Cup of tea and a slice of cake.

A simple thing, a piece of cake. When leaden skies pervade the day, And respite's sought from out the grey, A kettle with fresh water filled, The steam expands and whistle trilled. Within the pot the leaf is laid, And piping hot the water spray'd, The brew commences, minutes three, Then more tick by, brew'd … Continue reading Cup of tea and a slice of cake.

Who next for god, Jim?

I wrote this on the 26th of November 1978, eight days after the Jonestown Mass Suicide/Massacre, an event that I will freely admit I had to look up to refresh my memory about the whole thing. Jonestown or the Peoples Temple Agricultural Project was a religious settlement located in Guyana and founded by one James … Continue reading Who next for god, Jim?

Any excuse.

Written in November 1978, I intended this as a sort of tumbling stream of consciousness. When I wrote it I was torn between using and not using punctuation but in the end I conformed and included commas and full stops. This time however, here in the 21st century, I'm going out on a limb and … Continue reading Any excuse.

In Unread Words.

In Unread Words A sad and lonely poet, comes to the end of his rhyme. The suns and moons, of age, are passing, through the canyons of his mind. "We knew the way," he sadly cries, "we could have shown you life." "Your eyes I see are crying now, they dim your blood-stained knife." And … Continue reading In Unread Words.

The Additive.

Teenage poetry. This one has a date, 13th August 1977 which, the internet reliably informs me was a Saturday. The original title that I'd written down was 'The Ad,itive' but I thought that it looked a bit too, um… you know. I'd obviously been overdosing on telly adverts and thinking about Carol who I'd met … Continue reading The Additive.

Out of the Ecliptic.

Soldiers stare in poets' guise, shout bloody words at careless skies. Faces bowed are steeped in grief, and turn away from warrior and thief. Art ensnared in martial rule, followed by bloodlust thirsty fools. Teachers caught are sold and bought, preach manifestoes to the worth of naught. Mourning not another day, these people force my … Continue reading Out of the Ecliptic.