I see things way in a
things that don't you see
Things might that - you confuse
Tend to make sense more to me.
Perhaps incorrectly up I'm wired
Perhaps wrong circuitry is my!
I all know
what I is sense
I have nothing to else go by!
Jan 23
Jan 23, 2026 at 9:30 AM UTC
Moonlight shone; as
silver spoons glance
at shoes performing
the perfect dance
sandwiches fly high
through buttery clouds,
frogs wearing neckties,
welcomed the crowds.
Doves circle; skirts
take the air!
Waltzing the ballroom
without a care!
Raindrops end celebrations
glass carriages; glitz!
Dark - countryside; if
the shoe fits.
Jan 18
Jan 18, 2026 at 12:10 PM UTC
I am the ghost
flitting from underpass to underpass
unseen
spray can in hand - the tools of my trade,
a tiny marble inside.
Shake it
hear my rattling heart
arming the tools
used to cover the walls.
With a storm of cobalt blue or feusha pink
under the press of a finger
I write a city’s shorthand.
An artform sprayed upon a city's cold grey concrete canvasses.
I don't speak in whispers;
I speak in sudden sharp hisses,
and suddenly
a wall becomes a piece of art,
a distraction over which to muse,
I release the vaporised colour
that turns a dull afternoon into a streak of lightning!
I am a rebel on a citys margins
where the alphabet is twisted into wild
colourful
tangled knots.
Mystical phrases
unknown words,
I am a secret handshake
known only by a few
viewed from a passing train
a hissing signature
left by a soulless face.
My art is not for everyone.
I am not what the major arthouses welcome - although my art is available in public
with no entrance fee
I'm not main-stream!
I turn the everyday into art - unappreciated by many,
frowned upon by most,
and criminalised by society,
I am forced into the
nightime shadows
I always polarise - artistic expression,
or criminal damage?
What do you think?
Jan 17
Jan 17, 2026 at 9:49 AM UTC
Old age happens when you're not looking.
It happens with recurring events
like; January snow
long hot summer days
and you no longer celebrating birthdays.
It doesn't come with the crackle of fireworks
more; the way a river reshapes a stone over time - persistently
quietly and unnoticed.
Finally the stones sharp edges become smooth,
like it would fit more comfortably into the palm of your hand.
Although the reflection in the mirror becomes a stranger
that too becomes more comfortable to you over time
telling you the truth - even though you don't want it,
nor did you ask for it.
Your face becomes softer
telling your story
the story of who you are - who you were.
Lines in the corners of your eyes
tell of times of sun
of times your heart was
full of joy - as well as full of hurt.
Your knees have an uncomfortable language of their own.
'Clicks' and 'cracks' cause groans and sighs
which speak of miles walked and burdens carried.
Lifes pace slows,
time seems burdensome - there's not enough it
yet somehow; too much of it.
The inevitable destination
not being further away
simply; you slowing down and the littlest of things demaning more attention than they used to.
There are things to let go of.
Things that previously seemed important
now; seems less so.
The need to be the loudest,
to have the newest,
the fastest,
the largest - are now not so important.
The heavy armor we used to wear to keep the world out,
now sits uncomfortably about our shoulders.
And why is the air cooler?
Is the skin more delicate,
or is the once flowing hair now thinner and more grey?
And that silence inbetween words
is no longer an uncomfortable empty space,
more a joy,
a refuge,
like a comfortable chair where you can finally sit down and rest.
The light too is different at certain hours.
Where once uncomfortably bright - it now glows,
turning the everyday ordinary;
into gold.
You notice the stars have come out
with a calling to look up
and gaze
and wonder
and enjoy the light
before it fades one more time - no more to return.
Jan 4
Jan 4, 2026 at 2:37 PM UTC
I am British,
but what does that mean?
Where did I come from; and
...who am I?
Let's start with the map of my blood-line - just after the earth thawed.
This changed many shorelines under; many tides.
I came walking over the now lost expanse of 'Doggerland',
blue-eyed and dark-skinned.
I carried flint in my hand.
Moving like a slow wave from the warmer Eastern climes,
I am now the farmers.
I carry with me the secret of the seed
I am the heavy stone to turn the soil of my chalky downlands.
I built circles to worship the sun
I added a sprinkle of knowledge brought by the Beaker people,
their use of copper
and their 'Eurasian' songs which were sung.
Together we rewrote the genetic code of the whole of my island - and all in just a few hundred years!
I was a genetic flood
a tide that never really turned.
I built my story in many layers. I am 'Celtic' with added iron-age. I am 'Celtic' innovation and agriculture - but I am also Roman.
