He shares my house…
the mouse.
It’s not the way I planned it.
It’s indiscriminate about where it *****
he eats the corners of all the packaging
all polite protocol he’ll ignore…
I’m afraid from now on it’s down to rodent WAR!

I’ve tried the humane ways
a friendly, humane trap that sits there days
and catches, zero, nothing, zilch, nout
so now we’re getting the big guns out.
I’ve got a set of Little Nippers
So powerful that when they go off
they fly and spin but sometimes
that’s often before they get their snout in or leg off!

He’s skilful, wilful, sneaky… But he does like Peanut butter
so I smear the hair-trigger of the trap with the stuff
and leave it where I’ve witnessed his faeces trail
So I know he’s been around when he’s nicked the bait
the trap still left active… So I’ll put that down as a fail!

Next time you little *******!

I’ve made an appointment...
Ooh, better put on a special shirt.
Oh yeh, and a tie.
Don’t want anybody
getting the ****…
"Going anywhere special"
I was asked?
No...only down the council dump!

It seems I’m a flash in the pan man.
Too many dreams unfulfilled.
Always swimming against the tide.
Things I know I should’ve done.
I’m procrastination personified.
Bold ambition killed…

An attempt on Ben Nevis when Everest
was maybe what really I should’ve done…
Doggie Paddling (in training of course)
off Littlehampton beach
might not make you dance & sing…
If Channel swimming, you now realise,
would have been a better thing….

So, “Could do better” was always the
school report mantra.
“He’s definitely got it but doesn’t
think he needs to try…and yeah,
he’s Knocked it into Neutral,
he’s cruising, That’s what they said.
But why?
He knows it - but never shows it.

Not so much brought up
as dragged around - it caused tears…
Uprooted every two or three years
as, parental careers, the opportunities
might dictate…ever upward so we moved…
We did move around a lot, but no long stays
9 different schools - all approved.
always the new boy… Too many first days.

But fresh starts open doors; broaden the view.
I’ve seen more new schools than most folk do.
Vistas afresh. Unfamiliarity the cue…
to learn anew…the local geography or
new dialect… “Eh up lad are you reet?” begets
“alright mate? And, you’ll fit in fine if
you speak the language! So round here, as ever,
I landed…with my best Southern ‘posh’…
a plummy… “Hello, how are you?” to the letter…
Yeah pretty good… but could do better!

...but NOT of the Pantomime kind!

Alan & Gus - unruly cousins of mine…
Bold, naughty boys: brothers in arms!
They would fight, squabble
cause widespread mayhem.
Anything but sublime, rarely calm.

My Auntie Nellie, their mum, she couldn’t cope
their behaviour would often drive her nuts...quite mad.
And Uncle Charlie?  Well, you’d never want to witness
the legendary temper he had...Not nice.
He’d even boxed my ears once or twice.

Anyway, it was December 10th when the boys went out,
He wasn’t in - so they took Charlie’s prized car for a spin…
No licence, no test, no insurance…Nowt!
Well, for 12 & 14 year olds, this was so very, very far out,
…on a limb I mean.

Quiet roads only, of course!…only lanes beyond Preston.
A bit icy like. And Alan overcooked the corner at Lelley
and finished up rolling into the ****…
Proper upside down it were - all four wheels pointing up in the air.
…You can see it was not going quite how they’d like!

So…It was getting dark when the car limped back home,
dents and scratches, all oil, mud and slime - hard to hide…
Charlie saw them drive past t’front room window…
and he met ‘em out in’t yard… Only one word was spoken,
like a maniac he screamed… “INSIDE!”

Punishment back in those days was stern
a leather strap… across bare buttocks
That’s what you’d earn…6 times…
and another if you dared flinch.
Ironically that was the bit they found easiest to bear - a cinch!…

But the bag o’Cinders instead of presents on’t best day o’t year?
That’s what really hurt… Not even chocolate money or an orange!
AND… being made to wash the car every week for 12 months…
Pocket money cancelled… so, not a scrap of good cheer…
And neither one of ‘em drove a car again till their 17th year!

Ahh the brilliantine years,
the curled up collar
and the shiny knees
of a five year old…
The hand knitted jumper.
The sparkling eyes of
innocence.

The “don’t know what’s
coming next”,
and the sparky hopefulness
of youth without
the knowledge of the
the things that can
catch you out.

And they will… and they did!
But what do they say?
It’s all character building stuff.
The rough, the tumble…
the haughty outplaying the humble…
Well, not if I’ve got
out to do wi’it!

