Poetry

A musical playlist I've written and produced over the last four years enjoy.

A poem about a very beautiful woman called Claudia who's powerful persona and laughter use to roll around us like a midnight thunder.

Two haiku poems , TEAR DROP shows how a Tsunami can start from the slightest ripple. REVOLTING, another haiku poem on how if you distract someone with something revolting it can avert a revolution ie Rome's Colosseum or today's violent multimedia sedate the sapiens savagery and let the status quo grow .

A musing about the Star Trek scientists who make our intergalactic fate sound like a subway ride through a station Stargate .

Being at sea aboard huge luxury vessels is very glamorous. As a skipper-come-captain, it is easy to be wined and dined each evening by billionaires with the finest foods and drinks. The only drawback is that you steadily become an old soak. I worked alongside many captains who became just that. Thinking back to a collision at night with JJ, the skipper, and a refugee boat – he had gotten drunk with a stewardess and gone to bed, leaving the vessel on autopilot. The similarities to the Titanic are on a much smaller scale but just as deadly. Doing double dog watch shifts doesn't help. Instead of 4 hours, you do 8, covering for someone or even the milk shift when you start at midnight and sometimes finish six hours later. Dozing off is so easy if the autopilot's on. Many of our crew used to come on the milk shift smelling of booze – sea watches disorientate you. I've seen quite a few old sailors having a beer for breakfast as they come off the first watch at 4 am.

Buying power tools at the hardware store? you truly may as well  arm yourself with a weapon of war and become yet another one of the do it yourself casualty score , around the world figures run into the hundreds of thousands the body counts are much higher than in most actual modern theatres of war .

When you reach fifty, plus tax, and still see yourself as a sexy silver fox with those ash-gray locks, you might want to forget about the fifty shades of grey, and perhaps put your old sex pistol away.

A poem about an old rag and bone man who started out with just a horse and cart then after a life of skinflinting strife became very rich but even after acquiring great wealth he still retained his beggar man roots and rhetoric.

Setting off on a world tour in the late seventies was nothing like it is today there were no mobile phones or multimedia just the odd phone box for calls your thumb and forefinger were used for hitchhiking thousands of miles around the globe taking years and years almost a decade to the point where many of us became wonderless with our own wanderlust but we did become quite skilled in the art of conversation due to spending so much time speaking with strangers back when you had the safety of being completely anonymous due to not having any mobiles or multmedia where as now the new wage travellers or tech tramps are so guarded due to the sapiens surveillance of God Google and the silicone starzi Siri .

Greta has an almost impossible sales pitch she's to demand that the incredibly rich dumped that expensive pieces of kitsch , they fly to the cop out climate meetings in their lear jets and show not the slightest hesitation of any regrets, her gargantuan glitch is to try to move these people towards the green dream of a beggars itch, but these dinosaurs who block destiny's drawbridge are mega rich and have no intention of surrendering any of their Kardashian kitsch. To quote Churchill sardonically, , "Never was so much owed by so many to so few".

A tune for my godson Todd who's five years old it was inspired by listening to him talking about his modern dance class which involves quite a lot of acrobatics including parkouring from the kitchen table onto the floor then spinning round on his back hissing loudly like a fried egg or an angry snake.

Simmer the sapien inside a tin can especially in a stop start traffic jam and they quickly revert back to primitive man and that includes pacifists and your little old gran .

A poem written about that green eyed monster of sin the secret schadenfreude that we all keep hidden away within , usually it's only seen in young children as they rival for survival craving their parents attention a lowly leftover from our anthropological ascension , however this instinct can also be witnessed later in our lives when the males begins to assert their dominance at the procreation stage of life .

A poem for Lily who mother is always in a constant Spring clean dusting and polishing until everything in the house begins to gleam, then again she could be addicted to the smell of Mr sheen or has she been drinking far too much caffeine, perhaps it's something to do with the covid vaccine that's turned her into this dopamine drama queen, what about the lack of vitamin b12 is she missing the red meat protein she's never quite been the same since she read the vegan magazine, oh for heaven's sake someone please intervene and turn off this terrifying domestic terrain cleaning machine .

