Of all the torments of the north
I hold the wind most grim
Scything the very hope from my heart
tears of ice thrown raging back
to scour my soul
folorn curses fail and falter
till mute I quail before its barren ire
eye imploring mercy
from uncaring natures might
are blinded by its savagery
As it tears away my sight
Of all the torments of the North
I hold the wind most grim

Pasties and poo,what a mix.
Taste much better than weetabix.
Trouble is, it sort of sticks.
To my teeth and my plate.
But it still tastes great!
Mum says the poo is a kind of salami,
I think my Mum is completely barmy!

Half way up inside my ***, is a little kind of lump,
like a chum who lets me down, but i cannot give a thump!
Into next week..
'cos my eyes would start to leak.

It's become a constant presence, though a little bit unpleasant,
so don't tell anyone.
Shhh...
That's not it bursting I must stress, although I do confess,
I inserted a brush handle by the light of Susan's candle,
and made a ****** gush.

A sable number 2,
which you are welcome to,
and you can have  the mush.
The Amoco Cadiz, would have quailed at the outflow,
millions of surfers would have shrank and yelled "oh no",
this is not lush, please flush. And do rush.

So a reduction in the pressure of this dinky little fissure,
may not last so very long,
can't say the same about the pong.......

So a shilly shally poking, with a brush that now is broken,
and my pals are all a- choking while the question then is  spoken.
Why put a brush where the sun don't shine,
A roller does it better every time!

And has more coverage!

Tomorrow comes to quick these days
whizzing, sprinting through my gaze
as the years go rushing by
slow down, I'm worried that I'll die.
I'll miss things that are yet to be
I want to live? Is that really me?
"******* you cheeky liar
we got the wood for your funeral pyre!
All the times you tried to leave
last rites made us start to grieve
then you recovered in a trice
put the burial on ice."
nearly went in the big french crash
on my head oh, what a smash
lost my memories for a bit
can't spot my friends, makes me feel ****
drunk bad stuff, burnt inside
still got a grin a half mile wide
set on fire for fun while fishing
"An extinguisher!" I was wishing
loads of pills, ergotomine too
saw bad things from satan's zoo
tunnel of light like in the movies
got sent back, yeah really groovy
ICU with all false names
never knew me, good at that game
now there's stuff I need to do
people help me to pull through
so think I'll try and stick around
not go six feet beneath the ground

Broken hearts and broken threads
my poetic soul is left for dead
cannot write a single verse
except this stuff here dour or worse
want to write of sun and schemes
of  hares and birds and sweet sweet dreams
but got myself down in a hole
now poetry has lost it's soul
perhaps it will get back to me
feel so sad I cannot see
like filling in some rotten form
not feeling welcomed wanted warm
tried today all morning long
every verse has gone so wrong
Judy post us a challenge please
this new site has me on my knees X

Build your nests of red bricks and stone
Dig your holes and bend the world to your will
The wind carries the scent of your folly to me

I may choose to dwell amongst the untrodden ways
or perch upon your spired vanity
but cherish not with pride the beloved ways of man
for what you make or take richens my domain

You may abide my enemies
but my triumph is centuries long
I have danced in the clouds with the souls of dead poets
and marked the long leagues
from the mountains to the sea

The skies are mine
My joy you never see
Tied to the earth
Forever burdened be

Dead man walking                dazed
eyes blank                               and
killed by years                      searching
sraining to see                        for
the one thing that                    just
he knows will never come         one
spirit ground to the dust of tombs    slight
pallid spectres of no warmth                     chance
moving into the fringe of his gaze                 but
his lethargy tells                                                     as
there is little left for them to take                  so
no spark                                                                  often
no light                                                                  before
passion for life denied                                  whenever
the cloying                                                            comes
the clinging                                                            some
filth left upon him                                            desperate
in the dark                                                            perhaps
no choice but to                                               undeserved
try to wash this                                                     last
scar                                                                          clean
wound                                                                   chance
to scrape                                                              away
and to cut                                                            into
till blood flows                                                  my
knife cleanses nothing                               future
just mocks                                                       I
have nothing  left                                          fail
not even my blood                                       myself
drained out and soiled                               again

Excuses are like hooses, they involve dwelling,
though you are all to wise and aren't buying what we're selling.

Cocconed within the words run thin
with each repetetive telling.

If excuses were like mooses with big handles on their heads,
the scary waft would warn you off and fibs not need be said.

(but the moose could start a-pooin' and the carpet would be ruined,
ravaged to its last remaining thread).

So feeling dicky, slightly sicky, see the daughters, broken waters,
what the hell comes first into the mind,

leave behind.

Springtime is coming from the south
I smell it taste it in my mouth
Calming dreams and precious talks
carrying you in my thoughts
and now there is a warmth and light
that grows a little every night
as I hear the sound of fingers drumming
"wake up soon the spring is coming!"

