Once there was a man

and that man had a plan

to write the best poetry

in the land.

So off he went in search

of inspiration.

He went to a field and spied a dandelion. Right down did he put his nose and sniff did he. And up his nose flew a bumble bee.

He went to the biggest museum in the land and while he was there he cut his hand.

Then in a helicopter, he flew right up into the sky where he dropped his wallet right out of the door and lost it.

Then one day on the bus on the way home he met an old flame and they talked about the past and had a laugh and this put something into his mind.

No matter what life throws at us thought he and he remembered the bee that flew up his nose, he remembered the wallet lost and the cut on his hand and then he remembered the girl, her beauty inside and out. And he figured that life is a bit like a bitter sweet symphony and he sat down and wrote this song.

Her name was Delilah, she was  stunner

Every fellah wanted her on him

But then she fell for me one day out of the blue

Life isn’t a story 

it’s like flu

Achoo – She appeared out of the gloom

Achoo – Then she was in my room

Achoo-  Then it was time to say goodbye

I didn’t have time to ask her why?

Oh the things we see around us

compare and compel us, twisting and shouting

snorting and rooting

towards the centre.

He fiddled with his tie as he weighed up the merits of the little poem song he had written. THen he sighed screwed it into a ball and said ‘Well at least I tried,’

‘Poetic wisdom…’ came a voice from the laptop speakers

So he sat down and watched BBC3

Staring at the sea

I am a poet. I can make it.

The sea gives me inspiration.

I take it. I hear a call, I fake it.

I am a living being. A mortal.

Pitting my skills against Poseidon…


Standing on the shore staring out.

The sea stares back, oblivious

Obviously, I have clout

to choose my time, my weapon of choice

to defeat the incoming tide

to cease the action.


I choose to defer the fight until one day

when the sea stand still and I like armour

walk out sending saltwater ripples to India

and other far-off seas. I will again plant my staff

and speak quietly ‘action’.


Upon which time from far away over the horizon

will come to a roar to be afraid of

Poseidon riding a water Stallion

complete with armour and spear.


I will sit and wait till he is near. And then shout,

‘Global Warming CO2!! We know all about you currents and ocean streams over continents and seas. Give up the fight and hand me, the lady of the sea, my bride’

And thoroughly beaten he by mankind’s malady he produced at once

a poet of the sea.


Whom I took by the hand and introduced myself

‘poet, of land and sea, pleased to meetcha lady!’

She came home with me and the rest, for now, is history, evaporated.


I still hear her in my ear everytime fate draws near

the call of the lady of the sea.

And when I go out I hear her in my thoughts.

And when I worry she draws near

And when I pray she is in my thoughts.

But never can I find her gaze in a public place.

She isn’t made like me, the lady of the sea’


So now I need to rehydrate to Water Up and reclaim

What once belonged to me.

To Poseidon, once more Poseidon Do I make myself clear?

I command thee, ruler of the restless sea, return my lady to me!! (to me)

Return my lady to me!


Perhaps I am so far away and so commonplace that he ignores me. perhaps he doesn’t even hear me.

I have made the journey, nay the pilgrimage to where once the lady did come to me and I spoke to the God himself but what seems lacking could be chemistry.

What reaction?

What formula?

What Measurements?

What subscriptions?

Tiny URL is me

tiny as a crab in a rockpool, only a baby, whats left of me.

p-sei-don, ps-eid-on, ps-ei-don I command me!!

‘Grow UP!’ Said I

‘Don’t be a wimp, Stand up and be a man!!’ said a voice


So, wearing my badges of time and of pleasure (seemingly fatuous feeling) I perspire freely and march steadily once more to the sea.

Lady of the sea, Come forth, I command thee! I shouted loudly.

A seagull flew overhead and the world otherwise ignored me.


I think being built on pleasure which is shifting like sand no castle could be built upon me. I need the rock of experience to guide me.

So off I went and through trials of land and fire did put myself until I had enough experience to lay down on the ground before me and call it ‘my home’

And again I returned to the beach and called directly.

‘From the sand of the beach, out of my reach, lady come before me’

And I waited. and waited. Wait some Was I? made famous by the grains underneath me?

But it was a day before I heard a noise which waked me and a voice which did say

‘may I come inside’ which scared me so I said ‘NO’ loudly and went back to sleep.


Oh malady, m’lady mad at lad me! How sorry can I be?

There isn’t a happy ending in sight. How can I put things right?


One day I journey back to the sea and look for the rock of ages.

I bit down on it with all my might and cracked a tooth clean out.

With blood running down my face I shouted ‘Lady of the Sea, Come to me’

People looked at me like I was crazy. Some lady offered me a tissue and suddenly I felt the pain in my tooth so ran off home.