In the swinging sixties a sexpionage spy scandal took place called the Profumo Affaire unfortunately two of its players were amateurs and didn't know what the rules of their spy games were ; one was sacrificed as a scapegoat and the other Christine Keeler lived life under a long dark cloud until she died and all because they were enlisted by MI5 into taking part in a Russian honey trap for Queen and country which went dramatically wrong ; Dr Steven Ward a brilliant osteopath and gifted portrait artist was demonised and double crossed to the point where he took his own life with an overdose of sleeping tablets the poison chalice , Baron Profumo who was the cause of it all retired in disgrace cleaning toilets and working for a charity where he was eventually awarded an OBE to pin next to the MBE and bronze star that he'd won as a military hero in the war . A wax statue still stands of Steven Ward in the house of horrors at Madame Tussauds a terribly cruel homage to say he was only doing what the British secret service ask or doubtless ordered him to do . The scandal also brought an Iron Curtain crashing down on the conservative government of Harold Macmillan .

Male prowess in the 1970s and 1980s of British northern towns usually ment you had to attempt to drink a liquid suicide to verify your masculine side to your alcoholic man tribe .

A little poem I wrote about our Neo Omnipresence that seems almost God like in its power and control , the all seeing eye that invisible entity watching over everything we say and do.

A short poem written about the money monsters in the city of London they feed their need and greed down on London's squire mile all the while with a wry smirk and smile hence why this rapacious reptile is called Mr mercantile .

The green-eyed monster of sin, that schadenfreude which we keep hidden away so deep within, its usually only seen in children as they exert their will to win ; the lowly leftover instinct of our anthropic ascension. However, this terrible traite can also be witnessed later in our lives when males begin to assert and dominate as the sexual stage arrives and our species needs to procreate .

A verse dedicated to Katy at the reception desk, who entices every man with a glimpse of paradise and a promised, only then to revel in glee as they step into her quagmire of quicksand.

Living our lives as nocturnal belfry bats fuelled by booze and nose gay narcotics we'd flutter back at dawn after sharing shrink spiel and serotonin Smarties at all night high octane piss and powder parties in H-gate is there any wonder that we all became navy blue neurotics suffering from nervous breakdowns and depression.

A living monument of mystery , Robin Hood's oak is by far the most famous tree in all of ancient history a thousand years of silent sophistry , with all its empty holes and hollows the winter winds howl through creating a mournful sound of sadness and sorrow.

Riding aboard the busiest train in Britain the 7.32 woking to Waterloo a hundred million passengers a year pass through Waterloo which makes for some terrifying or tantalising flesh to flesh points of view .

Another crazy  sketch about the life of Thornton Harding the junior an aristocrat who is mad about his pets he calls them by the strangest names such as his dog Greyfriars Warton Benson the junior who i might add is allowed to do anything even attempting to drive the car.

A poem about a mafia boss who was born in Le panier de Marseille the last bastion of Beelzebub who then rose to become France's ultimate crime Capo Di Capo lasting fifty years before being gunned down in Paris for an old corsican vendetta .

Her swan song is what you hear just before your love boat runs aground and the scent of sulphur be the final pheromone you smell as you slowly begin to drowned .

The Mustang Men were Wild tameless stallions with sports cars suntans and gold medallions , once they were war faced warriors now they're warfarin worries they part of the night time disco scene , now they're scared of cottage pie and cholesterol cream .

The Westminster war of brexit has spilt a lot of blood onto the backbenchers but who will win the feudal few or the milky middle class crew .

A poem about an artist girlfriend who's Spanish African temperament could turn from a soft mistral breeze that gently caressed your skin to violent blood rain Scirocco that rip's the blossom from trees slamming doors and smashing flower pot hearts into pieces washing them down the drain like biscuits in the rain .

A poem about lust the seemingly deadly sin that if the devil be shamed and the truth be told is an instinctive desire that all of us do so hold .

Growing up in a witches coven with all of them casting spells over everything and everyone I couldn't understand the horoscope stars then or now  , they  were always fighting for the Sorceresse's supremacy .

A poem I wrote about the sixty three year love affair between a member of the royal family and one her dutiful long standing servants known as G M for short the old Queen mums cool companion.

A short sketch about a friend who was constantly in and out of dry out clinics and the Shrink clink where he would telephone us to explain what his psychiatrist was doing and then in exasperated tormented tones shout "it's nothing to do with the drink " he called his depression Belfry the black bat.

A poem about leaving the steel town of Sheffield at the age of nineteen , I stood wondering why the train left at the minute past midnight until I heard a hundred steel whistles blew from the industrialised Armageddon of the east end , at a minute past midnight when the steel sirens had finished the train guard blew his whistle and I never looked back the same could be said to teenagers today free yourselves from the silicon slavery of the technology totalitarianism !!.

