Wherever he went the visitor left a note
A small one, barely a centimetre long,
Beneath a glass or jug, on which he wrote
The same incomprehensible song.
Oh yes! It made no sense. Not a bit.
Which is why he left it

The town became used to his fleeting presence
A joke, a laugh, a drink, then gone
It didn’t matter that he made no sense
Or that his odour, also left behind, was so wrong.
It didn’t matter one little bit;
Which is why he did it.


He floated in with the sunshine and dust
Not by the door. They  quickly forgot what he looked like,
His name, if he possessed one; precise objects of his lust;
The tone of his voice; whether his build was heavy or light,
He had no substance or distinguishing features
In the usual manner of such invisible creatures.

He left only a memory, flaky as rust
The half-remembered shades of those with diminishing sight
The first kiss, a balloon that goes bust,
The unseen hand that turns out the light.
Like aging, he unravelled each mind, stitch by stitch,
An accident waiting to happen, disease, misfortune or glitch.

If he visits, struggle to recall something
When he’s gone. He will take part of you with him.
Changes will be rung, sans mind, soul, sans everything,
Disposed of through time, fate or whim.
He freely comes, unrecognised
Unnamed, unknown, unexorcised.

Yes, we know too well
that we must die,
Feel the drear gusts of death
the final fear
the angry sigh-
we know, we both know in each fading breath
that all religion is a lie
that grief
disapears by and by
and tears never bring relief
the sun always brings heat
we know all this but never ask why
and smile together in careless defeat.
hold my hand as we walk along
forgiving love,
forgiving wrong
knowing too that above
is neither further life nor duller song.
hold my hand
as we go
step by step; slow, very slow.,

Connecting with the Umma
In space and time,
Prostrate in prayer
Contained and comforted
By the mosque’s sanguine light,
The ordered lines of acolytes
In reverential rows.
All herein was ordered and controlled,
Gender’s appropriately separated,
The air devoid of ****** musk,
All done correctly to dusty text.

Outside, oh outside, is chaos
The kaffir engaged in godless behaviour
Flesh exhibited in defiance of god’s
Thousand clearly expressed rules
Remorselessly recorded within
The rippling shadows of sand.
That unknown form sitting in judgement
In a heavenly court, unseen and oblique,
But remarkably like the courts of men.

Tainted thoughts of the unbeliever-
Intimate touches in the moonlight,
Caresses in the sunlight
Laughing, singing, and drinking,
Unaccustomed to strict religious
Contemplation, the rightful punishments
That occasion neglect.
The serpentine gaiety unravelling his solemn mind.  
He held his throbbing
Head as he released himself from prayer;
Walking outside the women’s exposed flesh
Gave him murderous ideas.

Life is insurmountable
The young man said,
As he climbed the stairs
To old age.

to give back to the enemy and fleeing from the battlefield at the time of fighting(Sahih Bukhari: Volume 4, Book 51: Wills and Testaments (Wasaayaa), Number 28:)
Sahih Bukhari: Volume 4, Book 52: Fighting for the Cause of ALLAH [S.W.T], Number 65:

Narrated Abu Musa (R.A):



If a religion celebrates war
What then is religion for?
To instigate battle, to encourage ******
to perpetuate belief, or aims yet absurder?
Instigating empire from the corrusive sands
innocents slain as religion expands,
tolerance and nurture dispelled-
difference culled.

Religion will corrupt the mind
turning even the best of us morally blind,
actions scripted by dubious text
lives pretenaturally wrecked-
civilisations devastated
ideologically impregnated,
hoary beards  and hoary words
twittering with dim-witted birds.

Books provide touchstones
for antique bones,
inflammable phrases
for religious actors caught in symbolic mazes,
inspiring hatred
in undeveloped souls, hate unabated.

Fighting to expand a creed
is planting the very seed
of pain and injustice,
of terror in music festivals
knives that rise and fall
in a rythmic toll


Young girls displaying flesh
hacked to death.
In such imaginings ethics fails
like the frightened child in ferocious gales.
Can we celebrate war
through religion's constant gore,
acolytes acquired
through spear and sword?

