Are these girls for real ?
eating outside the cafe
its a cold day in April
they have no stockings.
Little sparrow show your dare
pick up bread crumbs
from their clueless table.
Somethings got to give
your fledglings are more deserving

Alleys that we run from
glue eyes for the sniffers,
away from the disheveled lowers.
School blazers aren't for chemical reactions,
nor can brain damage
be repaired.

I Hear yet look beyond
a distant spot,
planning for a monologue
where words fail
from an already fall
never of my making.
Blame blame, vanish this spot,
that grows a crater
where eventual discontememt
scales the laddered escape.

The ant climbs into the straw patch
he feels his armour suffocating.
The clown realises his pathos
after finding none of his compatriots funny.
Oh this string of life
it just got all the more angrier
Yes the very one that loses you in the labyrinth
that falls short for desert island fishing.

Monday's feeling exemplified
the collection is on Wednesday,
specifically black bins
to usher away all that  feels  like  dirt.
Yesterday's  postcards of  Paris
and torn landing cards.
You've  stopped  dreaming of escapades
no azure skies,
just  improbable  matchsticks
keeping  the  eyelids  open
soaking  up  the  winter  in London

Crooked widows like to bat
when the moon is high.
Under scoreboard asylum
they sip Ceylon tea
and scoff invisible buns
laughing at first love,
long after they realised
Cricket beats creases

Still got the  blame
Our rubber ducks fade  under the Sun,
melted  plastic  cracks
under fortitude,
never told  dad
that  I threw away  his golden  bucket
because  brother Jack
drilled a  hole  through it.

Opposites don't attract,
every pigeon has potential  butter on their feet,
sourced from an inalienable  mountain
of bread rolls,
they have  often dreamed  of flying
to the sun
away from the inhospitable  concrete  fields,
but  in the  heat
they become  stuka sirens
and  people will find  that an impossible  thought

Miguel you have brushed winter.
Leaving me no fire wood,
having hidden the matches
to light the dinning room.
The velvet cushions  we used to idle  time away,
hidden in the attic
with dusty regret unrequited.
The emptiness filled by spider's webs
a scoundrel in the making

All those  Moorhens  I want to befriend
for 50 p worth of grain.
Before  long  the settimg Sun will  smile
at this speck of  kindness
Hadn't we all heard it  before
kindness  begets  sincerity.
By the  night, if I stayed out long enough
all and  sundry would  be gliding,
planning  an extra gift for  those  moorhens

Are the bluebells really a delightful hue
when they habitat railway banks
They are wild and not so rare
like the country we reside in.
We are a barren land
once proud but
with all wealth stripped away
Our Jurassic coastline erodes
likewise a once bedrock of national pride.
Our spirits wane,
we are too self conscious to crowd
amongst our own.
We have been too disorientated
to uphold our truisms

In the meantime the chimes
dance beneath our eyes,
as to share our last realisation;
kindness doesnt rain down in
the places we knew.
How we had to prise gratitude
from the heartless,
those general unfeeling
who should have been eternally distanced

English village timed out under a cloud,
questions asked of strangers
and their intent.
Bubble wrapped in picteuresque hue,
comical telephone box book exchange
a pub's  wall smothered in New Music Express pages,
forever expounding the 1990s.
The wildlife park pervading
through the  air,
less thoroughfare more nasal flare.
Perhaps they should live by their derivation
a place where sheep were washed.

We metaphor rivers
as the flow of life,
mindful of willows who
cast shadows on furlong banks.
Riverboats with tilting berths
temporarily knock stability.
But focus strengthens the steadfast.
Bulrushes hide the deeper pain
from our eyes
dark algae de-oygenates currents,
and as a metaphor again
I begin to feel
the up wind carrying
us to our rightful destiny

Can we find a central meeting place?
How's Reg, bet the doctor's haven't told him his got the big C,
leastways with the fog he won't  find his tumour when lost.
A pint of mild and bitter mate
down Portland Steeet.
Heard Adriennes black dress is a stunner.
Ask her out to the flicks, maybe Doctor in Love?
"Not if it gives her any  ideas
Walking down the aisle is too like the
black out, remember".

The Soldiers return to their  home coming
at the same time
as the last M42 lenses were being sold
at  the down towns thrift shop.
There lay the rub
the old gun ** world was facing down
the commercial necessities of the Wild West.
The people had forgot their National pride
finding reasons to be embarrassed
for the hedonism sweeping the land
Their ostrich feathers
fluttered amongst abundance:
whose navel gazing allowed narcissism
to flourish.