A short poem about riding aboard the busiest train in Europe, the 7:32 from Woking to Waterloo. One hundred million passengers a year pass through Waterloo, which creates both terrifying and tantalizing flesh-to-flesh points of view.

Grandfathers are like old sentinels that stand guard over us in our early infant years, as stolid as grandfather clocks. Their old, heavy hearts pendulum their rhythm of life into our newborn ears, a mortal metronome that keeps a steady beat to the timpani of our tiny feet.

Musing about an old friend who has now divorced and gone back onto the dating sites, looking for lust, not realizing that his old sex pistol has long since turned to rust. Men of a certain age with faint hearts and feeble flesh really need to be careful while looking for a piece of freshness. I told one friend that his dating site, 'Bumble,' might be better called 'Crumble' due to the dusty dispositions of its clients.

A musing about my father's experience aboard a super cruise liner where he and most of the old poeple on board contracted some terrible infection that almost killed them and this was before the Covid Cruise Lines came along , interestingly you can see how you could end up with a Marie Celeste where everybody aboard ends up dead.

An English king's breakfast could  consist  of swine flesh, embryos , fungi ,congealed blood , kippers, herring's, pike , roach various birds venison, cockles , pilchards .    when thinking about the Buddhist belief of  reincarnation  wouldn't it be a devine justice  if these gargantuan gluttonous  came back  as screaming red faced tomatoes in a vegan salad bar .

Looking at some tramps in cider park i feel sorry for the poor starving pets as their masters swill down cider and they shiver in the cold , the musing is seen and spoken through the eyes of the dog .

Upon seeing a cold cadaver staring back people begin to timidly tread in fear of the dead circling round as though it be some spectral apparition of dread .

Twenty years ago it came as quite a shock when someone we were living with became bisexual especially as they'd been such a lady killer and then became a maneater still what seemed such a big squeal is now an every day done deal .

A poem about falling into destitution especially ex soldiers and sailors who you find in the beggars brigade of most British towns and how easy it is , "lest we forget " that we are all in their debt.

Living as an artist's muse, you can understand the expression of "The Doom In The Room." What artists don't realize is that their egos can be so burdensome to everyone else. Probably, this is how they have to be in order for them to achieve what they do. This is usually why their muses are always so miserable. While living with an artist as a muse, I was painted with my own blood; She thought it to be a wonderful contrast of the color red splashed onto a stark white canvas, which was my Anglo-Saxon skin, finished it looked reminiscent the of the George Cross.

This is a musing I wrote after listening to my father, who had been conscripted into the British army during the Second World War. You can quite easily see why, by year twenty three, most members of the military have gone completely mad with OCD. It's perhaps due to the esprit de corps of the British army, which has a relentless marching rhythm beating to the sweet spot tempo of 120 from day one. Your heart, soul, body, and mind are recalibrated and realigned to the measured metronome of the military kind in order for you to keep in perfect tune while playing together in the theater of war with the other synchronized members of your platoon.

This invisible foe of fear is here our café laite life styles are over we're living like trappist monk in self isolation cells our secular society has all but been defunk .

A musing about two relatives who should never have entered into a doomed relationship due to their persuasions and personalities being planets apart—one a reclusive miser and the other an extravagant extrovert. Perhaps now, with the internet, we might make a much better match.com or sexual selection of it with God Google's precision and profiling us to the last detail of our mortal minutiae. It should make for some interesting pairings that are not left to the seven senses of the sapien.

The Oxfam shop or as we call it "The dead man's drop" is an essential part of our high street culture we all of us at some stage find ourselves sifting through their silt as if stroking and smelling the scents and spirits of our past relatives like some lost and found bric-a-brac burial ground we old elephants come to rummage around amongst the bones and skin of our not so long ago departed kin. Unfortunately all the objects mentioned in this musing is what I have purchased and given away to friends and family as Christmas and birthday presents including many more objects d'arts or as most of my recipient's see them , jumble sale junk.

Paint me warts and all said Olivier Cromwell who had the skin of an old toad after his death he was hung at Tyburn then decapitated his head was put on a pole outside Westminster palace the parliament he'd spilt so much blood to put in place . I have used some archaic English which is still used in many Yorkshire rural communities to this very day.

The Belles Angels a bunch of hell raising Harrogate girls all leather an lace with lipstick an curls they murdered the midnight hour an slaughtered sobriety swapping sex an saliva like a real lady Godiva , to all those super sexy Ladies college girls I say God bless to you all .