A tangled forest gathers moss
Bedecked in cobweb candyfloss
With thistles nestled all across
To snare uncovered skin
The fronds of creepers slowly slip
And feelers find a tighter grip
Your cheeks to lash and ankles trip
The air is growing thin

A withered river ever slank
It slithers past the riverbank
But dither not upon its flank
Nor drink a single glass
For out of sight, and deep there in
Are gnomes and other fairy kin
With knobbly nose and hairy chin
Who slink up through the grass

**

I’m burning last year’s diary
Farewell those blasted days
Those memories are turned to ash
In a smouldering malaise
The resolutions came and went
They barely left a mark
But now they’re just a puff of smoke
Expanding in the dark

I’m deleting last year’s twitter feed
There’s nothing there to see
No re-tweets of opinion polls
And hash tag R.I.P
So long the queues of angry trolls
Who meme instead of typing
Political lies, celebrity thighs
With constant over hyping

I’m having a lobotomy
To erase last year completely
I might just sit here dribbling
But I’ll do it quite discreetly
So raise a glass and think of me
While lost in celebration
I’ll be here in my padded cell
Under heavy medication

**

Through a garden bedecked in the finest façade
In a natural beauty of eons compiled
An assault to the senses which quickens the pulse
Yet soothing the detail, organically styled

Its borders haphazard yet clearly defined
By a frenzied assortment of pollen clad blooms
Enhancing creation with lust and a craving
With nectar, ambrosia scented perfume

The thickets and bushes, with industry cloaked
A sprawling utopia thriving therein
With bees and with butterflies drinking their fill
And drizzled in webs which the spiderfolk spin

A meandering trail through flourishing life
An encouraging push from the sun to my rear
Entrancing, the chill of the dew underfoot
Yet thrusting itself like an ice laden spear

My sight is attracted by hidden desire
To a door at the crest of a flurry of stairs
And the stone of the flight is as fire to my soles
After languishing still as the midsummer glares

The door is ajar and within comes the sound
Of a single piano, adeptly caressed
Each note sends a shiver rebounding around me
In purity soaked and perfection possessed

I make my way forward and darkness inside
Removes me of sight as my pupils adjust
And the air is intense as a northerly breeze
And shimmers in motes cut of sunlight and dust

My eyes become clear and before me they see
Cascading and dancing a musical frieze
A picture in motion, a fairytale path
In a spectrum of tones and a myriad keys

Inspiration her name and the course she describes
Is a poem in light to beguile the mind
She speaks with her body, a wordless refrain
Of a mystery poets have clamoured to find

A pipe cuts a harmony no one could play
Distilling forever the passage of time
And though such a symphony draws at the tongue
Causality never once utters a rhyme

A pattern of shimmering images form
Behind inspiration and quickening pace
To fade with the music and ever be lost
Lest the pen of a poet can hold them in place

Most fickle of muses and teaser of tongues
To flirt with despair and to promise elation
We chase but remaining just out of out reach
Is the ghost of a girl which we call ‘Inspiration’

An errant knight
In days of old
With hazel eyes
And skin of gold
Did venture forth
To seek his fate
To rob, despoil
And desecrate

Through dusky wood
And sodden glade
His course was true
He never strayed
An ebon steed
It bore his weight
Advancing at
A steady gait

So when upon
The second morn
Astride the very
Cusp of dawn
A winding tower
Came to view
And from the window
Right on cue

A cry for help
And then redress
As from a damsel
In distress
A call to save
A maiden fair
With rosy lips
And saffron hair

To bear her forth
And find the witch
Who'd locked her up
That warty *****
To **** her minions
Stone her crows
Thwart her wiles
Then break her nose

Our noble knight
Did pause for thought
For many witches
He had fought
If you've seen one
You've seen them all
With matted hair
And tatty shawl

He took a view
That fair was fair
He'd only take
His rightful share
He left that maiden
To her plight
To save her for
Another knight

Now I'd like to tell you of a liquid
And a beverage clearly divine
It matches the holiest spirit
And most blessed communion wine
But it's not to be found at the altar
Of the temple, the mosque or the church
You'll see it in glasses lined up on the bar
Wherever the pensioners perch

Oh Gin, Gin, fabulous Gin
Finest concoction there ever has bin
A knee to the crotch and a kick in the shin
To him that speaks ill of that heavenly Gin

I had a great aunty called Floris
Each morning she'd sternly arise
With a fire in the pit of her stomach
And a merciless scowl in her eyes
But thanks to a magical fluid
By the end she was quite the reverse
And her face was serene and so tranquil
As they bundled her into the hearse

Oh Gin, Gin, glorious Gin
Remover of troubles and varnish and skin
There's many a baby that wouldn't have bin
If not for a bottle of beautiful Gin

Edith was crippled with cramp of the back
And terrible gout of the thighs
Her walk was askew and her bottom had swelled
To a rather astonishing size
But with Gin in the morning, the noon and night
She was right as proverbial rain
She still couldn't walk but now couldn't talk
So no one could hear her complain

Oh Gin, Gin, medicinal Gin
Bracing your face with a permanent grin
Cleans up the silver but tarnishes tin
Joyous the juice of the juniper, Gin

Tis a regular modern elixir
And a kick in the liver to boot
It's companion for many a mixer
To the tonic or blending of fruit
Instilling a mighty contentment
And removing all traces of rage
Though it's mainly imbibed by ladies
Those of a particular age...

