Latest Poetry

Tenebris Interlucentem (into the darkness… light)   a winter Wednesday open-mic   in a dingy pub in Pontefract or was it Halifax?   I don’t rate poetry highly but if the beer’s good and admission’s free…   first up a hipster a ‘bad day Bukowski’ bragging a whore he claimed he laid all night in down-town Saginaw   an old bald guy up next in shades and a floral shirt, 6XL, read five straight doggerels all about ...

Continuing to play with the convoluted evolution and exploration of the "This Is" subject ...

ɓuᴉɹoɹɹᴉɯ ǝɥʇ ...

when Carrie met Harry   Renoir touched up a drab spot in his painting, Au Moulin de la Galette, with a twirling couple - a man in striped trousers and a woman in pink   the man, was an artist, Solares to his friends the woman, a ‘model’, was everyone’s friend   a hundred years later, reborn as Carrie and Harry, they had no memory of wild polka Sundays yet their eyes linked a little too long whenever they ...

I heard somebody say ...

Overheard ...

her mother ...

Equinox at Frank Seago’s   Christmas Eve 2016 shivering in a freezing kitchen bobble hat to beat the cold surfing late-night radio stations, swerving drunkards singing carols  and jingles praising senna pods –   out of the blue I caught a snatch of Coltrane’s sublime Equinox.   my mind zipped back to ‘66, an Essex council-house front-room; cat-scratched armchairs, vinyl couches,  sundry drop-outs smoking ganja.   the rule? three quick drags - pass it left.  I inhaled ...

Winter is coming! My tiny feet are frozen The wind chill nips my nose I’ve chilblains on my fingers And frostbite in my toes The frigid winds of winter Come howling round my door To send their ankle-freezing draughts Across the bedroom floor. The days of wine and roses And sunbathing are past All that awaits are hours of gloom The tempest’s icy blast. The time of coughs and sneezes Is on us once again ...

Chips are welcome wherever you are I escape the frozen street into, Het Tip Zak, greeted by the smell of frying lard and laughter wrapped in humid heat. I join the ragged queue surveying raw and processed meats displayed under spotless fridged glass. My turn is noted. Recognition-- a look over his glasses, unsmiling but not unfriendly. I ask, a kleintje en a saté. As he collects the skewered meat ready for the boiling fat, ...

Who doesn't love a clerihew?  ...

  The day men walked upon the moon                                                   my father died,             attended kindly by an unloved wife             who, for charity in the face of death,                               briefly suspended                                          the bitterness brewed of life.             Dry-eyed we watched the television;             flickering pictures from outer space                                                             made history.           But behind my eyes on a white pillow            was only my ...

pilgrimage   in September as days shorten children hunt conkers unpicked fruit rots on the trees leaves turn brown   and me? I take my bike onto the Hull to Scarborough train   I get off at Flamborough pedal to the Head, pick fist-sized chalk stones at North Landing and pebbles right for skimming   then ride to an unmarked track, only hares might run - it leads to a path that leads to a ...

stick around   Sadie, in a lavender nightie, parked her bum on the arm of the sofa rolling a cig from ashtray butts to smoke while watching a Ground Control re-run on daytime telly   she had a crush on Monty Don - always watched when he was on Walter, her partner, lolled beside her   Sadie lit her rollie - smoke clouds wreathed the head of the ageing, fading one-time Tiller Girl   her countenance shone ...

there's no way back for the lone traveller struggling to pen something new! ...