Prose and Poetry

Friday, 18 July 2014


Believing in the moment
Drowning in the future or the past
Counting up to going down
Cooling in the ground
The planet gringing
The beetle rolling dungballs
The love you compartmentalised
In a false move
Cowards always running
Brainless in a loop

I know your are living – out there
But you are with the dead to me
The real dead outgrow my life
The living dead outlive the real
Cold and clammy
Dishonest and cancerous

Friday, 4 April 2014



Winter sunsets fall with an imperceptible gloom
Like the memory of a dead friend that slides
Heavily over my eyelids, tingling my skin

Places become old plays - comedies, histories, tradegies.
And  I hold his voice - but never too long and turn

Everything turns and we trim ourselves to necessity
Horrified by the ugliness of a newborn day.


And our blood screams bound by rusting iron chains
Screams to the depth of the earth
Shattering the cries of gulls
Cracking the crows' cawling

See no more, no more I see
Those plays were true, never crude.
Those worlds we know now are trivial
No great things ( and only I should not think of it)
(It is true)

Screw your stupidity
Screw your cowardice


Reason is not about the status quo
not weighing x against y.
it is about an understanding of the human  condition
Justice, Fairness and Openness 
Nothing above reason.


I borrowed your (insincere) smile
The way you walked
The turn of (company) phrase
The blank look on your face.

The aloofness of denial
Nothing said, the shrug
Of buried dread.
The feel of coldness in another's bed.

the face that showed a lack of sleep
That inability to weep
The skirting drunken head
That talked of maybes never said.

The borrowed grinding teeth
The borrowed field of weeds
The borrowed silence of graves
All the ways - they were borrowed
All the days - they were sorrowed
Sewn together in a seamless heap.

Sunday, 30 March 2014


Fuck they’d shout out everyday
It’s over here it’s is everywhere
Bloody this and effing that
Kick the dog and drown the cat
Pissing up the pissed up walls
Punching glass and tossing balls
Waking from a tits up scrape
The same old shite the same low pay

With mum and dad shoved in a home
Who’ll shit their pants and no one knows
No one’ll care with magazines
Of soufflé celebs in see me scenes
Who’ll sell their wank to wanker’s riles
To do fuck all with fucked up smiles
While shelves are drown in same old shit
Just who remembers Jade or jif 

It always flatters love or hate
As long as they get paid the rate
You down the prozac and play the game
Until you find the coming train
So it’s fucking this and pissing that
Its cunt or dick or whatever hat
Blown ‘tween your lips or out your arse
Just make it pay for t’will never last

‘Cause everybody’s cut their throats
Everybody’s cramming loads
Spending every dragging hour
Out the mouth and down the shower
And when you’re dead they’ll score the lot
Your life pissed in a broken pot
That final drop the final gasp
You know the score sell off the past

Friday, 21 March 2014


What are they butterbeans?
Mostly out of tins
Rarely bought in packets

Occasionally they’d turn up
On my plate
When I was young.
I didn’t know whether 
They were good or bad
So in between

What were they concocted to be?
Mysteriously needy yet so bland
They haunt me still
Like blancmange.