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.
At school in the 1970s I hit upon the brilliant idea of replacing the writing system, you know the one where you use the set of twenty-six letters to spell out words, with a system where you spelled out each letter in a word and grouped those spelled letters as 'words'. Brilliant idea? Well, when … Continue reading Word processor.
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?
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.
'Octoberon' is the seventh studio album by the band Barclay James Harvest, and it was released on October 1st, 1976. In support of the album the band toured in the UK during October and November of that year. On October 17th, 1976 they played at The Pavilion in Hemel Hempstead and I was there. Barclay … Continue reading October on, Octoberon.
An unfinished and by no means polished, chapter-excerpt from the short story I am trying to write which is set in the Culture universe of Iain M. Banks. I wrote hopefully about this back in 2019 when after a period of inactivity, I had seemed to have regained my muse. Then 2020 happened and I … Continue reading A chapter with no gravitas.
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.
With apologies to Joni Mitchell… Woke up, it was a Chesham morning, and the first thing that I heard, was that noisy prick on a moped, and I mouthed a few choice words, and he came tearing up the road, at well over 30 miles an hour. Won't you go away, you've ruined my day, … Continue reading Chesham Morning.
A Point of Views, A Polish Odyssey and Other Stories. 