Friday, 15 May 2015

Fairy tale

You were the sleeping beauty
And I a shadow – your courtier
On all of our puzzled journeys
At best, I was merely a follower
On our tangled routes I would
Interrogate your mystery, your art
As if some secret formula
Could unlock your frozen heart
There was no hope for me
No magic, no fleeting touch
Could cure my melancholy
And no kiss could ever wake you
Even in the deepest wood
I loved you; you never understood

Thursday, 7 May 2015

Vote for us

See that woman, isn’t she fat
How dare she go out looking like that
Here is Ed with his Oxford pals
He looks like a toff in top hat and tails
His eyes are crossed, his hair is lank
Like a teller who works in a bank
See him eating a bacon sarny
What a weird expression – he must be barmy
His plans for Britain are a sham
So meet the Camerons, Dave and Sam
With his polo shirts and shiny hair
Dave’s a regular millionaire
A normal guy with a normal wife
Leading the London and Cotswolds life
Don’t vote for Sturgeon or for Wood
Hardship and poverty are good
Good for us and not for you
The silent masses who we screw
Vote for longer waiting lists
And savage cuts to benefits
Vote for more austerity
It’s best for the economy
Ensure that socialists are beaten
By trust fund boys who went to Eton
By non-doms and by hedge fund chaps
And oligarchs in baseball caps
We require servility
So vote to keep them rich and free

Tuesday, 28 April 2015


The colours of your grass theatre 
are blood red and ice blue 
you come with a tang of petrol
we admire what you do
you bring us glamour and danger
as you ride bareback, tumble and spin
appearing to be boneless
you flex your elastic skin
on your wheel of death, your globe of terror
you claw back victory from calamity
we watch as you dance on air
you seem to defy our gravity
we are drawn by your weightless jeopardy
if we could, we would follow you

Tuesday, 21 April 2015

The twisted sisters

Three scarlet hussies – watch them scheme
These shameless women make me sick
The twisted sisters – Ed’s harem
What do they want? The moon on a stick?
With their compassion and generosity
They are the enemy within
They will destroy our austerity
They’ll let more foreigners in
We’ve seen their sort before
Yes, they’re very BBC this lot
They’ll punish the rich and favour the poor
The Welsh woman, the green and the Scot
All of them are brazen idealists
We are being held hostage – by pacifists!

Saturday, 18 April 2015

Staying in

Darkness falls; a gathering gloom
Brings shadows and parakeets
Chattering into my room
It is swift here; the extinction of dusk

The coming of night shape shifts
In this muffled suburbia
Squares of light draw one in
Cozy interiors - an advent calendar

I hope that something will tempt me
That a new mood, like a sudden landfall
Will prise me from the window

Perhaps I have grown too attached to them -
The clouds of bright birds and the thickening shadows
The darkness is listening; I don't go

Friday, 30 January 2015

The rumour

There was a whisper that you were coming
a rumour, a vague undertow
You can change things with your magic
That’s why we are afraid of you
We are too scared to let you in
The delicate touch of your soft hands
can damage us. It can burn our skin
and yet we talk fondly of your visits
You slow us down, force us look
afresh ourselves. You are no secret
On any street, you are an open book
Like an old friend who can bless or kill
you line the brook and lie on top of the hill

Thursday, 8 January 2015


Just imagine if the rain did not stop
I would  float through life like a shadow
glide down a ribbon of light to the shops
I would enjoy going to work in my canoe.
Rye Lane Peckham would be my Amazon.
Like a modern hunter gatherer
I would paddle to Morrisons
to scan its watery aisles for treasure.
No clock but dawn would draw me from my bed.
With my lethal blow-pipe or dart gun
I would haunt the tributaries of Nunhead
Hunting for dinner – dangerous but fun.
To perfect my journeys, a new craft
her planks bent to the shape of my dreams.
She would be sleek and graceful, not like a raft
flit like a kingfisher down narrow streams.
Smoothed like glass with sandpaper and plane
she would be the turquoise queen of the rain.