Ma Bonny Breeks is Buggert
a wordy pair they were
was havin' a jink an' ******
an' split ma favorit pair

made me raize an' made me rair
man a was mad reamin'
fien-ma-care be buggert
set me to a-screaming

I had ta' pang my muckle belly
fair rax'd it in yin breeks
need a'skyrin pair the noo
Ta hoord will tak' ten weeks  !

Patches you sound like the biggest yet
If I get to see you I'll never forget
your mom says you are about turkey-size
I know wee Lily and she doesn't tell lies
How the hell does she sleep at night
when for a snuggle all six cats fight
poor thing she must need a reinforced bed
six feisty cats that some would dread
but be kind to your Mommy please Patches the cat
lie down  careful or you'll squash Lily flat.....

Teachers? I'll give you ****** teachers!
There was a lazy old worm
dodged him most of the term
he would let you go home
if you bought him a tome
that stimulated  shedding of *****
another thought he was fine
but at lunch he would sup on red wine
of english he thought that I could do nought
and mocked me all of the time
another for boredomes sake
found a rule he thought he could break
smash the lid of a desk on a boy he detests
then tell him the  tears he does fake
then there was Mr pereira
how we wished he was fairer
never gave a toss 'cos he was the boss
but there was one even scarier
Red-Neck....
Big and crazy
very lazy
beat the ****
out of me with his mate
for reasons they found hazy
used the dap
I wouldn't cry
so they got
metre rulers
and they did try
the brass bit cut my leg
and ripped my trousers
bullying *****
which was lousier
all I did was come in late
was depressed and sick
and full of hate for school
but a good boy not a fool
scarred me a bit
ha! they were all full of ****
when I passed my exams
they resented it
Best days of my life?

DOWN WITH SKOOL.....

Got some hair upon my head
looks ok some girls have said
but if I stoop or look right down
wallop my bright gleaming crown!
A heli landing pad she says
and laughs at my next grumpy gaze
well knit me a wig, or maybe a hat
or cover it with a piece of mat!
We do felt making that could work
no I would look a ruddy berk....
Colour it in with a magic marker
do my grey so I go darker
Stop it all I've had enough
hirsutism proving way to tough
stick with what is clinging on
enjoy what's left before it's gone!

A woman telt me good today
"why do you look so feckin' gay?
Yer a bonny lad an' no mistake
but yez look like up yer doup ye' take!"
Now Scots women don't tend to be too soft
before I came here I would have scoffed
but being telt at point blank range
is kind of nice but very strange
Pointing, poking and checking my teeth
inspecting my body above and beneath
shaking their heads and whispering "oh,
the poor wee boy, disnae' he know?
Our women don't like your poems of poo
an' each of my girls is starker than you,
if they was to woo ye, you'd wintle all day
a scraich an'a scriegh you'll be sklented away!"
So quietly here in my flat I will hide
from the women who are making me so terrified.
A handful take pity and treat me quite well,
but I' m blate, buggert an' libbet the rest will all tell!

Towton Tall

A blanket is my castle this night
clay smear walls
Tears freeze my face to my arm
I crave a wound
to feel hot blood's warming flow
Deer nest in the deep ferns
curling tight and still
but this dawn death coils
around each snow-scrape

Light comes
Skies sicken

Those who live
Awake and rouse
Today snow will blanket the Rose
As we stand Towton Tall

A happy cat was on my lap.
All ginger, fat and having a nap.
He shared my cake,
all pretty, iced pink.
I bet it makes his poo poo stink.
He had enough of squashing me,
(he weighs a stone and a half you see)
jumped down, and checked his empty dish,
gave his ginger tail a swish.
Then he went off for another snooze,
dreaming of all the food he'd choose.

Aren't fish fun!
I have one.
My best chum.
Love it to death.
So hold your breath,
fish, and come!
Get in my pocket,
we'll go and find Mum!

Beating steady beating fast
ancient rhythym of Albion's Green
dweller in earth and lair and field
lying close in grey and green
Your tunnels are like winding veins
that thread this land and never rest
eternal footsteps mark your path
wrought deeply into Gaia's breast

Why do bracelets fit up our noses?
One of many problems life poses.
Such as how do nappies keep in the poo,
until it squirts out and lands in my shoe.
Food is fun to play with and throw.
Toys taste good, though Mum says "No!"
Pets are for hugging,
sisters for bugging.
Tears can come after laughing,
but go quickly with hugging.
One thing goes well with all the above,
the happy wee children surrounded with love.