This latest lark that’s
bringing us down… It’s *****!
What Brexit hasn’t ceremoniously effed up,
Covid has comprehensively shat on.
But “Iligitimii nil Carborundum”...
that's what my old man would say…
That’s Latin for "don’t let the ******* grind you down!"
I just say “eff it - Let’s get on!”

Never could grow a decent beard…
If I tried It’d be a bit sparse,
trying to cultivate on my face
what grows wild around my ****.
I’ve tried all sorts...hormones, unctions,
ointment, chicken manure…
(I'd heard that was good) but nothing,
it seems, quite cracks it when adding to my allure!

It’ll be Monkey Gland and Fake Tan,
shoring up the US of A’s yesterday man.
The Donald will haunt us, taunt us, every day
from his new media stream…down Mar a Lago way.
Regaling us about how, had things gone more his way,
the whole of those in HIS world…well folks,
they’d have had a much, much better day!
“Friends you’re gonna see what a terrific day we could have”

He may not have stopped ‘the steal’ that day
and, though the GOP elite might have started to peel away,
coming clean, identifying with the Democrat way…
“Losers” He’d say! That’s rich is how it’ll seem!
“Cheats, liars, fools”, he’ll add… They’ll wish they’d listened
stayed on the ‘winning’ -  ‘***** grabbing’ team.
The Don’s backers, the redneck’s choice
those back-woods good ole boys, it was their voice…
that tipped the scale last time.

Now it may not be easy - pulling back from Seven Million down
But he always thought it could be turned around.
It’s amazing what the promise of a contract or two will do.
Yet getting down to the real nitty gritty,
it don’t stick with those who’ve got integrity.
Some of those, the rioters, on the Don’s  side
they’ve only ever voted twice…
once in sixteen and then again in 2020
That used to mean excellent vision huh?!
“I think you’re just funnin’ with me there boy!”…

The new administration will tire
of his interference. The new regime,
now with all the clout, will be criticised
for wanting to take him out…
‘cos he’ll just be a thorn in their side
Let’s just squeeze the ******…
Get back on the right track Jack.
There is no going back.
Those who ain’t so fussy, don’t object
to the kind of mind that will stoop
to grabbing people by the *****!
His words not mine…
Get used to better times…
All of a sudden the future’s lookin’ just fine!

There’s a phenomenon; happens at night.
Apparently it’s a lot to do with
the turning of the earth
and bedclothes… You know?
Both the duvet and what I call
the dog barrier! That’s an old throw.

Sure, I have to believe what I’m told.
But every night there’s a real fight
and amidst it I do try to keep hold.
… But every morning it seems
I wake up shivering and left out
in the cold…

I mentioned it to 'the others' in a gentle
and incidental kind of way.
The dog wasn’t bothered.
He was busy having HIS day.
And my missus, with no remorse,
said glibly, and probably without thinking...
"It’s the centrifugal force!"

So there you have it!… The duvet I mean… Or rather you don’t!

Campers that Camp
Parkers who Park
Clampers that Clamp
Players who Play
Dampers that Damp
Breakers that Break
Stayers who Stay
Sneakers who sneak
Lovers that Love
Layers who Lay
Dreamers who Dream
Day Dreamers who Day Dream
Flouters who Flout
Shouters who shout
Pouters that pout
Wreckers who wreck
Screamers that Scream
Reamers that Ream
Redeemers who Dream and Redeem
Screamers who scream
Creamers who make cream
Streakers who streak
Readers who Read
Bleeders who Bleed
Tearers who tear
Shearers who shear
Sharers who share
Darers who dare
Carers that Care
Trenders who Trend… That’s trending
Menders who Mend... they're mending
they’re Fixers who fix!
They’re Doers who Do
Not Doubters that Don’t

Senders who send’a
a’ huh huh huh!
Thank you very much!

The lockdown’s knocked down!
The sheep have escaped.
They’re running amok
in an indiscriminate, confusing flock,
flaunting the rules
looking like fools
spreading envy in a frenzy
not to mention the plague.

Stoppit… or else - you’ll coppit!

She was provocative,
a slapper, all botox, **** and tats.
Lived life on the edge.
Never showed her nicer side
always wanting a bigger, better wedge!

She met her latest bloke on-line,
a bouncer from the pool.
Got a Phd in fighting *****…scrapping!
Never let ‘em see you’re rattled
just moody, muscly, strapping.

They make a handsome pair
she with her scraped back
Grimsby facelift; tight hair, nose ring, tongue stud.
Him? A tattooed tear on his cheek
straight back, full height, flex; thinks he’s looking good.