Expanding the umma through contemporary states
the unenquiring priest convinced of heroic fates,
of suicides enrolled in heaven
amongst similarly conscripted brethren,
for a god complicit in ******-
what, oh what, is absurder?

Gloria was a grump,
delightful Felicity a frump,
Sara a bit of a chore
Liz liked gore,
Azi cried alot
Jill cared not a jot
for anyone, I learned
Cecila's stomach churned,
Roberto enjoyed her food
In public, Edie was rude,
Faizi liked to laugh
Katie liked to ****,
Esmeralda loved to ski
until she broke her knee,
Toni drempt of fame
but ended on the game,
Jen constantly made love
worn out, she resides above,
Queenie liked her drink
spent her days throwing up in a sink,
Julie adored her kids,
both are on the skids,
Siham adored money
was always miserable, never funny,
Frankie cared for wealth
spent a fortune on her health,
Jasmine was dour
more nettle than flower,
Ruby liked to cook,
Cynthia preferred a book,
Fill wanted to marry,
she eventually met Barry,
Aysha had great beauty
and was shrewdly dotty,
Anna was a shrew
which everyone but me knew,
Kath used excessive perfume-
smoking me out of my bedroom,
Pauline constantly showered
while Jackie always glowered
at strangers in the street-
where Carol and I met
on New Years Eve 2011
and for a month I was in heaven,
until my short affair
with nimble Clair,
Toni ate sparingly
lean meat and leaner celery,
Jo ate five times a day,
No one got in her way
of food, while Chris ate
tons of icecream, getting stuck in a gate
one day when off to work,
I took the opportunity, like a ****,
to leave waving goodbye
from my car. Why?
Essie was beside me
and again I needed to be free,
which a month later so did she!
Mitch bought me another
borrowing it off her brother,
who much bigger than me,
once more I was impelled to flee.
Suzanne in France
lead me a dance,
having other men every day
when I was away,
while Adalene
worked on my brain
and Genevieve broke my heart,
briefly, when apart
holidaying in the Alps with Jean
until her curiosity done
she came back and apologised,
and thereafter we thrived,
and would still be together
had not Heather
seduced me one day
when Genevieve was looking the other way
and did not see
Heather kissing me
by the pool
in Dakar, Senegal,
or making love
in rainy Vaduz,
holding hands in Bern
near a milk churn
having a bit of a lover's palava
in Bratislava.
When she found me with Ruth in Moscow
Genevieve told me sharpely to go,
I went. Ruth went off with Jean
and I took the first plane home,
meeting Jess in Heathrow
we took a taxi to Wivenhoe,
living there a year,
where fattened up with calorific beer
dressed now in grandad fashion
I started making a sullen impression
on even those who loved me,
but still, good reader, I needed to be free
so here I am now with Daphne
the final woman for me.

I met Adele in my son's first school
so, reader, I guess I'm just an unstructured fool,
for along came Celeste, Diane and Frick
making me still a colossal p......k.

I was asleep that day when Death knocked
on my door
just wanting to pass the time-as you do.
he left a message,
nicely written it was
full of lovely words.

After reading I put it in my drawer
for safe keeping
determined to be out when he called again.

I don't mind Death,
I'm not prejudiced,
but once is enough-
and I'd rather he kept it at that.



Its was years before he returned,
this time when he knocked I opened the door and invited
him in. I had tea and biscuits ready,
a jam sandwich or two.
I let him sit on my most comfortable chair
and turned on the TV.

I watched him die. It was a good death.
I threw his bones into a black bag and left it
the following morning by my dustbin,
said a prayer over his remains
and walked slowly towards eternity.

I crept into the narrowing shadows,
darkness nudging light,
effusive stench burning into me,
dust swirling towards the pocked
and punished moon,
when the screaming stopped.
amongst the rubble
greased by blood
a solitary hand grasping
the final thoughts of
an annihilated soul compressed into
brick and steel, lost in pain forever.

RIDING AND RIDDEN
Riding by the upturned glen
forever chaste
she rarely stopped for gasping men
wan and waste
but riding and ridden
she flew into the trees
seductively bidden
parted her knees
and enveloped by sighs
she opened her thighs.