Monday, 17 June 2013


Of course he wasn't real...
in a conspiritorial tone,
...just the product of editors
writing for frustrated
middle aged guys not
getting enough.
Sex, dope, drama,
action, stuff...
No one ever saw him
vomit in a piano.
Come out of a bordello.
No one ever saw him.
She sat back, looked
Almost like she was
ready for that
post coital drag.
I got up went
down the hall.
Took a decent crap,
whacked off,
killed a spider,
came back.
Run that past me
would you?

first published in Message In A Bottle Summer 2016

Haiku for the birds

I'm not paranoid
birds are everywhere. Watching.
Waiting. Whistling.

Don't you find it weird?
Don't you wake up in the night
in a flap? Black wings...

lapwings, larks, linnets,
and a thumping great heron,
all wearing thin on

me now. I somehow
sense they have a darker need,
not just bread and seed.

I could buy a cat
but sly felines would kill you
while you lay asleep

if they had their way.
So I'll just wait for the birds
to make the first play...

Monday, 10 June 2013

The poets and the thief

Ten poets in a room,
some imbibing wine,
when from the back a
ruckus started.

"A thief! A thief!
he'll rob us blind -
he's here to steal
our work, our souls,
our sacred lines!"

"Don't be so dramatic dear.."
another replied "..and anyway - did I really hear
'rob us blind'? good grief, oh dear!
Don't you think you could do better here?"

"Yes.." a third spoke up
"..and to speak of 'soul'
is over used and meaningless,
surely you agree?"

There then followed a hubbub:
much exclamation, declamation,
formal decree
and general hullabaloo

during which

the thief slipped away
with a sack of poems
he'd craftily purloined,
but, I'm sad to say,
very few were new
or freshly coined...

(Chosen as 'Editor's Pick' at June 2013)