‘Cut along dotted line’…dot-dash inked around his neck.
If your name’s not down you’re not comin’ in
But if you’re a looker - well, what the heck?
I run the door - In fact I run the place,
always prepared to be persuaded by a pretty little face.

Wages don’t add up to much so, punters’ll oblige
got a nice line in scanning cards, cloning, fakin’
and spending other people’s money on ‘out’ that I can sell.
The job dun’t pay that much you see, so what the hell?
Claiming? What if I am? Any road - how could you tell?

We make a tidy sum, the two of us, just the same
and if we need some extra there’s allus 'the game'.
We love each other right enough a match that suits us both.
but we drift into ‘***** and fleece’ to score a few more quid.
It’s a sordid, morbid low, low life - when you lift the lid.

He turns..."You want some mate? Nah!… I didn’t think you did!"

I’ve been given some of that Haiku
But I said if I was going to sprinkle
out on my soup I’d go no further
than maybe a bit of parmesan…

Oh no, that’s meso isn’t it?
Anyway! It’s not part of god’s plan
Loaves & Fishes was his thing!
That’s his take…anyhow I’m not a fan!

****** it!  That’s four lines…
and it’s only supposed to be three!
and (snort) it doesn’t rhyme…
Well, as you know, that’s just not me!

Dean's found a pebble on the beach today
a warning of a meteorite coming our way
it shows of their route from the planet 'With'.
in the constellation or 'Urn' -
sent 6 million years ago to the day,
just letting us know they’re on their way.

It's a prophé 'See' - It’s all to do with our own growth,
our development from the primordial slime
and to miss their arrival would be a crime…
So get down to the beach for about teatime.
Tell them when they turn up - and before they exit
they’re just in time to help us eradicate Covid & Stop Brexit!

Jan One - a new year eh?
2021…bodes a new and brighter day!
Well I don’t share your attitude
your chattitude… You’re delighted?
Well I for one can’t get excited
Can’t support the enthusiasm
It’s just another exhalation spasm…

TV - reception crackles
It’s Boris again to raise your hackles.
“Stay at home be safe, but here’s the thing…
We’ll still have fireworks so come on out
let’s still shout… rejoice and sing…
Mixed messages - seems to be his big thing!

But no! See sense - stay at home, lie low,
heigh **! Give the left overs another go.
Keep your distance
by far the best resistance…
and stuff your fireworks… Heigh ** BoJo!

Metaphorically, of course,
I sometimes trample
on a decent poem just by reading it!

My voice, my inflection,
my intonation,
my lack of rise and fall
my now softer ‘half crown’,
more southern counties accent
than the ‘built in’ Yorkshire of my birth
or the adopted Brummie of my youth…

These things conspire to
make the strung words:
a nonsense of the pile of ascenders,
descenders, serifs
and punctuation marks.
They’re irredeemable in that pile by the door.

It’ll take more than a Pritt Stick
to re-assemble them into the
voice I once had or want to have
Not needed on the voyage…

A Bee hovers unimpeded - round the room
but for a fly it’s the Radio Times of doom!
It’s Insect Racism!

A Slow fly saunters, airborne, round the room.
A neatly rolled up copy of the Radio Times…Boom!
But... just think for a moment about your motive…”Mmmm”.
Now, a Bee is trapped behind the nets in your window frame…
you could easily wipe him out, you’ve a good aim...
But you trap him gently in a glass and slide a card behind him,
You let him free fly off - and out,
away… a proper little Boy Scout!


Could have been be a Girl Guide…
but it didn’t rhyme…
And anyway it seems, if you’re a fly swatter
and a bee leaver!
you’re an insecticidal racist!

When you’ve swept
the last frozen pea from your freezer…
and you’ve made the last batch of tallow candles
from the beef dripping of your last big meal…
and the already flickering light dims
and finally goes out…
You’ll just be scavenging from dawn
till dusk for sustenance...
And there's not much more about!

You’ll hear stories - word of mouth
‘cos the telly doesn’t work anymore,
of someone seeing the last truck
rolling North out of Dover…
All the diesel’s run out that used to power
the ferries and the trucks.
That last lorry was waylaid by looters…
But it was only carrying toilet rolls anyway!

Boris Johnson’s twitching figure still hangs
from the newly erected gibbet at Tyburn.
There will be a queue…
The next to step up and face their maker
Gove, Patel, Hancock or Raab…
“No, no… after you” being herded…
by refreshed & re-enrolled Hell’s Angels…
like Ravens and Vultures after a plague…

Amazon will be down to just one staffer.
He’s waiting for today’s single order -
from a techie in the Hebrides.
One who has built himself a generator from fuse wire
and washed up plastic waste.
He’ll be after a PS5 that runs on his private solar energy…
He can use it for 10 minutes each day after sundown
order before sunset - be ready - in haste.

