man of pride
A salt of the earth whose daughter wife
And grandchildren seemed the joy of his life

He lived with my Nan in a two up two down
On a council estate in Dagenham Town
The same house he’d lived in during the war
And where mum was born a few years before

About the young brothers he said not a word
Like I said it was only through mum that I heard
What’s related above is a story she told
Forgetting their names now she’s grown old

So here’s my tribute for what it’s worth
To a man whose past gave rise to my birth
A nod of remembrance to what he went through
And the two Great uncles who I never knew

Friday, 9 June 2017

Facebook Rage

Facebook Rage

I typed an opinion of discontent
And you sent back immediately
An emoji showing your dissent
A statement begging to disagree
I countered with an abrupt remark
(A clever one I thought it was)
That evidently hit the mark
(Your curt reply was very cross)
And so we had an angry row
Like stags with antlers on display
Or boars fighting over a sow
Battling for the final say
There was no surrendering
We fought each other and in the end
I deleted everything
And you removed me as a friend

Now it’s damaged beyond repair
No going back for you and me
Unfriending now seems pretty fair
(Although I took it personally)
Wine and anger’s a toxic mix
It’s fatal when you’ve had a few
To be broadcasting politics
A keyboard warrior’s point of view
We could’ve used the phone that night
And spoke in private for a while 
Instead we had a public fight
Like rival guests on Jeremy Kyle
Hence aggressive stubborn and proud
The two of us there on the stage
Gave before the watching crowd
A demonstration of Facebook rage

Thursday, 8 June 2017

Spring 1989

Spring 1989

We sat at a table
In The Hard Rock Café
The Stone Rose’s debut
Was the latest thing
Their songs were relayed
And we had a sing
Ate chicken and chips
And looking around
Everyone there

Was tuned into their sound

I’m looking back that now
On that escapade
Surrounded by baggies
Casually displayed
As Madchester’s finest
On the turntable played
And the optimism
On everyone’s face
Made the world seem
A safer and happier place

Tuesday, 6 June 2017

The fallen tree

6th June 2017 (6 pm) The fallen tree

This evening, whilst out walking the dog,
I saw some poppies in a field;
I looked at them and thought for a while
Of a long ago war and millions killed.

Further on, at the edge of the wood,
I came across a fallen tree;
I pondered the random power of storms
And then another thought came to me…….

On this day in June; 1944
Men ran forth into hostile fire;
On a Normandy beach
Some breathed their last
Amidst bullets, shells,
And barbed wire.

I stood by the tree, and reflected
On soldiers deaths untimely met.
Sometimes, in the simplest of ways,

Nature reminds us, lest we forget.

Wednesday, 24 May 2017



A well meaning poem
Read out loud
Recited with feeling
To the gathered crowd
May bring comfort
For a short while
And conjure up the image
Of your smile
But after all
It’s just words
And it goes nowhere
Rising like vapour
Dispersed in thin air
Like a statement a minister’s
Bound to prepare
Like a mother’s cry met
With a tearful stare

Indeed, like this piece
I’ve written for you
(Though I tried my hardest
To make it true)
It won’t stop the flow
Of endless tears shed
Nor alter the path
Of the easily led

If I could gather up the bad
Make it all good
Then hand it back
(Like a caring God should)
Drag you away
From where the beast stood
And bring you home safe
Believe me
I would

Saturday, 20 May 2017

Champagne Socialists

Champagne Socialists

A Champagne cork flies across the room,
Hits a picture of Tony Benn;
Flutes overflowing with Dom Perignon
Are raised by ladies and gentlemen.

“Let’s drink a toast to good old Tone”
Is met by a joyous retort, “Hear, hear!”
Glasses charged, discussion begins;
Part two of “The road to Wigan Pier”.

“’Sandal wearing fruit juice drinkers’
Why did he say that? please explain;
The account of the mines was grand indeed,
But part two I won’t be reading again.

Far too subjective and scathing for me,
And I heard he was of bourgeois employ;
When all’s said and done, he’s a hypocrite too;
After all, wasn’t he an old Eton boy?”

Another stands up and raises his glass
Of fruit juice, (for Champagne is not his thing);
In the background an anthem; “The red flag” plays;
He nods in approval and starts to sing.

Singing and tapping his sandal clad feet,
He pauses, and once more raises his glass;
“Ladies and gents, I propose a toast
To the party’s success and the working class”

“I’ll drink to that” another pipes in
But the bottle is empty, the Champagne’s gone
A vote is taken, agreement is reached;
“Pop another bottle of Dom Perignon” ….