The next time I sought lady I would be ready. So I called again to the sea every Friday and half-past three until I heard a reply. Three false alarms and a prohibition order I did receive.

I decided that although he was a man of God form I would go for Poseidon and use the CO2 alarm like I did before.

This got me a punch in the jaw.

Forsaken by whom? Didn’t I nurture words from the womb?


Wandering days ensued and with much encouragement, I made a plan. To catch out Poseidon at his own game. I spied upon a webcam someone doing it in a foreign land. Now I have the answers minus one. All I need is to westernise and make them mine.

How folly was I as I was ignored by both Poseidon and his lady, the sea.

One day I tripped on a rock as I aimed pebbles at the waves and fell down upon my nose.

I felt sorry for myself and my woes did proclaim ‘Nobody ever listens to me’ and as snot ran down my nose I knew it to be true. Forever I would be blue.

But then as The sea soaked into my cold trousers and over my chest, I heard a sound a chorus of a melody. I looked up and saw three faces heavenly singing to me. Mermaids of the sea. They smiled and coddled and made a fuss. I felt remembered and alive and did they remain in my memory as I made my way home? I was filled with words and their love.

So the next time I went to the sea I went with a joy that I hadn’t felt for a long time.

I approached the shore put one foot in the water and said solemnly.

‘Poseidon and Lady. You have tricked me. You are heartless soul free beings.

I have worked and wept and been in salt water up to m’ chest and have discovered

dignity. Come or come not to me this day. For I can go away and play In my own realm

where I have learned to make a stand and not to feel sorry for myself!! No longer like a forlorn wood elf but I make my ribs like a ship’s timbers and say I am not going away!!

I am not going away!! Gods are forgotten. Words are beholden to me and carry me to a place with those I wish to be with. And make it sharpish.’

I waited and waited then saw in the distance a wave heading in my direction.

And I asked myself. ‘Could this be- my lady of the sea?’


to be continued…


It began like so many other stories in the wind, On a hilltop overlooking a vale. A farmers yard, clean except for the odd wisp of straw and a gardeners fork that was resting against a steel gate, the clucking of hens and the mooing of the cows mixed in with the gentle bleats of the sheep and the goat tied on a rope wearing a dog collar. A news reader may have described the scene as bucolic and the scent in the air of newly turned over hay certainly lent itself to that description.

It’s time to introduce our protagonist to this story. It has eight legs and two  grasping pedipalps and a narrow segmented tail that ended in a stinger that arched over its back like some futuristic un-yet designed suspension bridge support array. It turned its body by means of complicated manoeuvrings of its many legs and maintained balance like a fulcrum bridge. By this perfect balance it could maintain a spin on two feet like a ballerina in a pirouette a behaviour usually only seen in the wild. Right now it was spinning in an anti-clockwise direction its pedipalps held up in the air and its tail turned over almost touching its own back in a move that would have made Margot Fonteyn proud.But this was no demure female ballerina but a wild rogue male that had been banished from the desert sands by its titular leaders for going rogue and eating its own children and killing anything that came close.

It was the alpha male gone wild that spawned a play by the late great Cuckaburrow playwright the arachnid Bellatrix the female wolf spider. And it was this play that has inspired so many other spiders and many-legged creatures that tonight’s battle would take place to bring the killing to a symbolic end, and to have a damn good show  by the fight going to the death of one or more of its competitors. The warm up would be some dancing by both hostile opponents while doing some more killing of other convicted felons. Such was the vicious killing wheel that turned diurnally, day after day, beneath our feet.

Unfortunately, a written account of the actual events was lost in the great fire of ’86 so nobody actually there can testify them all being long preserveI. But i thought I’d share what I know. I imagine the combatants arrived on the wind on threads of silk on the evening breeze..





I have seen the future and it sucks and I have done my research. Memories are better than new experiences. What do you think I did twenty and thirty for. To carry on being a dick in my forties? No way!

Its muffins bacon and egg for breakfast then steaks and mushrooms for elevenses. At lunch, I sip liqueurs and champagne strawberries. Caviar sits on my desk for caviar and crackers for tea.

I drive a Mercedes Benz. Not electric. I fly executive, not business. I do rockpools not scuba. I do call girls not artists, singers too. I leave the dancers and exotics to you to you.

Dogs, Doctors, Dirges That’s what I’m living for, That’s what I’m living for.

Dogs, Doctors, Dirges That’s what I’m living for, That’s what I’m living for.

Call Me A Doctor

I need someone to hold my thermometer

While I examine you for defects

Come on over here

And drop your trousers

Tell me what it is

And I will Tell you what it is.

