Wedding perception

Some humans see blue black
Where others see gold white

Right wrong? No. Realities cohabit
Sight is a trick of the mind

Marbella Booty

Sugar daddies, the

sea is blue beside

the twos and twos

of sweet neat men

two feet shorter,two

feet wider,two feet



Sugared daughters, arm above

arm, two feet nearer the

Sun on brown pins in

Platforms,tall blonde

Or brunette,stupid or

Cruel, slurping cocktail

Sized dogs.

Before the milkman comes..

Take a tube node

in a nude robe,

make a rail stack

in a base rack,

sing a game toad

through a jail song,

breach a round fist

with a top hat.

Play a safe card

on a dud horse,

race a small car

down a kind alley,

case a large joint

with a ham held

to a stock pot of

cruelling liquorish rum.

Wish a roast catch

from a soft patch

taken to far, time

backed when cradle

scratched the timber

drawn silver in the

dust of crime hatched

warm in the sabre’s den.

Clam a tenth hole

with a skin flack

near a petal pen

written soft on a clothes

vine to make it

read cool through the

breeze of toasting wine.

Leave a mean coin fifty for

a pint of frozen, delivered

promptly at the smack of

dawn to the raw step cold

of the door, ready to wield

the whinge and make people

within soft with calf-juice,

woken up from this dream.

Fairy Tale Nightmare

Hand  sell a

petal,  her left

a breadcrumb

trail to the

cottaged witch

who bejewelled her

house with candies

rich and steamed

her chimney ginger

hot above the stewing pot of


local flavour,

treat them softly

first titbits 

then gulping till

brimful through

their syrup-still

gaze she’ll

strike straight terror. Hands will

drop and

gate will lock.

Inside , the two

will quake and squeeze

but bars are

black and locks are


I’m sorry

If only we were

sorry before it happened

and conserved some stock

of remorse to stoke

genuine regret, the

kind that eats its own

tumours with acid

and sharp teeth.

I’m sorry I didnt

mean it, it was just

an expression.

To treat and illness

Will you treat

me to tea

and cake or

champagne or an

icecream sundae?

When I was ill treats

came bitter, through

a needle to the bum

or the radiographer’s


Poems face up, readers look down

 Library, shopping

List, Letter From

An Unknown Woman,

Bright Star, Retrospectre on

The Girl With the Dragon


This patchwork quilt

And picnic, these

Words, what do they mean?

No less than any poem,

Made and spread

For picnickers

To much and mix with

Their own dips,

No table, no rules.


Nothing is inevitable

Much is expected

Much is overlooked,

Opportunities fly through,

Some sought, some

Caught, hooked or

Shot through. Some, trapped

In a web, spider

Long gone

Waste Management

Giggle whirls

Scoop out my pain

And let it rot

Where it will,

Waste box or recycling.

Root-firm Life it grows

Through Pain’s compost.

Eating money

Money makes meat

Money makes wheat

Money makes pies

Money makes my

Eyes look up

To see what I

Can buy for

Four pounds fifty

For gut and skin

Atop a gurgling

Frame, claimed

By Nature, part of

Her despite millennia

Of ink and paper.

Money makes meat

Money makes wheat

Money makes pies

Money makes men

Weep for shame,

Heaped up against

The Life they can’t

Afford, makes them

Dive below the bar,

Without the breath

To see a pearl,

Just enough to

Feel the deep

Press their lungs

And sting their wounds.