Friday, 12 May 2017

Carry on voting Tory (a song)

Carry on Voting Tory

If you want to see the back of the N.H.S
Carry on voting Tory
If you want to pay towards it less and less
Carry on voting Tory
If you don’t give a fuck about mental health
And your prime concern is a billionaire's wealth
If you want to see nurses get less pay
Than someone selling fries in a takeaway
If you trust Trump more than the B.M.A.
Carry on voting Tory

If you want to see less police on the beat
Carry on voting Tory
If you want more burglaries in your street
Carry on voting Tory
If you want drug dealers in the park
If you don’t want to venture out after dark
If you want more knives and violence in town
If you want your kids mugged by a drunken clown
If you want to see your local nick close down
Carry on voting Tory

If you want to cut schooling for the poor
Carry on voting Tory
If you want to see classes of forty or more
Carry on voting Tory
If you want to see pupils in grammar schools
Looking down on other kids as secondary fools
If you want to see those of a very young age
Getting judged and rejected at primary stage
If that concept doesn’t rattle your cage
Carry on voting Tory

If you want workers’ rights to be null and void
Carry on voting Tory
If you think all unions should be destroyed
Carry on voting Tory
If you’re happy for people to be enslaved
As the boss gets greedier and more depraved
If you want to go to work and still be poor
If you want to use food banks more and more
Cos you can’t afford to shop at the grocery store
Carry on voting Tory

If you want to see foxes hunted again
Carry on voting Tory
If you want to hear them scream in pain
Carry on voting Tory
If you want village residents to be defied
If you want to see fracking in the countryside
If you want green activists locked away
And so called “Experts” to have less say
If you’d rather sit and listen to Theresa May
Carry on voting Tory

Sunday, 30 April 2017

Theresa the parrot

Theresa the parrot

Theresa the parrot stood on the table
“Strong and stable, strong and stable”
In leather jeans of designer label
“Strong and stable, strong and stable”
She said to Tusk at a Brexit babel
 “Strong and stable, strong and stable”
And to Merkel, as loud as she was able
“Strong and stable, strong and stable”
To the British public she cried the fable
“Strong and stable, strong and stable”
Like Scarlet screaming to Clark Gable
“Strong and stable, strong and stable”
Like an old crow sitting on a telephone cable
“Strong and stable, strong and stable”
Like a needle stuck on a turntable
“Strong and stable, strong and stable
Strong and stable
Strong and stable
Strong and stable
Strong and stable
Strong and stable
Strong and stab
Strong and sta
Strong and st
Strong and s
Strong and
Strong an
Change the record
For fucks sake!

Thursday, 27 April 2017



“Mugwump”! What the fuck is that?
You horrible fucking Tory twat
If I was cheap, I’d call you “Fat”
You horrible fucking Tory twat
Stop acting like a spoilt brat
You horrible fucking Tory twat
Stop grinning like a Cheshire cat
You horrible fucking Tory twat
Your Winston biography is shat
You horrible fucking Tory twat
You patronise and shoulder pat
You horrible fucking Tory twat
But the rich elite is where you’re at
You horrible fucking Tory twat
In Dicken’s times, in a big top hat
You horrible fucking Tory twat
You’d treat the poor like a doormat
You horrible fucking Tory twat
If the ship went down you’d be a rat
You horrible fucking Tory twat
In a “Reserved” life boat you’d be sat
You horrible fucking Tory twat
Sucking up to Royals like a vampire bat
You horrible fucking Tory twat
Like an egotistical pregnant gnat
You horrible fucking Tory twat
I’d love to see Corbyn squash you flat
You horrible fucking Tory twat
In an unbiased B.B.C. T.V. chat
You horrible fucking Tory twat
You act like you’re a diplomat
You horrible fucking Tory twat
But the rest of the world thinks you’re a prat
You horrible fucking Tory twat
A cross between a slug and an acrobat
You horrible fucking Tory twat
They can see right through your tabloid tat
You horrible fucking Tory twat
And the sum of your political tract?
You horrible fucking Tory twat
“Mugwump”! What the fuck is that?
You horrible fucking Tory twat

Wednesday, 26 April 2017

Villanelle pour L'électeur conservateur

Villanelle pour L'électeur conservateur

Why are you voting for the Tories again?
Why would you suffer another five years?
Has The Daily Fail been washing your brain?

What are your reasons? Please explain;
As your old age pension disappears;
Why are you voting for the Tories again?

Are you indifferent to suffering, pain,
Poverty, despair, and workplace fears?
Has the Daily Fail been washing your brain?

As services crumble under the strain,
Of tax-breaks given to billionaire peers,
Why are you voting for the Tories again?

Can you not see that cuts will remain?
Why would you sharpen the chancellor’s sheers?
Has the Daily Fail been washing your brain?

As state education goes down the drain,
And to private health the NHS veers;
Why are you voting for the Tories again?
Has The Daily Fail been washing your brain?