Oh Gin, Gin, magnificent Gin
Clean as a whistle and sharp as a pin
Puts hairs on the ears, the chest and chin
Of nannies and grannies all guzzling Gin

went to see the seaside
walked about the shore
left a muddy footprint
near everything I saw
thought the view was wonderful
but now it wouldn't be
with a line of mucky boot prints
and a gormless looking me

The course we choose to follow
As we wander through our lives
Will reach the same conclusion
When our given time arrives
My preference of afterlife
Would be to take a look
At the the things I've never heard of
On the path I never took

**

Don't speak the lingo
Or wear the disguise
Don't listen to thin girls
Comparing their thighs
Preparing compromise
With slaves in suits
And silken ties

Don't bow to the pressure
To hanker and crave
Cos that ninety inch plasma
Won't fit in your grave
And gosh you need a shave
Polish your boots
Now smile and wave

Don't look in the mirror
And pick out the flaws
Don't steam your ******
Or botox your jaws
Never, on any account, watch Jersey Shores
Always expect
The hidden clause

The lies are entangled
Like thickets of briar
And the evidence lost
Or mislaid, or on fire
So justice is for hire
To the biggest perv
And the richest liar

“I think therefore I am” they say
I wish they'd not forgot
To make the small addition:
“or I don’t therefore I’m not”
**

There lived, beneath a hanging leaf
A Ladybird called Annie
Who hated being female
And daily, cursed her *****
Her voice was deep and baleful
Her shoulders, broad and strong
By right, she was a Boybird
Just her genitals were wrong

Her family rejected her
She alive alone, ashamed
Until she met a Dragonfly
‘Salvation’ she proclaimed
For every bug and critter
When feeling below par
Would visit Doctor Dragonfly
In his empty pickle jar

Just maybe he could help her
With snip, a tuck and stitch
She’d not be Annie any more
Tomorrow, she’d be Mitch
She lay down on the table
And a beetle knocked her out
The doctor took his knife in hand
And bustled all about

With suture made of thistledown
And sap of pine for glue
He reassigned her gender
But the best that he could do
Was not a lady, not a man
But somewhere in between
And, as he used some aphid parts
The ***** were small and green

Annie never changed her name
It didn’t seem quite right
Her family still shunned her
She slept alone at night
The only insect in the field
With *****, ***** and *****
Even hungry birds avoided
Ladyboybird Annie

A world bereft of censorship
Would fraught with peril be
The populace could fck and sht
With bllocks swinging free
The ttties most voluptuous
Assorted ases too
Could slap together merrily
On ccks, ***** and true

Words like bstiality
Might find a daily use
How else could someone fst a sheep
Or pnetrate a goose?
Teabgging would hit the news
And maybe anl flching
Pnis fighting might break out
Or rampant fany belching

Censorship will save your eyes
And stop you going blind
But though you might not see the words
I've put them in your mind
You can’t hide from profanity
Behind a single star
Why disguise things from yourself?
You’ll still know what they are

Peter built a paper boat
To set afloat upon the sea
And visit spots of hidden coast
Where not a ghost of man would be
He painted letters on her bow
Which soon would plough and skip and trot
Between the waves which rose and fell
The letters spelled ‘Forget Me Not’

He bid his love a fond goodbye
The tide was high when he embarked
And drifted from his lonely cove
While weather drove and seagulls larked
His course was set, horizon bound
For solid ground and ****** shore
When darkness fell he made a bed
'Goodnight' he said and nothing more

His fast was broken elegantly
Delicately poached, his eggs
His freshly laundered morning clothes
Were hung in rows on paper pegs
He cut a furrow, straight and true
Across the blue, towards the sun
But in the distance, lightning spat
As thunder rattled, eddies spun

The tempest threw a wall of ice
Like careless dice, they clattered down
The sails dropped amid the squall
The hatches all were battened down
A curse was uttered through the storm
Its evil born on salty spray
With gusting arms of icy wet
It threw Forget Me Not away

He coughed awake, all caked in sand
Upon a strand of desert beach
Forget Me Not had run a-ground
But safely found the water's reach
He walked ashore and found a glade
Within it, made a paper home
And origami wings, he built
To never wilt and ever roam

He felled the tree and smote the ground
A frame, he wound of paper string
His garden flourished all around
Each sight and sound of ever-spring
The flowers jostled in their beds
And turned their heads to follow him
He kept his distance from the blue
In case the view should swallow him

An evil creature stalked the trees
It dined on bees and butterflies
On owls and cats, it liked to sup
To gobble up and gluttonize
With paper sword, he killed the beast
And cooked a feast to celebrate
A rain cloud sought to disagree
But quick was he to remonstrate

He flew his island, shore to shore
And kept a score of fire flies
They hung imprisoned in a glass
The light they cast could hypnotise
With nothing left to see or do
He flew up to the highest spot
And carved into a single tree
Remember me, forget me not

His boat remade and set a-sail
The heavens pale with early dawn
Upon his bed, he sat inert
With paper curtains neatly drawn
His charts uncharted, compass blunt
A currant bun, to satiate
A world of peril out to sea
To skillfully negotiate

Some time to contemplate the past
And backward cast the here and now
The Merfolk sang a siren song
And leapt along beside his bough
They guided him to foreign ports
Where shady sorts in cider soak
The tales they told were sizeable
And risible, the words they spoke

He folded down his paper boat
Into a coat of paper lace
And set the ocean to his back
The open track, he turned to face
The way he took was through a copse
The swaying tops of mighty pines
Leant form and rhythm to his pace
Upon his face were thoughtful lines

To either side, the shadows grew
No more, the blue shone through the boughs
And branch and bracken, driven wide
Were cast aside as careless vows
He chanced upon a quiet nook
A winding brook, it scurried by
It seemed a place where time would bide
While either side it hurried by

So dining sparse on only bread
He laid his head upon the ground
A lullaby the branches sighed
Was far and wide, the only sound
He deftly pitched a paper tent
And in it, spent a weary night
A whisper echoed in his ear
It lingered near, beyond his sight

So many weeks of rambling
Through bramble and through briar patch
And pausing for an hour at best
With feet to rest and breath to catch
The summer season on the wane
With autumn rain, attention pinned
To pounce on unsuspecting shoulder
Ever colder rose the wind

Above the adolescent fruit
Fed by the roots of ancient trees
Gave promise of a juicy crop
But yet to drop, they simply tease
Upon a morning laced with dew
A shadow grew and fell across
The spongy ground rose underfoot
And boulders jutted through the moss

