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Wild Garlic
Shimmering sheets of ramsonsSpread through the woodRipple in the feckless breezeFootsteps fall softAs if in day old snowEvery gentle crunchEmits another pungent breathBetween harsh shadowsOf ash and sycamoreSquinting in steely sunlightShe stoops to gatherA small handful here another therePicking her way homeWith spring-stained fingers~ CLP 07/04/2025 →
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Gabriel Visits The Chippy
April, the cityfull of sunshinesky Mediterranean bluethe half moon has beenstrangely visible all dayit looks like the rock it isunder the sea aboveall its craters crayoned inby the same blueclots of touristschoking the footpathsfrom Tower Bridgesouth to Jamaica Wharfwandering thoughtlesslyinto the cycle pathmaking me weave my e-bikeen route to Johnny’s Fish Barthere’s been football todaypolice →
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The Joy Has Gone / Muzak / Bones
Spare me this muzakThis rolling newsfeed24 hours – no codaOstinatoA builder’s skip fullOf disposable nappiesAt dawn, with ratsAt noon, in full sunAt dusk, with fliesThe witching hour passesMore disposable nappiesAre piled onOn the hour, every hourOstinatoHuman interest storiesWho writes this stuff?¡Ay!One could not make it upThe stench buildsOstinatoThe chorus of bluebottlesDrown the choirsOf widowedOrphaned, the →
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on Ukraine
just gone out to playHigh-precision missile strikenine children murdered~n.b. While Washington clowns around with money, Moscow targets the innocent. What’s wrong with these people. Money comes and goes, life is precious. CLP 05/04/2025 →
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on the piss
Drunks clung togetherStumbling towards the beachThe direction of travelDictated by gravityNot discretionWhich was spewed awayIn the urinalOf The Lord NelsonTheir calamitous gatheringTraces a disorderly lineFrom the lip of The DownsTo the glassy ChannelWhere shattered shards of sunlightScratch at whiskey-shot eyesFumbling for coins in shingle~n.b. Brighton is unrecognisable from my time there, when I first started →
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Why am I not?
Why am I not, what?How long have you got? Within our allotted span we have choices fewWhere we were born comes into it, true Who are our parents, where did we liveWhat was the school, all this we must sieve Then there is sex and sexualityDon’t try to deny that harsh reality Then there is →
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on Ukraine
Still conscious in theatreYour operation is being performedBy two morticiansSeeking to embalm youWhile you fight for breathWar, your anaesthetistTurns up the gasAs these crowbeaksScavenging your convulsing flesh Squabble over your vitals ~ CLP 02/04/2025 →
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Comédie Larmoyante
Comédie Larmoyante Blame the starsBlame the planetsBlessed coincidenceNo one knows their true originPerhaps it was the simultaneousPowercuts wiping out the National GridThat fateful nightPreventing the big cup game being playedSo after tears of frustrationWith little other entertainment to handTwo unexpectant couplesBecame expectant parentsTears of joy at confirmationOf expectationAnd celebration(The Cup was won!)Born on the same →
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the painter
this picture the family keptbut light no longer shinesin eyes cataracts had dulledno captivating smilenot in virile poseor grandiose settingno finery in the clothesa few strands of hairswept back across a weathered crownwith timelines etched deep into face and browsteel rim round glassessit comfortably on the nosea well-worn cream cotton coatheavy upon age-rounded shoulderswith life’s →
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on trees
this Winter lingersno polite exita tip of the hata nodno stepping aside to wave in Springthis winter bids us an insincere farewellpretending it ought leave nowbut waitan umbrella forgottona scarfoh, a glovemy coat! I forgot my coatjust when I thoughtthe door can be firmly closedon the back of this recalcitrantit drags itself reluctantly down the →
Journey of Words 