My dead straight roads brought the world to my gate
as well as my soldiers from the Rhine.
I became merchants from the 'Atlas Mountains'.
I am 'Angles', 'Saxons' and 'Jutes'
carving my names into the very soil on which you stand.
Names featuring 'Ham', 'Ton', and 'Ley'
turning my island into a patchwork quilt of kingdoms
before came the dragon-ships ...and I became Viking!
I planted the Norse roots in me, into the cold northern soil.
Hear the many vowels which can still be heard on my tongue.
Later I am Norman.
I became a builder of stone towers
and I took their Latin word
changing my tongue
...but not my heart
and that tide; also never turned!
So who am I,
what does 'British' mean?
I am as British is the Huguenot weaver.
I am the fleeing Jew
running from persecution - and who is still running.
I am the 'Windrush' generation.
Hopeful souls who came on ocean liners from the colonies - to build a better life.
I am the doctor from Punjab,
the sailor from Canton.
I am a small part of everything they brought.
I am a trillion drops of rain that became an ocean.
I belong to nowhere - because I come from everywhere.
I am the strong "island nation".
I am the "genetic mosaic" which covers this islands floor.
I have been made over thousands of years
I am migration of all kinds - the result of immigrants
and that is what I feel
that is what I mean by...
being British
Jan 2
Jan 2, 2026 at 8:20 AM UTC
Dwindling light
a dying sun
as the days grow shorter - what is happening to the giver of life
the torch to guide the hunt
the bringer of our food
and the mother of our crops!
The symbol of life and hope for the coming winter months is dying!
Honoured and worshiped,
the sun is our God
we respect. - we show great devotion!
When comes the winter solstice
that a season of celebrations
the shortest period of sunlight
the longest of all nights,
so comes there an end
as well as a beginning.
The cycle of birth,
death and rebirth
earth’s rotations and seasonal markers
each season being a vital part of lifes 'wheel',
circling
coming and going
giving to
and taking away!
The winter solstice,
look forward to the days of sunlight
re-birth through light
come the days of plenty.
Let us celebrate with fire
feasting and drinking!
Burn the logs
decorate with ever-greens
bring mistletoe
pines and holy - let our community celebrate!
Through kinship
a survival.
Through sunlight
a re-birth.
...look forward to the light!
Dec 20, 2025
Dec 20, 2025 at 3:36 AM UTC
I'd love to be able to retire
without Putin setting fire
to the world and all we know
from his bunker in Moscow
not to hear the heavenly choir
from a world left in a mier
as climate change abounds
our stupidity astounds
and how can there be no work
in the dark those millions lurk
but with millions with no jobs
and politicians with big gobs
nobody's paying tax
'chance for pension's looking lax...
but I'd love to be able to retire
in a place - somewhere to aspire
kids not armed with knives
but with skills to build their lives
so world wait 'til I retire
with my wife; we'll never tire
down in Cornwall having fun
our life's labours having done
and when our days run out
we together at rest no doubt
and with Putin awaiting his grave
and the climate yet to save
and politics still in a mess
and "AI" our God: I guess
and no jobs at all are left
...we won't feel bereft!
Dec 10, 2025
Dec 10, 2025 at 8:48 AM UTC
A handful of sand
found in a shoe doesn't make
a beach, but it might
resurrect lost memories
of childhood visits to one!
Nov 23, 2025
Nov 23, 2025 at 10:10 AM UTC
How is it that we
exist, on a lump of rock,
the perfect distance
from a nice warm sun, yet we
go and invent leaf-blowers?
Nov 21, 2025
Nov 21, 2025 at 9:02 AM UTC
Is your head full of plans?
My head is always full of plans!
Plans to do the washing,
write poems,
and "where the hell are the delivery men?"
Stuff like that!
They spin around like the clothes in my new tumble dryer.
I'm very excited about my new tumble dryer!
One plan somehow clambers to the top of the pile,
and grabs my attention
so I start down the road,
of following that particular plan
and I forget all those other plans,
those that were previously tumbling around my head.
So what happend to all those other plans,
the ones that were previously,
filling my head,
the ones I forgot,
like - your plans to do the washing,
write poems,
and "where the hell are the delivery men?"
You become engrossed, following that one particular plan,
it was something you hadn't previously planned for,
and you forgot all the others - for now anyway,
until the tumble dryer in your head starts up again,
and another plan somehow clambers to the top of the pile,
and off we go again!
Oh why must life be so complicated?!
Nov 21, 2025
Nov 21, 2025 at 8:48 AM UTC