Thursday, 20 April 2017

Gonzalo's dream

Gonzalo’s dream

There in a shop doorway he lies
Awake and begs of passers by
Some drop a coin but most deny
Each carries on their separate ways

As for myself, I must confess
I rarely if ever leave a coin
But rather with his thoughts I join
(Though what they are I only guess)

I put myself in his place there
And ponder how I came to be
A victim some may think of me
A consequence of life not fair?

But what’s inside is mine alone
Dropped coins I gladly will accept
I tolerate the cold and wet
And shelter of which I have none

Refusing to run the race of life
I gave up all material things
I was a puppet, but cut the strings
Lost my job, my house, my wife

And now the fortune I redeem
Is freedom from society’s woe
And when I sleep  each night I know
The beauty of Gonzalo’s dream

Monday, 27 March 2017

Soldiers of western fortune

Soldiers of western fortune

Soldiers of western fortune
Marched across the sand
Of the desert; then a graveyard
To a bombed and broken land
There wasn’t much to see there
Not an office, not a store,
Not a school, not a playground
Not a window, not a door

But there was an obligation
To stay there for a while
And some of the population
Was questioned; put on trial
Many “Insurgents” labelled
In prison there confined
Bonded in common hatred
For the ways of western kind

When the soldiers left as “Heroes”
On government advice
A fragile administration
Was left to its own device
The prison population
No longer there contained
Found a caliph, sympathetic
To the hatred now ingrained

They gathered and they listened
In numbers more and more
To Proclamations spoken
Liberation, holy war
Brandished then with weapons
From distant foreign lands
They marched beneath their banner
Across the desert sands

They found a destination
Declared a “Caliphate”
The city and population
Now an “Islamic State”
Ruled with ancient laws
From the seventh century
“Transgressors” daily slaughtered
And filmed for all to see

And many escaped the terror
Of those barbaric laws
Exchanged all their possessions
And came to western shores
Whilst others being tempted
By the lure of “God’s” warfare
Found ways to cross the borders
And join with ISIS there

Some of them returned
As refugees disguised
The innocent and guilty
Now both equally despised
Atrocities committed
In western cities now
Creating more division 
With every passing hour

By populist demand
Another war’s declared
All costs deemed irrelevant
No expenses spared
The “Will of the people” spoken
The foe identified
The time for diplomacy’s over
Let missiles and drones decide

Soldiers of western fortune
March across the sand
Of the desert: still a graveyard
To a bombed and broken land
Nothing left but ruins
The same as another before
Not an orphanage, mosque, or hospital
Not a window, not a door

There was an obligation
Supposedly fulfilled
The city reduced to rubble
The Caliphate captured, killed
The soldiers return as “Heroes”
Away from suffering and pain
As another caliph emerges
And the cycle begins again

Sunday, 19 March 2017



On a night when not one fuck was given
In an orange Mini being driven
By a mate who as far as I could tell
Was speeding and spaced out as well

I passed him a joint and he said to me
The road’s disappeared mate I can’t see
Then he without any hesitation
Drove over the central reservation

It was surreal like in a dream
Seeing a lorry with lights on full beam
Come hurling towards us at full pelt                                                 
Barely a trace of emotion was felt

We went back over the central line
Not a word came out of his mouth or mine
I skinned up a joint and thought Oh well
And we both laughed and said Fucking hell

The Psychedelic Furs had played that night
And we agreed they were well alright
As we pulled up outside my mate’s abode
Wide awake and still in gig mode

His wife was still up and so was their cat
We had cups of tea and then we sat
And watched Chloe in the living room
Pushing kittens out of her womb

We sat and watched he his wife and I
Till after a haze of time passed by
Eventually four kittens appeared
A Purrrfect ending to a night so weird

 It’s strange this story that sticks in my head
(And it was quite strange it has to be said)
But every now and then it makes me smile
To look back and ponder just for a while

That night (with a fuck really not given)
The old orange mini (long ago driven)
The cat and kittens (no longer alive)
And the Furs in London in ‘eighty five

Tuesday, 21 February 2017



Food piled up high on plates
Washed down with wine
From vintage estates
Desert coffee
Brandy too
Not enough for you
Everyone else feels queasy
Take it easy easy easy easy

Stressed at work
Tired at home
Couch potato,
Garden gnome
Gin and tonic
Such a delight
Especially on a weekday night
Fancy something cheesy?
Take it easy easy easy easy

Medical advice
Easy to ignore
Dismissed as a bore
Tumultuous storm
Brewing inside
Ignored, denied
It’s ever so breezy
Take it easy easy easy easy

Bent over double
In the bedroom
Arms tingling
Pains in chest
Paramedics take you away
“Heart attack”
You hear one say
Driven at speed
Left in care
Doctors and
Nurses waiting there
What were you thinking?
With your groin shaved bare?
“Hope nobody sees me”?
Take it easy easy easy easy ee