The space between the trunks expanded
Saplings stranded on the scree
And whispers carried on the air
From places where they couldn't be
A sheer cliff now blocked the way
A ***** gray and smothering
Against, there thrived a mess of vines
With jagged spines their covering

He found a cave and ventured in
A desperate grin upon his lips
His chattering of nervous teeth
Was lost beneath the endless drips
Reverberating ceaselessly
Increasing with each fall of foot
A passageway and crooked path
By wrath of ancient water, cut

The arid air was felt to shift
And Peter sniffed a musky trace
The passage opened wide and tall
It sprawled into a massive space
The walls were smooth as beetle hide
But all inside was bathed in black
The flies were putting up a fight
But solid night was biting back

A tower carved from stalactite
In spite of probability
Was looming from the cavern top
And from it dropped futility
A spring of purest liquid gloom
Within, there bloomed an evil thirst
For those who drank a thimble worth
Would tread the earth, forever cursed

The cavern floor was laced with dust
A powdered crust of rotted skin
As Peter neared the central spire
The fire flies grew weak and thin
But all across the distant dark
There lit a spark and sprang a flame
That burst from ancient blackened lamp
To banish damp and shadow shame

A scrabbling amid the murk
As forward, lurked a breaking wave
Of decomposing denizens
The citizens of Evergrave
With sinew bared through rotted hide
The flesh inside was yellowing
From every throat that still remained
There shot a baneful bellowing

They forced him to the tower's tip
From which the drip of night was thrown
Gruesome stairs he climbed in haste
Of interlaced and knotted bone
A dire tunnel led within
The light was thin and shadow thick
A deathly door he tumbled through
And fell into a bloodied slick

Within was rank and heavy air
Like foxes lair where hunters slept
The walls, from living flesh, were stitched
The carpet twitched as Peter stepped
The Zombie Queen sat on her throne
Of flesh and bone of Underlands
She rested on its gory arms
Which raised their palms and held her hands

The creature laughed and cocked her head
A single thread of drool there hung
Between her lips and fear crowned
The single sound which echoes sung
The living walls, they tensed and strained
As terror reigned and ichor dripped
And when the monarch of the dead
Inclined her head, the stitches ripped

She spoke in harsh and bitter tones
As withered crones do curses bloom
The fate of Peter turned to dread
His soul, the dead would soon entomb
A single card he had to play
On such a day, in such a spot
He grinned and bid the rotting queen
‘Your time has been, forget me not’

His folded coat he casted wide
And from inside, a paper storm
Within the flurry, shapes were made
As wings were splayed and talons formed
A paper dragon rustled forth
And in his jaws, the queen he caught
He turned on the assembled dead
Within his head, a single thought

Peter climbed between the wings
Where paper rings he’d fastened there
Gave safety for the coming fight
And all the night, he nestled there
Until the dragon fell asleep
Upon a heap of smitten foes
And Peter robbed the deathly hoard
Each room explored on stealthy toes

He shunned the dark and met the day
And made away for higher ground
Along a path of narrow ledges
Razor edges, upwards wound
A trail, he scaled around the peak
Of Raven’s Beak the mighty mount
Up slopes which claimed so many lives
And widowed wives beyond his count

He stood atop the pinnacle
Where clinical, the ****** snow
Reflecting in the autumn light
Lent all a white and eerie glow
The frost had chilled his fleshy core
His eyes absorbed the scenery
A distant shoreline tugged his soul
A long unfolding memory

Of home and of his fireside
His future bride would tarry there
The tiny church upon the sand
He’d always planned to marry there
He took his dagger from his sock
Into the rock at just that spot
He carved upon the highest stone
I turn to home, forget me not

The knotted land that lay between
Had never been abode to man
The name it took was infamous
And ominous: The Neverspan
Its valleys tinkered with the eye
A fractured sky shone crookedly
Above a wood of vacant trees
That clawed the breezes hookedly

The setting sun would lead the way
Through lands which lay in wait for him
To bare him forth, a paper horse
To keep a course and gait for him
The blackness trickled from the bark
The  tangled dark enshrouded him
And songs in long forgotten tongues
About him hung and clouded him

He journeyed through the Ebonmire
Though fire failed to kindle there
His breath before him writhed in blight
And turned to fight the rancid air
Through many months of loneliness
And bitterness of solitude
He conquered the abandoned wood
And silent stood in gratitude

He forayed through the hill and plain
As on the wane the winters hold
The grass had shaken off the snow
Its Icy glow had turned to gold
A paper hat he now prepared
For as he fared, the rain endured
His horse was crumpled in the wet
No living vet would see it cured

The seasons tumbled mindlessly
And rivalry removed his haste
A sallow band of Neverbeast
By shadow greased and interlaced
With paper sword, he lay in wait
To penetrate each haggard hide
And when their blood was deftly spilled
A phial he filled for sake of pride

The sun became his only guide
His face belied his weariness
With little left to raise his soul
Above the cold and dreariness
Until the second summer passed
And sunset cast a silhouette
The outline of a tiny church
Was perched beside a maisonette

A flutter leapt about his heart
And wide apart, his eyes were flung
As Peter ran with tired limbs
The heavens dimmed and crickets sung
He reached his open garden gate
His face elated, turned to woe
As through the window he could see
His bride to be would not be so

A gentleman stood at her side
His bride adorned in happiness
And though it burned in Peter’s chest
His wrath would rest in idleness
So with a final fleeting peek
He turned to seek a worthy cause
Before he left he knelt before
His former door and seemed to pause

He fled upon his paper wings
As many things he’d yet to see
A myriad of foreign faces
Distant places he should be
He sailed the sky and sought the sand
His native land he soon forgot
Behind, he left a single note
And on it wrote: Forget me not

I’ve a demon in the mirror
He copies what I do
Projecting a persona
With the opposite of true
Following my fancy
Stuck to me like glue
But we still have our differences
I’ll tell you just a few