Saw a hare today so close I heard it breathe
ran straight by me then looked back
showing me how fast it can run
faster than anyone
follow me if you dare it's eyes shone
orange ringed bright speed and light
she won't hide and she won't fight
she'll just run
fastest thing in her fields
spring comes soon
dogs and guns
she'll keep running

She lies still her eyes so black
confusion whispers under her breath
she is trying to will the cobwebs away
while memories blister dry and fade

"Are you my husband?" for the third time this shift
breathing quietly I stand and speak
tell he is long dead and gone
honesty counts when all is said and done

Will she cry out loud this time and yell
an angry shout for the truth I tell
she ponders with a relieved smile
"I'm glad" she says "the ******* gave me fifty years of hell"

When I switch his bathroom light on
the fan starts to turn
a rumble and a whine taking him back through time....

Kaufmann starter kicking off
crack like thunder smoke and cough
from the man on the extinguisher in the smoke
laugh at his cursing you lip-read what he spoke
Wide track rumble to the strip
don't be long she overheats quick
airbourne twenty-four cylinders yell
thank you Rotol Goodyear and Shell
you might sigh for a merlin maybe
but fear this awkward sleeve-valve baby
nothing faster in the sky
get it wrong you are going to die
Fly off track to where she is staying
as you pass you feel her praying
then out across drowned Doggerland
skimming waves speed to command
December greys from sea to sky
hit the coast then climbing high
not trains or targets in the  rubble
today your flying into trouble
Their last big throw to claim the air
put all theirs up from anywhere
trails in the sky mark souls that fall
just men who answered duty's call
over Holland's blasted ports
remember rocketing those forts
now a maelstrom fire and shell
into modern Dante's hell
you picked a speck to follow down
moving fast this chap's no clown
kicking rudder yawing mind
he doesn't see you down behind
A TA 152 now you know
see now howbloody fast they go
push the throttle out to the stop
break the limit wire hope she won't pop
sees you know and spirals round
gaining height you're gaining ground
an elegant sight for both to see
but this is the last thing he will see
Twenty millimetre rounds
make an evil dreadful sound
a mockery of alloy and steel
pulls it apart like the fruit you peel
was that a puff of red you saw
made you gasp a nerve still raw
as the shells chewed up to his cockpit
where a frightened human being sits
gone now in a shower of flame
war and fear this was never a game
low on fuel and cold inside
keep low for home above  the tide
A buzz for her again to show
you made it back but yet you know
however much she has to pray
her heart is breaking every day
A month or two and war will end
Europe for now you did defend..

I turn the light out the fan slows down
notice the tears and then your frown
feel so helpless as you lie
in your bodies prison longing to die
missing so badly the wife who is gone
could you  fly to her beyond the sun
So sad to see you sitting there
your world a bathroom a bed and a chair
we needed you seventy years ago
now it seems nobody wants to know.....

You carried me,
fed me,
but no debt I owe.
Centuries cradled,
King of your dank filth, bearing upon me the power to change a world.
And then came the day I raised my eyes to see your nations quail amidst the ruin of your flesh.
Perhaps one day again I'll bring to thee
Hell carried long in the belly of a flea...

Green carpet rises to greet her
forest floor swells sea-like
a  wake of new growth marks her track
flowered footprints dance spring through the meadows
Gaia rising shapes all things

I was here amongst the birches
when the forest first grew tall
A witness to your coming
I heard your first loud call
I sat and watched you hunting
from the tall grass in the mire
then silently I fed my cubs
from the ashes of your fire
You can hunt and shoot and trap me
You will never break my will
And when the last Man fades away
I'll sit here watching still

I could jump out of a plane
and land on my head
in a foam factory
I'll never be dead
tried and tried
accidents to
but I still it seems
I' m here with you.
fall off bikes
get quite sicky
hurt I like
any kind, not picky
What the chance
I am immortal
never falling through that portal
giving trying life a chance
going well
for one last dance
what the hell lies in the future
keep the needles for the suture
savlon bandages and glue
self repair is what I do
time to try and find a life
others battle through their strife
time to get a bit reflective
friends put my ills into perspective
such a selfish little mite
I'm self obsessed and full of *****
will struggle forward day by day
no I am fooling, you all say
probably, I give you that
she said I am a ***** ****
the one reason that I am left
I cannot leave folks all bereft
for now I mean to stick around
and not at six feet underground
so if upon the ground I lie
check my pulse as you pass by
be like a nurse upon a mission
stick me in the recovery position!

So tired and poemed out
got this one then got nowt
want to do more love and hope
so tired I'm feeling like a dope
words are crawling to the screen
tripping on the keyboard in between
hungry but tofar gone to eat
stuck in this familiar seat
got to drag myslf to bed
and get a pillow for my head
wistful here so all alone
not even my cat yet at my home
curl up like a tiny mouse
in his chilly winter house
those last two lines were quite prophetic
hang on, no, the word's pathetic
getting desperate for a rhyme
go now, quick it's past bed time!