The Spell

I catch you reading a paper, The Guardian or Observer. Not the FT, as its clearly not yellow but it could be The Times or The Telegraph, not the Sporting Post though, words are split into paragraphs not lists, although it’s difficult to tell from this distance. I don’t really know you at all. You are a species caught by my spiderlike eyes. Do you saddle soap your wife’s butt? Defecate on your children’s towels and piss in babies bottle? This poem is called The Spell.


Hunting silver all around, not silver at all

Silver writing on dimpled spines, not writing at all

Confirmation gifts all, not really gifts at all

Wizened crone hooks her finger at you, not really old at all

Banker with blue eyes ‘gets’ the blues, not really cold at all

Reflections mirror your actions, not really a stare at all

Ted Hughes’ poems say nothing, not a wifebeater at all

I know me, not a poet at all

I know meaning, no meaning at all

Words are my tools and reaction, not an explanation at all

You are my goal and redemption, and not a care at all.

Thank you for reading, for no thanks at all.

A. Watkins 2017

We Will All Have Bones

Cats-Jewellery Makes a cake
of flowers and meandering paths
iced with love and plenty of slices.
Wellington boots make a growl
while cows moo outside, cup of tea
dinner at six, go to your room play
or read until then or come down and join us
in the living room where records will play.
Into wait, it’s CLAIT and nobody knows what they will do
when they finally leave school. Go to college or go to the moon.
and with cows planet oxygenise fields of clover purple skies to come.
Inside seeds grow restless in plastic cups. Make your time now little bird.
Make them grow. Mellow yellow stare at the fire like it was your soul.
And imagine it burning gold as the doves take off wearing cufflinks of love.
Just now you will see little boy down the road has turned blue. Kitchen towel laid over his face before the council comes to take him away. Daisy’s will grows one day on his grave.
Rush, rush to catch the last bus home. In the future, we will all have bones. In the future, we will all have bones.
And scones and macaroons!

Taking The Pith-Helmet

I was daydreaming and along came a book deal from a local publisher and a publicity photo shoot. Trying to come up with an image that might reflect the contents of the book lead me to think that no matter what I tried people would think I was taking the piss so what better ploy than to throw it back in their face by donning a white officers pith helmet circa 19th century British Colonialism, and swagger stick with me wearing my jeans and eating a Subway Meatball 12 ” Sub? Afterall, I am not one to harken back to those days.

Appeal anyone?

(30 minutes later)

OK, It didn’t turn out the way I expected but much better I think. Enjoy!


Image created in Paint.Net. © Andrew Watkins 2016

Images licensed through Creative Commons.

David Dewar

David Dewar, I wish I knew yer

I am sitting at home all alone

in front of my computer

Oh, David Dewar, I wish I knew yer.

You could read my palms for me, then you could

read me the psalms in correct order

David Dewar, I wish I knew ya

City are playing and my mind is racing

bring me a tablet and beer. And I’ll see ya, David Dewar.

David Dewar, I wish I knew yer.

I called my Dad today and he’s too busy

maybe we could get together and izzy wizzy

Let’s get busy David Dewar.

Dear David Dewar, I think this poem is lacking some feeling

What it needs is some explosions and meaning to knock on

everyday’s door and to blow it off its hinges David Dewar

Oh David Dewar come and talk some sense into me

If there is a light then just let it shine David Dewar

And let it be my guide, David Dewar, until I’m sorted out

on the inside David Dewar.

You can be my Goliath David Dewar, flattening the

crass and stupid, intimidating and lucid David Dewar.

Be My Dog David Dewar.

Be My Dog.

We can’t have any more good times David Dewar

We are too old and can read between the lines

of gossip, rumour and lies. nothing is a surprise.

Unless it’s a nasty one DavidDewar.

What would you prescribe David Dewar to a forty-something nothing

David Dewar. Wait A minute! I can second guess ya.

Walking is good and you get to meet people.

Jogging is the same, gets you outside and breathing the fresh air!

How am I doing David Dewar? Am I on the right track?

Talk to the women down at the local shops and find out what’s happening

Buy a paper and read all about it.

Don’t go shoplifting

Don’t start a criminal racket selling dusters at £5 a packet.

Don’t eat too much and take regular exercise.

Try and eat three of your five a day of fruit and vegetables

Only gamble in moderation

and spend what you can afford.

Talk to a bloke in the street, talk to all the people you meet

become a yes man and bid goodbye to no

Care for a creature so that in turn it cares for you.

Write to a prisoner on death row or volunteer for no dough

your payment will be the reward of giving.

How am I doing David Dewar?  Does this sound familiar?

Don’t waste your money on labels when own brand is cheaper

Don’t go out for drinks buy them at the supermarket

Stop smoking and take up exercise.

Change your underwear every day, wear deoderant twice a day

brush your teeth twice a day, lift the toilet seat when you go. replace it afterwards.

Brush the dust from between the keys of your laptop

wipe stains off the carpet at once, Put stains in to soak.

Seperate cooked and raw meats in the fridge. Don’t eat too much bread, or anything that

tastes good to you. Everything is best enjoyed in moderation.

Are you getting bored David Dewar. I know I am and I’m just scratching the iceberg mate.

Say something David Dewar, Say something.

Oh you don’t want to be late. Sorry David Dewar.

Why Did I apologise, Why did I ask you? David Dewar.

Are you are saint David Dewar? A politician David Dewar?

Or am I just stupid David Dewar for believing that you could give me some life advice David Dewar. I think this discussion has reached the end. You can’t reply to my question


Because your a figment of my imagination.