If I should raise my right hand – He copies with the left
And when I seek to borrow – He likes to call it theft
If I am feeling confident – He tells me I’m a mess
When I’ve a guilty conscience though – He begs me to confess
I try to make him beautiful – He only sees the fault
When tears stain my cheek – He sees just water mixed with salt
In the surface of my coffee – He tries to catch my eye
If I should tell a noble truth – He’d taint it with a lie

In every polished surface and in every pane of glass
I see him disapprove in every window which we pass
But though he mocks me daily, I find no cause to care
So I only seek his counsel when I stop to brush my hair

Sailing away on a luxury liner
Packing your bags and eloping to China
Building a castle and digging a moat
These are all things you can't do with a goat

Any assortment of wrapping and bagging
Over the fireplace or under the lagging
In your pyjamas, in Tupperware boxes
These are all places that irritate foxes

An onion, a carrot, a plantain or mango
A tikka kebab and a bottle of tango
A handful of pencils, a flaming baton
These are all things that won't fit in a swan

Pet shops and grocers and stationary suppliers
Takeaways, rivers and all kinds of fires
P&O; cruises, kebab shops, IKEA
These are all places I'm not allowed near...

**

Fleas as a breed are troublesome
And some much more than most
There’s a vegan flea that lives near me
By the title of Archibald Post
He has a peculiar aptitude
For the swift calculation of odds
So he hunts for his prey on the high street
Leaving peas sound asleep in their pods.

When he leapt up and nibbled the ankle
Of a bloke as he ambled on by
He parked his parasitic posterior
And gazed up at the open sky
The bitten man stopped and scratched an itch
And harassed his smitten limb
When a blind man with a Labrador
Careered straight into him

He fell over and dropped his hamburger
The dog lunged and caught it with speed
But leading his man into traffic
Was the price of this dastardly deed
A car swerved and walloped a lamppost
Which fell through the front of a florist
The bulb set alight an entire display
Like a fire in a miniature forest

A girl in the office above the street
Grabbed her phone to call out some help
When she dropped it in her anxiety
And it fractured her toe with a yelp
She lent on the windowsill urgently
And knocked off and apple she’d saved
Its descent to the street was in moments complete
And the apple was thoroughly paved

Archibald smiled, breakfast was served

**

'Tis a dry kind of land
Said the cactus to the sand
In the light of noon his prickles were a’glistening
But no answer returned
And the cactus duly learned
That the sand was only any good for listening

There's many pairs I've fathomed
A poets stock and trade
A thousand couples counted
And a hundred poems made
But I'm awash with bafflement
A word eludes my wits
My sleep is interrupted
And it's getting on ****

Nothing rhymes with 'women'
I've run fresh out of words
I'm sick and tired of 'wenches'
And bored to death with 'birds'
It's hard to write a love song
To 'crumpet' or to 'totty'
Yes, nothing rhymes with women
Those women drive me *****

There's loads of rhymes for 'menfolk'
And equally for 'men'
’Aggressive' goes with 'Passive'
And 'Possessive' now and then
My brain is drained and knackered
And almost rhymes with 'lead'
I'd like to rhyme with someone else
And leave them in my stead

For nothing rhymes with women
And I loath abbreviation
There'll surely be no rimmin'
Or unsightly punctuation
The odds are stacked against me
So, exhausted, I persist
To find a rhyme for women
A word to coexist

There lived, amid the common folk
A seamstress of renown
Tucked away most smartly
In a quiet sort of town
So perfect was her needlework
And delicate her hand
That all and sundry sought her out
Her skills were in demand

To gain a moment here and there
She took a silver thread
She deftly put a stitch in time
And curled up in her bed
For she was such a busy girl
Deserving of a nap
But as she slept one evening
The stitch in time went 'snap!'

Time unravelled rapidly
From 'will be' to 'before'
And coils of causality
Were all over the floor
But fortune is a canny dame
For a needle was at hand
Still threaded up with silver
At an artisan's command

She bustled in a flurry
And rummaged through the ages
She sorted out the centuries
With diligence, by stages
While shoring up the borderlines
And patching up the wars
She darned the holes in spider silk
And trimmed the dinosaurs

She hemmed the mighty oceans
To snuggly fit the sand
Then zipped up the horizon
So the sky adjoined the land
The night was stitched in situ
In between adjacent days
And time was mended seamlessly
And better in some ways

She locked away her needle
And her strand of silver thread
Her work would wait 'til morning
And with that, she went to bed
So next time life is hectic
And leaves you in a flap
Allow yourself an hour
For a cheeky little nap

I hope some day that I might BE
So watching eyes can plainly see
“He IS” they’ll say in whispered tones
While snapping pictures on their phones
I want to BE, as I have planned
(And those who ARE are in demand)
So I can BE and just because
I’ll always know that once I WAS

**

I’m a poet and a writer, every day I sit and write
But my girlfriend often calls to me
Or asks me for a cup of tea
And do I have a moment free?
You know what she saw on TV?
I’m a boyfriend and a writer and poet through the night

I’m a boyfriend and a writer and a poet on the side
Though my kids need constant oversight
And a writer cannot hope to write
Besieged by things that kick and bite
That need reminding not to fight
I’m a boyfriend and a parent and a writer if I hide

I’m a boyfriend and a parent and a writer by the night
But my dog has differing ideas
Nudging elbows, tickling ears
Scratching doors as bedtime nears
Reducing me to tired tears
I’m a boyfriend and a parent and a dog owner who writes…
Sometimes

**

Billy loved his parsnip
He'd tend it day and night
To keep it safe from prying eyes
He stashed it out of sight
But one eventful morning
He awoke to such alarm
His parsnip had gone from puny
To the size of a baby's arm

Such growth was nigh unheard of
In a vegetable or fruit
So he bore it proud before him
Grasped expertly by the root
When he showed his doting mother
She was mightily impressed
So screamed a lot then swooned a bit
While clutching at her chest

The people at the bus stop
Shared his mother's admiration
But advised him that his tuber
Needed urgent relocation
So he took it in a taxi
Wrapped up in folded gauze
To the Guinness book of records
And he pushed apart the doors