The  joy  to  be
outlives  dreams
yet we must  sense  cuboid  skies
will follow one  to  the  breathe
of  forever
where the winds  will clusp  you
to  the  next voyage.
But  today  must  be   considered  beautiful
for  there should  be  no foresight
than the  simplicity

The joy of now should outlive  dreams,
yet we must remember there are cuboid skies,
who would rather hem us in
until our very last breathe.
But today must be considered beautiful
for there should be no foresight
other than simplicity.

This could be going to a poetry night,
run by the Chelsea fringe;
listening to a night of poetry
on gardening.
I hear of Oxeye daisies languishing on prosaic lawns
or Dogwood as beacons in the winter light.
Of course we have a ****** baked pizza
and some angel making apricots and custard for her favourite charity,
ensuring the rescue of recluse poets
along the cobbled way.

I am dinning with collectors.
The table is marble white.
In the past scholars wiled away their time here.
Yet I have no money
only my clothes and  soul.
Why am I pushed through the door  marked religion ?
Are they ungalant seekers too!
There is a 30 year war in progress
Do the priests want by brass belt
to make a musket?
Must I fight the good fight?

I will  put slime on your suedes
and pull your cashmere  jumper off.
There's no chance of you
pulling the wool over our eyes.
I think you can afford to cry
again and again.
Daddy's rich boy has to be brandished.
If you are a snitch in the making
we're only here to brave you up.
So don't blurry blurt!
Who needs detention
we've got to watch Rabid at the flicks
this week.

Innocent green Country bus
to Warlingham
some say its a nicer place.
But we've got an Elizabethian Almshouse
and the Whitgift Centre is sterling.
The Sun has every reason to smile
we've got Lloyds park overlooking
a Manhattan style skyline,
but have we ignored the uncosmic
North of the Borough,
even West Croydon is a jaggered corner,
making unequal development a mea culpa for the future

Bouncy castles aren't in order
They are for the plebs at some Margate
two  night hotel
Cigarette stains gape on mildew carpets.
The Lager is like a noxious high
must be a Swiss import.
The air turbulence pumps Ballroom Blitz
The hotel owners son is taking us for a Glam ride
Latex overkill, not to mention his suicide bride.
She's waited so long to make her incorrect entry.
And one stray cigarette has burst
the initial plan
a children's party
Only the iinvited Hells Angels can make amends

Children I have some news for you
"The Jews and Arabs are at war this Saturday"
Passing words for youngsters,
who were such small cogs in the wheel
not quite comprending the enormity.
Our world was too precise
we were being processed into an unflinching class regime
At thirteen it was a new school for the boarders,
and if you hadn't made Prefect then
the rub of  decesion had passed you by.

London should be a no go zone
it should be boarded up
feed it to the Zombies,
the final act of a virology department,
Don't ever start again
plug up the Thames
turn the whole place into a desert
allow the foxes to be unfazed
attack attack feral humans

The time has come to head count
English voices on the train.
I would love to collect a lexion of their words
like rose, east and initialise.
If I was head tuned
what a lovely poem I could write.
Im still in friendly zone Etchingham
before I hit London
what worlds would I then use
dreary, grey.  dead butterfly?

If  I  spoke in a French accent
and cortesied before tea,
would you try to kiss me?
If I  said non,
would you bluff your conduct
and say I'm just your  hearty Anglo Saxon,
trying to win over the old enemy.
If you so much thought that,
I'd hit you so hard,
that it could only be a crime of passion
burying you ever so neatly in ancien Crowhurst

I want to be a shooting star before my time
Someone has to retire early from the humam race
but what would I do
ask for spent coffee granules
to grew my indoor tomatoes?
I cannot imagine venturing outdoors
too often
even to the Library
by the time i take early retirememt
i be alongside the new indigenous
without recourse to manners
let alone community
My area's already going down hill
the cascade of relocating central London  already set in motion.

An ounce of humam kindness
does that go a long way?
or is it alteady an exit sign
appearing to usher you away to safety
when its only envious of the vacant space.
A barbed comment may after all be an underlay warning
for a fault line
that an unrealised friend is trying to repair

Let the people decide on the dance,
not your midnight one
but the midday one
the sleep through the work day type.
Where on auto we can forget
about our neighbourhoods.
You know the ones
bad mannered mothers in league
with prams, a public menance
or their soon to be feral children
who never amount to doctors
just random statistics
where more was hoped for.

As Hellebores are to early spring
so was my urge to breathe a rare love.
To Sandwich we would inspire
lost in the Salutation gardens,
following the symmetry of leading lines,
flower beds at their most resplendent,
that we could sense
matching our feetlings
by April at the earliest.

Lichen was her betrothal
stretching upon the skin,
by now her hurricane
grew boundaries.
No gaps  to loosen
the eternity.