I won’t go on… but you get the picture.
And, yet…In spite of life being a
well choreographed ****-show,
living & breathing...
(slowly…because you’ll use up all the Oxygen)
well, it still remains popular!

Happy New Year folks!

My ears were ringing
and my head felt like it would explode
“We’ve got news about your ticket”
Could be the big one… The Mother Lode!

What extreme luck… I thought, because I’d phoned
the lottery complaints line yesterday… No honest, I did.
To say I seemed to be locked out of my Lotto account
and I’d just topped it up with 25 quid
(That’s a loss not a win!)

Anyway, if nothing else, and I can’t play any more
I’d like my money back… so what’s the score?
A real bloke asked my postcode… first line of my address
Don’t panic he said… no need to get angry or stress.

Well, after a lot of confusing stuff,
inside leg measurement colour of eyes… “Enough!”
he said, “I’ve got the griff. I have the info…
You’re good to go - check it out - go on’n have a go”…

When you’re on the line and being asked to type,
push buttons, you know you fumble, stumble - right?…
well, it’s 115Million Quid tonight
So I was all thumbs… but I hoped to get it right…

So, my helpline buddy was still on the line,
I clicked… Euro Millions • 2 Lucky Dip lines • 
Friday • One week - yep I’m in!
“Thanks mate, you’ve been great.  Okay?”
“All the best, good luck for tonight”… I heard him say.

Dreaming about what an omen that had been
I just felt I was due for a win…
And, yeh…Next morning I had a bit of a fright
I'm checking my e-mails to see what might
have happened overnight
and, amongst all the usual dross and *****, was one…
News about your ticket tadaaaa!

Nervously…’cos I WAS… nervous, I clicked to my account
I felt my heart skip a beat…so many futures on hold…
only to move to the next page and then be told,
Congratulations! You got 3 numbers right… Oh dear, well I thought... nifty
and you’ve won the princely sum of 7 pounds fifty!!!

That’s another fiver down the *******!

Sun scorched.
Wind blown.
Rain drenched.
Gale wrenched.
Breeze buffeted.
Blow dried.
Desert fried.
Drizzle cried.
Sometimes you
wonder weather!

Tornado torn.
Monsoon mashed.
Sleet slashed.
Snow blind.
Mist covered.
Fog bound.
Hail & Hearty...
Hurricane Higgins!
OK…Cyclone conceded.
Weather warnings
seldom heeded...
Wonder Weather!

A fishing rod for Brian… wow, of course! A definite must!
He’d been banging on… can I, can I, can I mam…aw… just
like a broken record. So he got one - just because he fussed!
So the mantra switched… "When, when, Mam, when can we go?"
My mam and dad, always busy in the shop, so they didn’t know.

And me dad, he'd never been fishing in his life though.
His own dad had died when he was twelve - so no,
he’d not been shown the ropes: but how hard could it be?…So
":OK, we’ll go down to the pier or the harbour in Brid.
Anything to shut him up." And me? Well I wanted to go and so - we all did!

We’re off in our Austin 10… “Are we nearly there yet dad -
are we nearly there?
Bait, bait, we need some bait where will we get that? Where?”
“Shut up, sit down, button your coat up and I will get you there.
There’ll be a shop a bait shop - AND I, I will bait the hook!”
You, pain in the ****, don’t touch anything - all you CAN do is look!"

We parked, got to the pier, unpacked our stuff - just as it began to rain.
My brother was still whingeing, my dad was seething… Brian WAS being a pain.
The wind blew, horizontal rain. The worm fell off the hook. Dad, annoyed, put it on again.
“Can I do it Dad?” “NO!” This was the moment, the one that we all hoped would be…
the next best thing to catching a fish… The cast!
When my old man threw the whole effin' lot in the sea!

I can hear your voice.
I can see your face.
I can go back to places
we walked together.
I can hear the music we played...
I find I'm fleshing out the
memories we made.
But none of that replaces
the then, the used to be
and the 'were'
It's the here, the now
and the future I'm dealing with.
I'll miss the warmth
the tender and the kind
and I'll revel - memorably
in the space you leave behind.

I’ve got a ****** virus!
Corona? No, no - not that one!
That would be better; that might pass.
And I do emphasise ‘might’.
No! Some ****
has hacked my FaceBook Page!
now that is proper *****!