His parsnip held protruding
With a confident advance
Like a knight atop his charger
With a huge organic lance
But security had seen him
They quickly knocked him flat
A policeman saw his parsnip
And he hid it with his hat

Billy served his sentence
For unsavory displaying
He changed his name to Danny
There's no record where he's staying
The moral of this sorry tale
Is far too dull to write
So learn your ****** vegetables
And know their names on sight

**

Pipes through the plaster
Pressure on the gain
Skin of wet paper
Takes the strain
Leaking at the solder
Drooling at the lip
Nibbling the woodwork
Drip, drip, drip

Cracks in the china
Glaze is crazed
Chips on the periphery
Reappraised
Hidden in the cabinet
Dust free spot
Tied with a ribbon
Hangman's knot

Tarnish on the silver
Payment due
Thirty peices
Far too few
Fragments of perfection
Fractured style
Scooped together
Careless pile

Every thought is leaden
Nothing in me wakes
My muse is sleeping soundly
No single sound she makes
I’ve reached my very limit
It will never let me pass
My breath obscures my vision
As I push against the glass

Ideas dart away from me
Like minnows from my hand
They hide at bay and taunt me
As motionless I stand
A tempest has me shrouded
A gale has me pinned
So, fighting every footstep
I lean into the wind

Frustration beads upon me
A bitter tasting rain
And rusted to my ankle
Is an iron ball and chain
The light has slowly faded
And just a single spark
Is what is remains to guide me
While crawling through the dark

Nestled in a pencil case
And snuggled up in fluff
There snoozed a tiny pirate man
Of legendary stuff
He'd spied the hidden secrets
And trod the haunted shore
Blu-tack Beard the buccaneer
Scourge of the open floor

He stole a shoe-box galleon
And sailed the carpet blue
With pencil mast and paper sails
And crayons as his crew
They forayed on the crooked tiles
And crested every ridge
Blu-tack Beard the scallywag
The raider of the fridge

When moored up in the kitchen
With all his crew around
The captain showed to one and all
A treasure map he'd found
It bore a chart of distant parts
And quite a course it plot
It pointed to the bathroom lands
And tip-ex marked the spot

They crammed the hold with cornflakes
To feed them on their trip
They pulled ******* the piece of string
And weighed the paperclip
The crew they dragged their boat aloft
On neatly woven hairs
Blu-tack Beard the privateer
Surmounter of the stairs

They heaved their vessel restlessly
Atop the final brow
The crayon pirates caught their breath
And leaned against her bow
Then scaled tiny ladders
And each took to their post
Blu-tack Beard was at the helm
And watched the foreign coast

Through countless minutes voyaging
There loomed the bathroom door
They slacked the sail and went below
And each took to an oar
They pulled a mighty rhythm
Till their waxy arms were numb
And Blu-tack Beard the plunderer
Was beater of the drum

But though they pried in every nook
And each last inch of grout
They skirted round the skirting board
They tapped each silver spout
Illusive was their bounty
And they grew ever the crueller
They took their skipper angrily
And made him walk the ruler

He landed glum and ruefully
Amid the ***** socks
He heard the merry spiteful sound
Of laughing, taunting mocks
And saw the sight of mutiny
With waxen little smiles
Blu-tack Beard the cast-away
Alone among the tiles

He commandeered a washing cloth
And weaved himself a rope
He scaled the dreaded washstand
And stole a bar of soap
He carved himself a coracle
And set his sights on home
Blu-tack Beard the wanderer
Awash amid the foam

He slithered down the stairwell
And landed with a plan
For warmer climes and restfulness
A cocktail and a tan
And so he met his final port
Right then did he retire
Blu-tack Beard the pensioner
Of the warm spot near the fire

"How to help the terrified and famine stricken masses?"
"How best to save those darling kids from evil toxic gasses?"
Up stepped Mr Donald Trump, "I've got this smart idea"
"I'm with you!" cried Theresa May, before the plan was clear

We'll... Just...

Bomb them all, but gently
They'll thank us when we're done
We gave them lots of warning
So they'd better start to run
We'll bomb them back to freedom
And as they turn and flee
By raining fire down on them
We truly make them free

We'll bomb them back to liberty
Each freshly widowed wife
You get some decent exercise
Whilst running for your life
We'll bomb them into harmony
They'll be the better for it
But if this was in Israel
We'd probably ignore it

Warfare is an industry
With offices world wide
No conflict too immoral
And no customer denied
Poison laden handshakes
Or a sugar coated knife
If warfare is an industry
What then does that make life?

Life is a commodity
Each person bought and sold
It finance its betters
And it does as it is told
Oils is the currency
So blood must work the gears
If life is a commodity
Then what does that make tears

Tears are an illusion
A weakness of the mind
Be sure to take your medicine
And you'll soon be realigned
Believe the sweet deception
Television never lies
If tears are an illusion
We're dead behind the eyes

If taxes pay for bullets
All bound for distant lands
What death have you made possible?
What colour are you hands?
With apathy you sleep at night
A haven hitherto
But if warfare is a business
Then what does that make you?

Tardy are the tired eyes
That could be in their bed
Lonely is the pillowcase
The should support my head
Frantic are the fingers tips
Across the tortured keys
With coffee by the bucket-load
And a keyboard on my knees

**

I used to follow butterflies
In days of green and blue
I’d totter in their lazy wake
As if for nothing better's sake
And listen to the cricket’s quake
To find out what they knew

I used to follow butterflies
Along their merry way
Their cooling wings were flittered dry
The colours seemed to amplify
I held my breath to see if I
Could make out what they say

I used to follow butterflies
Through nooks of tepid shade
To dance upon a patch of light
Upon a bloom, they paused their flight
To satisfy their appetite
Before the day should fade

I used to follow butterflies
So carefree as they flew
And every day I’d wish that I
Could follow them about the sky
I used to follow butterflies
And often, I still do

**

Cautious Paul
Behind his wall
Afraid to fall and shatter
A single tear
Of solid fear
Is slyly bulging fatter
In rigid ways
He passes days
Occasionally blinking
Without a sound
He treads the ground
In circles, ever shrinking