Meanness is a stinging nettle
a bare knees child cannot escape,
cry dock leaf.
The  mother of necessity
should  from now on
outlast purpose.

The talk of staging funerals
lingers in the cafe,
lost dreams spoke of Terence Stamp
How they loved his singing voice
filed away in Cathy go home.

Although I burnt my tounge on a latte
I'm back again at the cafe.
Its Friday and though the clienttile is large
they are of one hue
your upper sixth formers.,
with adenoidal soundbites.
Should I despair for their world.
I be tidy in the ground
sleeping under some well chosen bergamots.
I recall being young
it seems so deliriously long ago
but that was before the World  went flat

Every scourge came from your smile.
Winter pains its scrawl,
instead of shelter
must I expect a barren land.
Your lies still turns sour (corner)
instead of want I felt hunger
Is this is your predilection?

In a few years 1970 will be 50
I wonder how many possessions
we will still hold dating back then.
Chirpy chirpy cheep cheep will be plus one
and hot pants will be memories' manna.
We remember walking in lounges
where upholstery shimmered,
orange curtains and green leather sofas.
After 50 years we earn out right
to morally uphold then truisms
Bastions bemoaning the nonsense of today
Perhaps  being inclined to finally say
your face doesn't fit here

The east wind chills at Newmarket
It's got to be the most exposed station.
I'm an outsider but pretty soon
I've learnt we are in the Eastlands.
I feel for racing horses
if this weather persists.
Like us what gratitude is made
for winning their master a guinea?

The aconites are nowhere to be seen
but at least the crocuses are in bloom.
Regretfully the snowdrops weren't in clutching swatches
but were scenic like your smile.
A promise goes a long way,
shared interests and a taxi ride
to Chippenham.
Coupledom is everything.
We learn about one another
in seasonal guises.

Jimmu is walking dejectedly
he gazes at your smile
and makes amends to the sky

Dogwood shimmers in the late winter light.
Yellow red and in between.
Jenny likes the nearby willow.
The white buds draws her mind
to the later treat
a walk to the snowdrop trail
where upon Peter will renew his vow
one day set up home at Stevenage
so close to Benington Lodge
her favourite  indulge

Engels extolled the height of manners
still I would've liked  him to trans Europe permanently
He was such a dampener scribbling
midnight fury
on the oxide of causation
still he starched his collar,
not realising he persists Karl
to upstage Darwin on Capitals demise

A major mistake is to be swayed
by the illusion that moonlight
gives you rays
You think you are the twin sister
of someone equally  famous
but the  leaves still languish
underfoot
like mulch they can offer nothing more
than the suggestion to self flourish
under your own steam

If we blank out today
and picture post 1974
we walk with a careless air
just wondering about
the new neighbours
We mix tape the second rate
Rock bands
whilst still knowing David Essex was an adonis
and contemplate  learning French
long before hearing french kissing in the USA

I think of you hitting your stride,
yellow Datsuns
Teach yourself judo,
Sun blast skies and a blue gust
of sea air
The practical willingness to self improve,
may have made us miss it
so I'm reminding you
what you breathed
doesn't necessarily ever have to end

Vanity supplanted the setting sun,
moonlight trails then called our finer points
we only had to have foresight
to cast our truer selves.
Walking with the assuredness
to unblink the rays of self assurance.

Sunday has broken the rain
when dressed in canary yellow.
Over the embankment the once bending train
took you away
but with rebirth we can sway again
together counting the flame
spelling your name

Arise the  knight  in your teddy bear,
laugh at  Mr Benn and  Top Cat
for you want to  be a soldier,
crossing  swords,  
crashing with all the dislikers;
fellow children finding serenity
in simplicity
but you hold rose thorns
so that they spear you
to greater deeds

Like a lost colour
a  dream  remains unexplained.
Promises set from beguile
point  towards  windswept  winter lands
I try to  half  forget the sadness,
along  lovers lanes
where thatched roofs remember
moonlight  togetherness

China display exhibition in library,
colonial plunder out lasts pace.
English man people
the circuitry in critical repentance
makes refunds essential
in this day and age.
Elgin marbles - hush whisper,
the glued upper lip is a snippet
of subdued anger,
but return is beyond serious
is it  the Capital"s right to usher in spoilt spoils

Croydons just a new build away
if it wasn't for the once East European office blocks fad
its now inviting human capital
to dwell in jolly new builds
and with the new Westfield proposed
most indigenous inhabitants will sell up.
They knocked down the Warehouse Theatre
to prove barbarians rule.
The Central library feels lobotomised
is it part privatised ?
Nothing lasts or stands for real
in Croydon
its a place with an itch
whatever dog it represents
is your guess.