He…It must be a ‘he’,
He sent a message to me
pretending to be a friend.
And… that means that all my
real FaceAche pals, well,
the rest of us.
they will get it too…
unless, of course, they suss
that it wasn’t really me,
and ignore it! It’s a knock on…
this also travels round the world,
just like the real Covid thing…unfurled!

My apology is sincere and for the best…
Steer clear - stay safe - stay at home
and accept my brand new friend request.

Don’t worry about this hack - you’ll be pleased to know
that this particular one was over a year ago!

I’m feeling a bit ‘other worldly’
like you do coming out into the light
from the dark of the cinema
in the daytime obviously…
Or that first few steps after
taking off your roller skates…
Remember that?

When, in your head,
you’re still gliding, sliding
rather than stepping
and stumbling.
I’m starting to miss the
contact of others.
Those I wouldn’t maybe
normally see anyway.

How mad is that?

But it’s the knowing
that you CAN
even though you CAN’T
… Don’t want to
that’s what’s important.

I’m looking for closer hugs
rather than distant nods,
smiles, waves or shrugs
Looking for the WILL
rather than the WON’T.

Looking for the SHALL We?
rather than WE SHOULDN’T!
the COULD rather
than the COULDN’T.

We’ve all just got the
LONGING to meet
rather than just having the
THRONGING to beat.
We all have a yearning
for normality and
I’m worried about
losing my personality
I’m ready for the great outdoors
not lockdown laws.

I’m starting to want to go to
places I haven’t been for a while
even though I might not have
enjoyed them when I did.
I’m reminiscing
as well as just ‘missing’.

I think I might be a bit crazy
….Stir crazy!

It started out as a spelling mistake but turned into a poem about petty crime…

A smattering of temptation as you wander through the shop.
You’re certain no one’s seen you, or caught you on the hop!
The carousel of cameras scanning overhead.
If there is a wazz up there watching someone outside would have said.
You’ve popped the bag of sweets (a test) into your hood
so time for the big one…the single malt, the triple filtered ***** or the brandy
That looks good…Handy!… I’d give ‘em an asbo!

Make the punishment fit the crime…no custody, no doing time
for anything so puny. So, lifting from a shop’s not attracting attention
and mugging the pension from a careless granny wouldn’t even get a mention.
If you’re lucky… it’d just get ‘em an asbo!

Inner Cities spawn organised gangs with distractors, dippers, lookouts,
And millions spent on security, surveillance, radio networks…to confound the canny louts
It all gets added to the cost of goods, hits the pocket of the shopper
and when the deal goes down it’s just the ineffectual copper
who passes the gangs on to the courts… just to get an asbo

The system isn’t coping the prisons are full of proper crims & the rest think it’s a game.
We need a dis-incentive, a deterrent something to put them off their aim.
with technology in our lives today like that electric control collar for dogs
Well, this’d be a way to confound those who set out to do us ill…
an extension to the tag but with extra skill… a kind of super asbo

Since I’m slightly to the right of Atilla the ***…

So… there should be a new E-procedure to deal with crime that’s just called petty
like an app that sends a message to the ankle tag when someone sets out to be a lag
and, when their bad deed is done, and they’re divvying up the loot
the tag tightens cuts the blood supply and amputates their bleedin’ foot!
Asbolutely!

The fabric of our society is slipping.
It’s so transparent you CAN see right through.
We’ve got a posh yob thinking he can do the leader’s job.
He knows he’s *****, that his detractors are right,
and he should throw the towel in right now.

The algorithm’s not the only thing that’s ******.
our future’s definitely been well & truly chucked.
the wrong people are being knighted
the proles are being slighted and
we’re being seen as a laughing stock round the world

it’s the blind leading the partially sighted,
where the grass roots need just  to be united
and who is it who can handle that job?
Not anyone from this current motley mob?
It’s not pretty… It’s downright ugly!

“I see he’s still going round with that *******!”
"Who’s that?"... "Santa Claus!"…
We laughed - My dad was such a wag!
In my thoughts every Christmas Eve …
after creeping unseen he’d wake us at 6am
shouting “He’s been, he’s been!” And he had!

Even when we were older and
the ‘cat was out of the bag’
Christmas never lost its lustre for my dad,
even at eighty five.
He’d start his shopping in Summer
by mail order… and make sure
each year was just the same…
Keeping the spirit alive.

Terminally ill…he even wrote to Micki,
my wife, and asked her in a note…
“As I won’t be here next year
here’s a box of stuff”… he wrote…
“Dish this lot out to the family with all my love
… and tell them to look up,
I’ll be smiling down from up above!
Lots of love!”