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 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.
I wrote this in January 2017, something was going on in the news, something a bit silly as I recall and a friend of mine had posted something on Facebook about a Supreme Court decision, Parliament, ministers and democracy. I replied with this little ditty. It all seems so far away now; did we ever … Continue reading Part of the 48.
I stood at the trolley park at Sainsbury's, there were two lines of small trolleys and two of large trolleys, I wanted a small one. I eyed them up; left or right? Right or left? I plumped for the one on the left-hand side. I know from experience that there are several trolleys in service … Continue reading Off (one’s) trolley.
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.
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.
Paper Flag Can you believe them? Sing their songs then. Understand them? Come to terms then. How can you say, that they know how to please you, can't you see that you are cheated? Every turn you are defeated. They pave your way so narrowly, and strip you of identity. I see a child in … Continue reading Paper Flag.
Some time later, when the street vendors had packed away their plastic crosses and crown of thorn hats, a small group of young people gathered under His cross and began to sing. It was a sad song, but no one looked as if they were sad at all. This continued for some time, then they … Continue reading He is alive.
Sing to me no more. Talk not of love, save me the trouble, of trying again. Just leave me, to my books, my pictures, and my sad, lost lonely looks. No! Please no more. Not your anguish, spare me your trouble, your crying and pain. … Continue reading An escape.
I wrote Cosmic Generation as a song; I didn't have any music for it, but I felt that it had a certain rhythm, maybe a certain beat...
A Point of Views, A Polish Odyssey and Other Stories. 