Funny how things turn out in life
You said “Goodbye”
To your children
Your wife
But the doctors
And nurses
Pulled you through
Now you’ve joined a gym
And you go swimming too
And avoid all things greasy
Take it easy easy easy easy

Wednesday, 25 January 2017

The (British) Citizen

The (British) Citizen

Went out for a drink one Friday night
And ended up nearly getting into a fight
It wasn’t my fault; I was being polite
And I didn’t really have much choice
I was innocently standing at the bar
Talking to a stranger “blah di blah”
When he crossed the line, went a bit too far
Shouting in a very loud voice:

“An asylum seeker or a refugee
Coming over here and getting stuff for free
Should NOT be allowed in MY country
And I’m not a racist BUT……
What are they coming over here for?
Do you want a Muslim living next door?
This country’s full we can’t take more
Our borders should be SHUT!
I’m not a racist but I have to say
Why should all that tax I pay
Go to foreign places far away
No I’m not a racist BUT……
There’re too many foreigners over here
Our women and children live in fear
Enoch Powell had the right idea
His vision was clear CUT
I’m not a racist but I don’t see
Why I should feel any sympathy
If someone coming here illegally
Winds up getting DROWNED
Our economy’s in bits
All immigrants claiming benefits
At the cost of us hard working Brits
Should be shipped homeward BOUND
I’m not a racist I’ve got a black mate
It’s only Muslims that I hate
They’re the ones that refuse to integrate
They need to UNDERSTAND
That this is England, not Iran
Or Syria or Pakistan
We read the Bible not the Quran
And the Burka should be BANNED
I’m not a racist I’m a UKIP man
I hate the European plan
But I’m not a racist RIGHT?
I want to go back to the good old days
Of British culture British ways
When Rule Britannia ruled the waves
Predominantly WHITE!”

At first I didn’t know what to say
And normally I keep trouble at bay
But I was tired and I’d had a bad day
And the drink had gone to my head
So I stood there a while and thought for a bit
Bought another beer, had a sip of it
And with an angry face and a mouth full of spit
I turned to the man and said:

“I’m sorry but I have to disagree
That’s a racist rant as far as I can see
I don’t even know why you’re talking to me
You say you’re not a racist BUT…….
Your BRITAIN FIRST badge, Your Powell tattoo
Your BRITISH NATIONALIST point of view
Tells me all I need to know about you
Your mind is clearly SHUT!
You say you’re not a racist and then imply
That British born Muslims should wave GOODBYE
And refugees should be left to DIE
You say you’re not a racist BUT…….
Your message came through loud and clear
You don’t want immigrants living here
So you preach the hatred and the fear
Of a bigoted far right NUT
I don’t want to know what’s in your head
You should have told someone else instead
Someone a little bit more brain dead
Would agree with what you say
All the people you hate are human too
With needs and feelings just like you
What would you think if I said to you
I’m happy for them to STAY?
You say you’re not a racist and then you state
That it’s only Muslims that you hate
Cos they refuse to integrate
But you need to UNDERSTAND
That England’s a multicultural place
With all kinds of creed, colour and race
Every woman’s got a right to cover their face
And the burka should NOT be banned!
And as for UKIP let me explain
I don’t care if you voted leave or remain
The stuff that’s going on inside your brain
Is far from being alright
The working class never ruled the waves
In the past we weren’t much more than slaves
If you want to go back to those good old days
You really are full of SHITE!”

And with that being said I turned away
Being quite prepared to let it lay
But the nationalist looked far from OK
And he didn’t want let it rest
He called me a “Traitor” and a “Left wing dick”
A “Muslim lover” and a “COMMUNIST prick”
And he said I had a face he’d love to kick
And he poked me in the chest
And I thought “I’m not putting up with that”
So I looked him in the eye and said “YOU PRAT”
And as he smiled like a Cheshire cat
A voice whispered in my ear;
“Don’t mess with him he’s a nutcase son
The best thing you can do is RUN
Don’t try and take him on mate you’ll get done
It’s time you was out of HERE”

A group of bouncers dragged me outside
Saying “He’s our mate, you’ve hurt his pride”
As from the entrance the NATIONALIST cried
“I’ll kill the little SHIT!”
And as he shouted he slung a chair
He didn’t notice or even care
That there were other people everywhere
It was like he was he having a FIT!
I ran as the bouncers held him back
But the chair in the air was still on track
It exploded behind me with a “CRACK”
That’ll haunt me in my dreams
And the ranting and the raving could still be heard
The poisonous HATRED, every word
Not a trace of HUMANITY  could be inferred
In those maniacal SCREAMS

But what kept me awake when I turned off the light
Was so many others thought he was right
I was well and truly outnumbered that night
Not sharing his point of view
And that night I nearly paid the price
For not keeping schtum, or being nice
But then again why I should think twice?