You come to me smelling of roses

and I respond with textbook poses

I practiced in the mirror during my thirties

I’m a space cow now. I’m flying on cow juice to an asteroid.

To an asteroid, I got the feeling, Of being. Now I am floating towards you.

Ever so closely, like balls on a snooker cue, we emerge from the pocket bruised and battered but eager to go further than before ever than before.


God free fix available £5.99

The reality the idea held together with bonds insoluble in water

A fence is a two way street only if you happen to be tall enough to step over it

hows about something not like barbed wire but like a crown of thorns

or not. Isn’t Jesus sacrifice enough to stop talk of war fields machine gun emplacements etc


If you struggle it just cuts into the cloth of your clothes or your flesh. Deeper and deeper.

Where does it belong? Not near me. Not in my home or street or playground, park or cut.

Razor cut defences on industrial estate fences

keeping the ruffians out, keeping the fear locked in

blue sky above, there’s something above us

moving this mountain, sorting this and that

telling whatsisname what I did when and how to prove it

telling Gladys of that mistake one night after too much to drink

telling so many of us what to think, when we make a mistake

not to throw ourselves into the lake but onto Gods mercy

Or this stink won’t go away.

What stink?

It’s as quick as that. Say Grace and Three Hail Mary’s

God free fix available £5.99 at the local store.

Walking down the street or the road

Avoiding treading on the warty toad

Let the dog sniff it

Cut my head open

All in a days walk.

Say hello to the neighbours

get ignored

shout and make a scene

feel alright again

have drink

go over your calorie limit for the day

hold your head in your hands


write, right?

Kiss. I forgot kiss.

A long time ago

All That Chimes

All that chimes isn’t rhyme

All that succours isn’t true

And wedded bliss well, that bird flew

(away into the hills)

Sometimes my heart follows my eyes

and it becomes difficult to know

what is, what’s not or where the plot is leading

I want it to lead somewhere new

Like the bird that flew

and then kept on going

(instead of going round and round

when there’s no way of knowing if

your coming or going)

Wanting security, watching telly

Loves true ring and apocalyptic belly

Brevity makes us instant brew

with no flavour or clue (as to

whats going on)

I already feel like I said

this once today

but another made me wonder

if I was wrong again

and too shallow to care

for another.

I had steak for dinner.

If you’re wondering It was medium rare

with mashed swede and carrots

and potato croquets.

I’m a gamer too, but I am twenty years older

but can rest my handset on my belly

so were even steven OK

What I was hoping to explain

was that no matter what we know

All the glitters, isn’t gold.

Every Time

I wish I were a poet and could sing about my life.


Even words cannot describe what happened then.


Remember that once you had friends and times that should not be forgotten.

The future was beckoning like a roaring lion.

And jackals and laughing hyenas ran too

In the streets of somewhere that in time did begin

A sequence of unrepeatable events,

that bring emotion to the fore or a tear to my eye and a heaviness to my chest.

We were better than the rest and obeyed no-ones rules

It’s was like cherries in oil in absinthe in Paris.

And to that life, I said goodbye.

But still in a moment, I can recall a little although

it was so long ago. A slideshow of rules broken

of times and of places and people long forgotten.

It was not five miles from here when I lay there with you in bliss.

But you had other things on your mind, all of the time.

Of whose making were you I wondered then

From where did you come and where were you going?

To Valhalla or Eden?  In the end, it was the night that took you

that left me behind in cold stark daylight. But I couldn’t see without

you and go blind mad and stupid again. I need glasses, did you know? but I don’t wear them anymore.

I take comfort from you. I bring the unnecessary. I bring the pain. Yet you come again and again and again. like a lion to water. You need me I think. How stupid could I have been? how blind, how vain? That you could possibly want me but not lay a verbal claim. What would you say? To going away for a day or two, somewhere virgin, somewhere new?

Star fire blue big-shot flew.

Now I visit home stores and see pillows that remind me of you.

In a kaleidoscope of imitations, I wander never blue like you.

Never true.

Hello Cupboard

Hello! Cupboard How Are You?

My Name Is Andrew. Comment Allez Vous?

Ca Va?

Ca va bien merci, Est ce que voudrais un cafe?

C’est in bon idee!

See how we live in the twenty-first century

Talking to my cupboard about the day might seem strange

In fact its as pink as blancmange

to say it strangely you might say as a wavelength of the rainbow

which avoids all unambiguity.

I am feeling blue, smoking my cigar and drinking myself stupid seems

apposite in the circumstances. How I wish I were green again and the sunshine

yellow white and the slush grey and the china white.

Music piped digitally into my abode brings reds, blues and yellows into the shallow swamp

that is my pleasure of murky browns mixed with vegetal greens in a slurry of organic matter.

