Latest Submissions

Fuck the Liberal Left

I used to think that you were there to lift the working classes, but now I see your heads jammed up your own self-serving arses. You see the world in black and white, through dogma-curtained glasses, so certain what the past is, puking moral catharsis. You believe in nothing but the rightness of your own opinions (the ones you sucked from globalist media’s brainwash-droning minions and share with Brussels bigwigs’ censorship-condoning millions): Let’s home a ...
Read More
/ / Poetry / 5 Comments on Fuck the Liberal Left / 384 words / /

Venus in a red dress

  a tedious Baggot Street nineteen fifty three   gathering of ‘the literati’ not my choice of company until a red-haired red dress vision sent my imagination winging to Venus - as per Botticelli.   if she noticed me, my bohemian dishevelry, air of rive gauche poverty, might have turned her off, or turned her on… conceivably.   my eyes riveted to hers, red-rimmed and raw, from a life of sorrow, I surmised, covertly scanning ...
Read More
/ / Poetry / 14 Comments on Venus in a red dress / 318 words / /

‘invisible woman’

  at a Driffield cafe window table looking out at nothing much to see   on dreary Middle Street, a grey woman, plastic bonneted mac buttoned to beat the dreich, pressed against the wind into Tindall’s for her regular half dozen eggs two slices of ham, translucent, and chicken breasts for her poodle, named after her husband, long in his grave but not forgotten   glimpsing Roland at a Beltane gathering dancing naked leaping sacred ...
Read More
/ / Poetry / 7 Comments on ‘invisible woman’ / 127 words / /

South-Central Walthamstow

The war memorial’s slashed in brash Cyrillic-esque graffiti: “Da Shapka Krew runs tings” and slits your whistle-throat entreaty for peace in a pebbledashed circus where defaced, de-souled banditti give a blindfold knife-thrower sort of show down South-Central Walthamstow. Innocence treads tightropes over crack-fiend, thief and lurker and Romance is a concrete-booted rubber-gloved mazurka. The only feeling in your gut’s the chunks of chicken burger juggled by your gastric flow down South-Central Walthamstow. Boys in bubbled ...
Read More
/ / Poetry / 7 Comments on South-Central Walthamstow / 272 words / /


You pelt stones at me,  I will offer garlands; You could take me for A lunatic, an ignorant,  But I will not water the plant; You'll soon relieve me, I will still let you be. My ability to respond Will unconditionally Set me free ...
Read More
/ / Poetry / No Comments on Responsibility / 34 words / /

The countdown

When the lockdown will be  over and done with,  when we'll walk past the nonstop distancing,  when we'll again go to work,  when the world afresh will be free from the deadly virus, when we'll regain our lost freedom,  then we can sing to us, 'Hey buddies We  did it, we made it,  We have really overcome'. Life will be back to normal again.  Leaders, caregivers  aren't working in vain, their efforts for sure will ...
Read More
/ / Poetry / 2 Comments on The countdown / 143 words / /

Being in prison

Act I I am in a prison, in love with the prisoners, its regiments; strange as it might seem, I can clearly see and sense the gates are left open. Act II I am in a prison charged for a number of reasons, for my lies mainly; but strange as it can be, as far as I can see I sense that nowhere ever before I felt so free ...
Read More
/ / Poetry / 2 Comments on Being in prison / 59 words / /

The Mouse and Like-Button

Visit the Mouse and Like-Button online pub for a frothing pint of ale and a steak and kidney pie with a wall of reinforced glass between you and the other patrons for that authentic Internet conversation feel. When someone asks you tricky questions like “So why is it that only white people can commit racism?”, you can just carry on drinking in a relaxing environment of silence, or write “shut up u stoopid prik u ...
Read More
/ / Poetry / 2 Comments on The Mouse and Like-Button / 189 words / /

après le deluge

come and sit beside me draw near the fire glow I’ll put my arm on your shoulder you’ll rest your head on mine maybe we will whisper of hopes maybe of fears those things we might have done but left it too long and those dear souls we buried the dear souls we miss and the songs they sang and the tales they told and the laughter we shared try not to cry the brokenness ...
Read More
/ / Poetry / 1 Comment on après le deluge / 105 words / /

High Finance

Ever wondered when countries borrow billions just where the money comes from? I can explain on a micro-scale A billionaire’s yacht once sailed To a small Greek island (economy failed) The hotel’s ballroom he booked (Paid cash) To hold his daughter’s birthday bash One thousand dollars he laid down Then went off to explore the town Hotelier’s heart leapt with joy He sent for his errand boy Sent him dashing down the street To pay ...
Read More
/ / comedy, Non-Fiction / 1 Comment on High Finance / 170 words / /

Fred’s Lockdown

Here's another take on the lockdown. Fred is a fictitious character, but then again he could be real ? 🤔 ...
Read More
/ / Fiction / 2 Comments on Fred’s Lockdown / 197 words / /

‘ce qu’on aime est toujours beau’

  I wish I could see what you see as you meander willow lanes stopping, kneeling, to trace veins in violet blooms tasting around you a beauty that eludes me   I watched your encouraging applause of weak poetry before, lacking your patience, I stalked to the bar and stared at my glass of moody whiskey   I’ve seen you lost in music’s magic eyes closed, enraptured, lamenting with Dido, ‘when I’m laid in earth,’ ...
Read More

Herefordshire Birds

It’s not the first occasion I’ve been wrenched from the concrete splodge to which I clenched, I’ve often tramped the bramble-scattered banks of duck-jammed Roding, Ching and Lea, which quench the forest with their murky snaking tanks. I’ve eavesdropped on the flapping mating calls of horn-emitting spitting swanking swans by where the fish-congested Wensum falls off rocks that gloat for glistening plump and bronze, chased rabbits over hole-pricked Norfolk lawns and tilted clod-thick bubbling local ...
Read More
/ / Poetry / 5 Comments on Herefordshire Birds / 520 words / /


Times Colourful words lose their hues; a rainbow, in black and white. Times Unclean mind cleaning hands, healer, under the weather utterly confused, time and effort, abused ...
Read More
/ / Poetry / 6 Comments on Times / 17 words / /

The Brat

A young terrified girl is found on a cold, deserted moorland road late at night. She is fleeing two men who need her dead. For the man who finds her, she's the last thing he needs in his life ...
Read More
/ / Fiction / 2 Comments on The Brat / 1641 words / /