I’m rather fond of chocolate cake
I’d like to learn to knit
But I can’t abide Celine Dione
And Celery is ****

I find a book most comforting
And the odd banana split
But I hate celebrity look-a-likes
And Canadian singers
And celery are ****

I’m happiest by the fireside
Some music, I’ll permit
But I grit my teeth at gossipers
And dead ringers
Canadian singers
And Celery are ****

I love the air about my hair
And the grass beneath my feet
But I've never been too keen on wasps
And **** slingers
Dead ringers
Canadian singers
And celery are ****

I’m partial to a cup of tea
With a biscuit next to it
But I’ll never vote conservative
And insect stingers
**** slingers
Dead ringers
Canadian singers
And celery are ****

I like to bake a birthday cake
Or build a Lego kit
There are many things I truly love
But Right wingers
Insect stingers
**** slingers
Dead ringers
Canadian singers
And celery are STILL ****

**

When everything becomes cliché
I'm left with nothing new to say
No random thought, no handy tip
Or poorly executed quip
But still I'm here, centre stage
To keep you busy, fill a page
It's hard to find the will to rhyme
In absence of a paradigm
The words align, all prim and neat
For most of them, a grim delete
At first they come across inspired
But just like me, they're worn and tired
And all I've said, I needn't say
For even this has been cliché

**

I met her in the winter
Her complexion wore the snow
But frost had settled on her soul
And wouldn't let her go

I took her to the springtime
Where the sun might warm her skin
But the ice had taken hold of her
It lingered deep within

The summer stunned the drying land
Though bore a heavy cost
By autumn she was thinning out
And longing for the frost

The winter brought her life anew
So by the waning light
I vowed to live in wintertime
My warmth, within her sight

**

In wilted droves they shuffle weary
Denizens of concrete plains
The brutal truth of Darwin’s theory
Striving grim for jealous gains

Hungry wallets snap at pockets
Morning thick with susurration
Eyeballs sunk in heavy sockets
Darting wild in consternation

Fleeting bursts of mock affection
Melt away as summer frost
Vague, the gaze of recollection
Quick to mind, the current cost

Clad in suits of gloomy weather
Human traces still remain
Shackles wrought in gold and leather
Wireless is the ball and chain

Winter stains the sunrise bitter
Drizzle darkened pavements wet
A fearless sun, the rain clouds litter
Lemon yellow suffragette

Incarcerated under skies
A bubble never fit to burst
As from the ape we reckless rise
And by the fallen angel cursed

To toil about the in-between
Loose of foot and fancy free
Creators of the never seen
Joyous bleak humanity

Unassertive
Feeling furtive
Something isn’t right
Nibbling neuralgia begins to bite
Slightly pensive
Apprehensive
Eyes that dart about
Hover in the corner like a lingering doubt
Shadow thin
Sickly grin
Skin the shade of dust
Wringing at the fingers with a deep distrust
World view
Hangs askew
Tinkers with the blind
Studying the habits of humankind

There's an office away from the high street
Where the ordinance survey resides
And the walls there are painted with boredom
Not a singular giggle abides
But there's one room below, in the cellar
Where Connor completes the new maps
Adding green and blue spots and churches
Putting pine trees in all of the gaps

Now just two days before publication
He was feeling mischievous and bold
So he pulled out the map of his village
And he penned the words "Here Be Gold"
Then he folded them neatly and deftly
He took them for copy and print
Bid his colleagues a wonderful summer
And he left just approaching a sprint

So the map making season was over
And his handiwork soon was for sale
Connor waited and made preparation
To ensure that his scheme didn't fail
He rented a tired ice cream van
And he filled it with cunning supplies
When his phone rang one Saturday morning
He spoke with well measured surprise

That call brought a knock to his doorway
And a nod to a neighbouring field
With a mind to extract precious metals
And a promise of half of the yield
"That field belonged to my father"
Young Connor was quick to invent
"You can dig just as much as you like there
It's three hundred a day for the rent"

There was much in the way of discussion
Then a scratching of paper and pen
A shake of a hand and a smiling
They were gone by a quarter past ten
So he counted they money they left him
They had paid him a week in advance
It would certainly pay off the mortgage
With some left for a weekend in France

On Monday there came with a rumbling
A convoy of notable size
There were trailers with diggers and cabins
And vans full of tools and supplies
All halted by general consensus
They unloaded each pallet and crate
Not seeing that over the field
Young Connor had bolted the gate

With a fever they started to burrow
With the sun beating down on their backs
They were tiring by the mid morning
But provisions were curiously lax
When in rolled a tired ice cream van
Playing green sleeves in hideous tones
Soon the workers were queuing in masses
For Fanta and lollies and cones

But the bill drew a gasp from each punter
Though the thirst had them caught by the *****
So they paid the extortionate prices
And stripped to their workmanlike smalls
At the end of the day they departed
And only young Connor remained
With a plan and a shiny new toolbox
Which he'd only just lately obtained

The next day the foremen and drivers
Found their diggers unable to dig
The engines were gone from their bonnets
And the oil had escaped from their rig
There was much of the pointing and cursing
And some harsh accusations were made
In the end they decided to press on
And continue with bucket and *****

They made quite a hole in the field
And they slowly descended from sight
They were forty feet down by the evening
And lamenting the vanishing light
When one of them turned with a bucket
To ferry out some of the spoil
When he came to what should be a ladder
And found only two dents in the soil

Connor slept and he dreamed of his fortune
And was thankfully hardy and stout
Or he'd certainly be more exhausted
After dragging those ladders about
In the morning he took to the field
With a bag and a rope and a smile
He leaned forward and peering downwards
Did proclaim in benevolent style

"Ahoy there you diggers and bucket men
Are you stranded in this here hole?"
There were cries from the depths and more cursing
And pleas that would shatter the soul
"I am sorry but I have no ladders
But I do have a coil of rope
You'd better shed weight for I'm sickly
I'm afraid that I may well not cope"