That I stomp about in my big black boots. Arrrrggghhh! UUUgghhhh! Graaaaaah! Ha Ha!

Purple and blue to you to you purple and blue to you!

The walls of my palace are pale and mild and not yellow or beige but unwhite and warm cream magnolia. There’s a bit of a solipsist wit for you. Not white not right. Christ!

My drink is a straw colour cloudy and in spite of my colour blindness, white and green and something in between like yellow and grey mixed with milk and parsley petals reflecting the harsh sun’s rays of red, orange and yellow.

When it comes to colour…wait for it… I am black and made of all colours although on some days I am washcloth grey or mophead brown despite my drip of gold.

But I am bread white really and I turn a nice brown in the summer. But that’s when I used to go out places. Not these days. Now the seasons drift by like so much traffic and the seasons evidence of my ageing while my mirror silvered tells lies, lies damn lies.

Black is my mind, black are the clouds that stumble on ahead of the weather striking fear into me. The rainbow palette is perhaps the greatest gift to be-stormed residents of weather town. (Where the talk is always brown)

But colours seriously I heard the other day ‘My brown friends’ what did you make of it? You say! Was it neo-fascist talk or shitty coprophagia or some such talk or was it simply earth that is brown and is good. So brown friends or Earth friends! The truth is I do not know and this adds to my sorrow of simpering yellow pus like sores of black blood and red crusty scabs on which my temperament soars like blackbirds from a pie.

But that’s it from me for the time being. Time to say goodbye

Runs (again)

Here is another Runs piece of writing with some rhymes thrown in it.


Runs from one place to another without moving.

Runs forward and backward without moving.

Runs up your back without moving runs with your legs.

There is a place where reflections catch the light in the glass mirror surface of the pool,

Where a look is taken at first glance and a second, third, fourth, fifth reading is not required.

Where you can go and see yourself naked and afraid.

This place is the Imagine-Tank.

Here you can shift perceptions with a raised eyebrow or make friends with a walrus

and honk at the pool attendant whilst shouting ‘more leaves’ more leaves’

You can dance with strangers with obsidian eyes and witness new rituals.

You can blow off the past in an instant and have it return and envelop you completely.

You can see the future and its an IKEA catalogue of words prices and pictures.

You can see the past, and if you dive in, you can grasp it and drag it to shore in pieces.

Dreams become real as Alice’s. Words become big and heavy like giant sausages stuck in your mouth.

And your family carry on with their lives as if nothing had happened.

And A Protean performance runs the show.

Walls have a quality that is architectural coloured and sublime

You are living in a place where the everyday meets the sublime

In a chemical haze, you blunder from room to room making friends as you go

ten lives in a box, could be a shoe box, could be ants could be bees! You don’t know.

moments last for days under intense scrutiny and seconds and minutes escape like water from your cupped hands. All that remains is the impression of time passing, like paint drying, you know its happening but its very difficult to see and to know when its good to stay or when its time to go.

Here you have a quality of the man as plucked from the eyes you knew and living and breathing the same air as you – oxygen.

He is quick to learn and assimilate the new whilst remaining true to his past which is indicated by possessions blue, and stories told, of how he and she did build an illusion, and how the spectacular became the every day on dreams sold.

You sit with him and it’s as if you are a child seeing things for the first time crisis bold.

You ask silly questions and as time unfolds you realise you feel not up to the task again so to your room you return and contemplate your walls.

If only you had known this peace when stacking boxes and talking cheese. you feel born again in a temple of artistic harmony where anything is possible because you are all so cool and relaxed and able to focus on what is new and important. Well, you were not to know of the bees and the drugs and the new party line and the clothes beer and thugs gathered outside. When the end did come it was without warning and a reversal occurred and you were ejected into space like junk with a punch in the face and no thanks were heard.

As you gathered your senses into a shape they fell out again and through your fingers like the water  that was time and so sublime back then. Now you take stock and see you were used and that no good can come from the abuse you undertake a new beginning in a place of your choosing. But broken and dissolved it’s all you can do to drag yourself onto a bus to a new place.

It’s only years later when the seasons have  passed in a blur and you have the personal secure that you look up gain and see what could pass if you tried a little bit of this and a bit of that. and you sit in your web like a spider content with your larder and what you have in store for the present is good  like whisky.

Runs from one place to another without moving.

Runs forward and backward without moving.

Runs up your back without moving runs with your legs.

And your family carry on with their lives as if nothing had happened.

And A Protean performance runs the show.


If this sounds like a woman’s voice it is complete. I explored the feminine and got my head smashed in. But like a fool, I’d do it again.