Category: Non-Fiction

The absolute bliss There is always the presence of an innocent child in every person. The child knows no distinction; rich, poor, man, woman, literate, illiterate, theist, atheist; beyond all this, it rests quietly as a supremely innocent essence. Many scholars have tried to regard this exceptional child under different labels; however, very few have been able to experience its

A muddy fucking hill. Falklands Three   The hill. Just up the hill. Need it. Right flank Cover for centre. Ghurka’s on our Left flank, That’s good They’re good.   Then advance Fast and hard Bound. Don’t take A round. Fix bayonets Shit  That means close. Please no mines! Please no mines!   Rounds buzzing And cracking. Fucking hell Mate.

  Face Down. Falklands Four. I saw him face down in the dirt We turned him over softly Almost covertly. Three small holes All we could see. Sightless eyes Looking at me. Farewell my brother We’ll always love you. We’ll carry you gently And lay you to rest That awful black bag Does you no justice For the times you 

A visit to Vancouver BC.  24 Hours of Love.   Ive often wandered if I’ve kissed The serial killer in our midst. I was on a bit of a sailing manoeuvre  Across in rainy dank Vancouver   Her name was Mona, Mona Bird  Yes lemon curds the rhymah. And her mothers name was Mynah.   Occasionally worried about the strife 

This is a repost of a ranty post I wrote pre-Covid 19. 

To be somebody.  You have to be somebody else. Not an imitation. Or intimation. You have to be somebody else.   On a hill.  Over looking a place.  Somewhere nowhere.  White. Smoke. Cloud. Candle. Some larger remains.  Blown in breeze.  The only chance of escape.  Souls on a southerly.  Inside. Nothing more than a. Pit. At 44 °C. Death will occur.

  Check the bolt Falklands Two.   Check the bolt For action Hands slip and slide Mud and sweat Sweat and mud “Alright mate” “Aye” “Alright mate” “Aye” “We’ll be alright” “Aye” Said a thousand times  a thousand times “Alright mate” “Aye” Check the bayonet Check the bolt Check the mag. Fucking hands Shake And sweat Fucking hands Shake “Alright

Ah’ Chris mate. 8th June 1982. Falklands One   Ah’ Chris mate, What a fate, We’d laughed  and cavorted Before the fun. I’d had sex In Pompey And lots of rum.   It’d take a lot To make us run. You in your engine room Me in mine. All seemed well All seemed fine. Your ship Was knightly Mine was