"So take off your rings and your watches
Your mobile phones and your cash
And pile them into a bucket
I'll hoist them all out in a flash"
After further complaining and shouting
Connor stood with a bucket of loot
And with that he went back to his cottage
Twas a very successful commute

The next year in the ordinance survey
On the map of the place he resides
In the field that belonged to his father
Amid pine trees and yet more besides
There are words in the faintest of letters
Between pictures of diggers and tools
Saying "Here Be Gold if you know where to look
And a ****** great hole full of fools"

There’s a door that leads into the hallway
Of the house that lives under the trees
Whose trunks are beleaguered with knobbles
Like a twisted collection of knees
The handle looks faintly organic
Any moment it might come alive
The paint is like vertical shadows
And the number is seventy-five

The foot of the stairs is before you
And the door sidles shut to your rear
The carpet is damp and disfigured
And the walls are uncomfortably near
The windows are coated with algae
So the light is all mottled and rank
The varnish and the paper are peeling
And curtains hang mouldy and lank

There’s a hole in the wall with an angle
And a view of the kitchen within
There’s a nest in the bowl on the table
There are rats living out of the bin
Disjointed lugubrious echoes
Of a whisper without any voice
The spoons haven't stirred in a decade
So the cups haven't had any choice

It’s then you should really be leaving
But you've taken your time and the bait
For a sound of a footstep behind you
And a voice saying simply "too late"
There’s a breath on the bone of your collar
It’s as cold as a final decree
There’s death to be found in that kitchen
And a death that came looking for me

A delicate little refrain
Sang the man with the ebony cane
As he rattled a beat
On the cobblestone street
With the tip of his stick
And the soles of his feet
The candle flames flickered
The moonlight would wane
In the wake of the man with the ebony cane

No need of a clever disguise
Had the man with the desolate eyes
Not a beat to his chest
Or a cloud on his breath
Just a welcoming smile
Then a lingering death
You fall to your knees
And accept your demise
In the face of the man with the desolate eyes

David was born in a dreary wee spot
By the side of the mill in the dabbler's lot
His dad was a dabbler, all his long life
And his mother excelled as a dabbler's wife
When he grew to adulthood they 'prenticed him quick
Til he earned his diploma and dabbling stick

All day he would labour, at this and at that
In the tinkerer's workshop, upright or out flat
But his sunny demeanor was waxing and cracked
As in secret, he yearned for a thing which he lacked
For a life with out borders, impulsive and free
Where he'd live as a dolphin and leap through the sea

His mother had cried when he told of his dream
And his father was dead set against the whole scheme
There were tantrums, rebuttals and guilt trips galore
But young David was stubborn and made for the door
For the safety and warmth of the bus out of town
With a confident furrow entrenched in his frown

He tarried in places with odd sounding names
And confounded the groom of a good many dames
There were taverns and zoos where they'd shoot him on sight
So he took to decamping by cover of night
The journey was arduous, torrid and bleak
But he made it to Blackpool just shy of a week

The pier was bustling, jammed to the brink
But our David was not one to buckle or blink
He charged at the crowd with a deafening wail
They scattered, retreated and showed him their tail
When stood on the edge and admiring the weather
He casually cling-filmed his ankles together

Now hopping along like a fish out of water
He dived to his dream like a lamb to the slaughter
The moral should not be too taxing to spot
Be content with whatever you've currently got
Because sometimes a cloud is just low flying steam
And the universe gives not a crap for your dream

Washed up on the beach with a terminal chill
Lies Delusional David of Dabbler's Hill

There’s a place where it’s always the daytime
Where the sun never moves through the sky
Though I’m sure there’s a logical reason
Pray, permit me to not explain why
So abundantly verdantly fruitful
Is the flora that smothers the ground
That the floor is a tangle of taproots
And the soil can seldom be found

The canopy merges and mingles
As it fights with itself for the light
So the trunks hold a desolate vigil
In a world of perpetual night
Its inhabitants skulk in the shadows
With unblinking and baleful eyes
Eating only what falls from the darkness
Just the dead or the soon to demise

This morning, as in bed I stirred
A most disturbing thought occurred
It felt, to my increasing dread
Like I had someone else’s head
Some other pair of hairy thighs
I saw through someone else’s eyes
I stood at not my normal height
With stringy arms all pale and slight
A bubbling chest and throaty wheeze
The click and crunch of knackered knees
I think I should go back to bed
And wake up somewhere else instead

Allow me a brief introduction
I'm the whisper that tangles your mind
There's no sinful intention you harbour
That I haven't inspected and signed
With a grip on your deepest emotion
And a twist between every line
That treacherous thought you've been hiding
Could quite easily be one of mine

**

Grimsby, a murky wee northerly town
And lousy with houses of seedy renown
The ladies wear only a loose fitting gown
Transactions are furtive and quick
And every street corner is coated in brass
With a ****** for every discernable class
In a spectrum of hues and selection of mass
All awaiting a dip of the wick
Diseases are spreading and taking a hold
With pimples and blisters and, finally, mould
But just when the punters are starting to fold
A saviour arrives in the nick

Doctor McNaughty, King of the Kink
And his brothel of many surprises
A welcoming smile, a comfortable bed
And some help with whatever arises
The rooms are fantastic, the ropes are elastic
With feathery leather and spikes
It wanders the street on mechanical feet
And it scoops up the punters it likes

There’s something to suit almost every wish
With strawberries and freshly whipped cream in a dish
There’s a bucket of springs and a kettle of fish
And the manacles, shackles and chains
A selection of ******* and optional clamps
There’re pulleys, tackle and half-pipe ramps
A physio suite for reduction of cramps
And the treatment of ****** strains
A marshmallow room with a candyfloss bed
And hookers of platinum, purple and red
And for those who are hankering after the dead
There’s a room full of human remains

Doctor McNaughty, Lord of the *****
A magical, mystical ****
With wonders galore behind every door
And occasional chicken or gimp
His visits are brief, but of major relief
To the multitude often attending
Then he’s off in a flash with a bundle of cash
He so loves a happy ending

