The clean scent of night
Betrayed lurking evils
Impatient Initiators of
Random acts
Of violence.

Raven ice mirrored
Coal black soul catchers
Devil unleashers
Beast rousers
Of malicious malevolence.

Concrete blows
Delivered with
Drunken imprecision
Caught me off guard
This crispy ice aired
December morn.

Impish winter gods
Took indiscreet pleasure
In the off key concerto
Of amphetamined thugs
Crocked on chemical cider
Laying waste to this man of fifty.

Brokered benevolence
Delivered from a
Higher Saviour
Rescued me as
My heart began to fail
And with one last laughing punch
Distant sirens frightened these
Cowards of Consequence.

When I see them now
These feral misfits
Of limited memory
I pity their gene challenged parents
Who will never see pride
In their brutal sons.

Perhaps this experience
Of wasted youth
Was a quiet blessing
Reminding me
Of the joy
Of my own two sons
And the quiet inspiration
They give to others.

I leave this icy tale
With gratitude for life.




supercalifragilisticexpialidocious (acrostic)

Acrostically ridiculous…

Surreal explanation
Understood by all
Perfectly English
Except they were Austrian
Running over meadows
Calling the cows
Although they dressed nicely
Like in a movie
Instead of  real life
Forget that for now
Remember the song
Andrews so sweet
Gathering the kids
Initially boisterous
Like kids in our day
Insisting they’re right
Some sweeter than others
Then soldiers arrive
Insisting surrender
Come hell or high water
Escape is now needed
Xenophobia beckons
Pushing themselves
In moments of terror
Although this acrostic
Likes going off course
Instead of  D, a
Deer, a female deer
Oh no the wrong song
Collecting odd words
In moments of madness
Oh no the wrong film
Unless I’m mistaken I
Spoiled this whole poem.

Exploding Myths

Top Ten Gods
I remembered something
Turn off the gas
As my wife came home
Fag in hand
The house exploded
Then she was gone
In a puff.

I’ll stop riding
Knocked off bikes
Driven by cops to
Drinking cans
Of Polish dissent
In knee high mud
I sink.

Now rehoused
The social grant
Spent on flock and
Packs of cigs
Money never grew
On trees I planted
Until the day
My missus took
Her last puckered drag.

Witching hour
Wake up sweats
Domestic shapes
Restored at once
Nightmare spirals
My wife will tell you
Leave at once
She has never smoked.

Internet of Things

There will be a time
To worry again
A point where I can say
I told me so.
For now I contemplate
Certain uncertainties.

My fridge freezer
Its generic name
Rubbed off with age
Stands accusingly
The obsolete parts
A product of its maker’s demise.

Its dark interior
Accepts my choices
Button lipped observer
Of high fats
Sugary temptations
Cardiac betrayals.

My overactive mind
Thinking nervously ahead
Buying a new stake
In my collective bowl of neuroses
Transformer-like in its techno glory
Demanding to share my Ethernet.

This decision making cold store
Temperature gauging, water refreshing
Internal cameras checking its stock
Linking to shops, future proof grocers
Connecting on LinkedIn
It would not surprise me.

It will become smarter
Bored with its remit
Health consciously cocky.
I consider its ordering
Of black olive ice cream
The beginning of the end.

Picture This

Hairs stand as
Forced marched
While over used
Eyes sting like
Chillies on a
Wet cotton flannel.

Change that bloody
Almost sepia in
Its drab colour
Reminders of
Missing girls
Put to bed in
Lonesome ditches.

You were young
Pretty and tipsy turvy
On Babycham and Cherry B
We know all this
Misplaced youth at
Fag burnt formica tables
Boyfriends high on
Brown ale and Hai Karate.

Now you’re older
Wiser and loveliest
Of frizzy haired
Serial wanderers
Saturday club nights
With Freemans and
Littlewoods watching
Family allowances drip
Drip drip into deep
Silk lined
Saville Row pockets.

Sit there, I’ll take a picture
8 megapixels of
Beautiful you.


I know you are
Easily but carefully
And when you feel
Love is in your grasp
You surrender
To ideas so
Terrifying in
Their simplistic

Like that long
Broken road
Three wheel carts
Lying impotent as
Discarded lovers
In poisoned
Moulding ditches
You stagger on
Feeling dirty
Hungry and

When you enter
An unlikely victor
Choosing castle rooms
In near exhaustion
Slim fingers gripping
Woven silk
Riding hard to negate
Your raging thirst
And if another comes in
Without looking
You raise yourself
And welcome completeness.

As your sweet sweat
Runs in hot rivers
You are home
At last.