There's a tale that's spoken
When dawn has broken
By gateman and watchmen and guards
And it's echoed by thieves
As the night time leaves
As they shuffle their crooked cards

Of a demon disguised
And a doctor despised
So be weary of coaches at night
There's a roaming physician
Of the devils tuition
A curse and a bringer of plight

Oh, Doctor Sinestre
The butcher of Leicester
A man with a hunger for pain
With top hat and tails
And talon-like nails
There are many he's happily slain
He travels by night
And is fast out of sight
And away by the first light of day
He takes eyes and ears
As grim souvenirs
And your body is left on display

It's said he was born
With a singular horn
Which he uses to gouge his prey
And my grandmother swears
He was brought up by bears
Which he killed in a grizzly display

He's a magical voice
A remover of choice
To beguile the strongest of wills
He can tear you apart
And pull out your heart
So quickly the blood never spills

Oh, Doctor Sinestre
The gory molester
An animal dressed as a man
If you hear him approach
In his ebony coach
Then away just as fast as you can
He feeds on the weak
On souls of the bleak
And seekers of fortune and strife
He removes your afflictions
Diseases, addictions
As swiftly he cures you of life

He has eyes in his ears
So he sees what he hears
His teeth once belonged to a snake
The soles of his feet
Don't meet with the street
Not a print or a sound does he make

There are maps of strange lands
On the palms of his hands
And thick purple hair on the back
There's a bat in his hat
All sluggish and fat
For if ever he fancies a snack

Oh, Doctor Sinestre
The mayor of Chester
And prince of the circles of hell
He giggles and gloats
As he fiddles with goats
He dabbles in chickens as well
A spaceship he flies
Through Lancashire skies
He can turn you to gold with a kiss
He's a ghost driven mad
By his alien dad
And.... Are you TOTALLY sure about this?

Don John Shaughnessy
Tamer of the beast
Crasher of the party
Spoiler of the feast
Always in the gallery
Never in the dock
Don John Shaughnessy
Roller of the rock

Don John Shaughnessy
Burster of the bubble
Terror of the timid
Beginner of the trouble
And who's that conducting
Directing at the back?
Don John Shaughnessy
Leader of the pack

Don John Shaughnessy
Rouser of the mass
Thrower of the bottle-bomb
Header of the pass
Never leaves a fingerprint
Never any clue
Don John Shaughnessy
Turner of the *****

Don John Shaughnessy
Keeper of the keys
Lender of the loan shark
Breaker of the knees
Driver of the getaway
Watcher of the coast
Don John Shaughnessy
Drinker of the toast

Washed out every morning
Curse the night before
Wallpaper alarming
Eyes are getting sore
Ibuprofen breakfast
Knock it back with tea
Messing with the contrast
Squinting just to see

Sharp november morning
Stinging on the cheek
Cracked lips from yawning
Feeling antique
Light up in a doorway
Cough the dust aside
Use a passing ashtray
Don't break stride

Everything's Picasso
Jaunty on the eye
Drowsy desperado
Mouth is growing dry
Too many left turns
That just can't be right
Check for directions
Late despite

**

The day old Eddie Barricade
Departed from this world
The florists turned a busy trade
And handkerchiefs unfurled
The sky was blue and overcast
And the ****** Mary cried
A flock of emus hurried past
The day that Eddie died

The day that Eddie Barricade
Was buried in the ground
Lightning struck a chambermaid
And twirled the girl around
A cow gave birth to a marching band
For seven hours steady
A vicar grew an extra hand
The day they buried Eddie

A pounding of gauntlet on iron and oak
Called a stout hearted watchman of local regard
How the rain played a march on his armor and cloak
As he dashed to the gate through the cobblestone yard
And he rattled the thunder itself when he spoke
"Are you friend or foe? Are you bandit or bard?"

A mighty voice spake thusly:

"Tis I, tis I, Sir Hampton Chase,
The worthiest of knights
A foe to all of evil deed
A dragon slain, a damsel freed
Quite often found atop a steed
In armor, helm and tights"

The guard retorted thusly:

"I can't say I've heard tell of you
My good Sir Hampton Chase
Nor can I, in this ghastly storm
Get a good look at your face
Pray, tell me more about yourself
Regale me, your grace"

A somewhat muted voice returned:

"Are you ******* mate?"

A deadpan tone responds:

"Try me"

A noble sigh and then:

"Very well

I marched upon the dreaded spire
Destroyed the evil lord
I cast aside the dragon's fire
And smote it with my sword
I fought the groaning garglebuck
I clove it's head in twain
In taverns all across the land
They call me Bandit Bane..."

A meaningful look towards the closed gate prompted the watchman:

"Please continue, Sir"

The gate received a certain look from the knight:

"Seriously? Huh...

I walked the path of no return
To find the holy grail
I crept up on a unicorn
And grabbed it by the tail
In certain taverns I could name
I'm known for singing shanties
When I'm in town each married dame
Gets locked in metal *******"

Another meaningful look at the gate:

"Go on..."

A stony silence until:

"I sometimes rescue baby birds
And nurse them back to health
I spend my days amongst the strays
Redistributing wealth
I never miss the privvy ***
I always brush my hair
I went to school in Caldecott
My parents come from there

I'm running out of material here mate, can I just come in?"

The guard contemplated this:

"Sorry mate, I've just been killing time. *******"

The sullen clunk of retreating armor was swallowed by the howling tempest as once again, the legendary Sir Hampton Chase trudged into the night...

Humpty-Dumpty sat on the wall
And that was his first mistake
For eggs can be overly delicate things
Quite likely to fall and break

Humpty-Dumpty tottered and fell
Kersplat! He was runny and raw
Desperately scooping his gooey insides
As they spluttered out onto the floor

Humpty-Dumpty twitched for a while
‘Til his innards were down to the dregs
And all the kings horses and all the kings men
Are not paramedics for eggs

**

I saw God in the trees today
He sang as I passed by
A tune to sooth a tattered heart
And bid the soul to fly

**