Don't count on it.
There is no evidence for fate.
A night in whitstable by the sea.
These are Nostalgia poems
A sometimes idyllic childhood in Exeter Devon just after the second world war.
The Flight Back.
Was that you at the airport?
The back of your head,
the model’s walk of nonchalance and
the designer suitcase -
compliments of Mastercard?
May you never feel as I do,
as the torment grows inside you.
You can fall all day
and there's no one there to catch you
when you're the American dregs
When there is no home to go to
Share of your riches
give others their place in the sun
May all lands be peaceful
let history teach of the gun
for from Trafalgar to Fallujah,
it's been a long trail of gore.
Is it sometimes best to pass away young?
ask the man in the iron lung
Shall wealth be shared by the many or the best?
ask the sage like a pauper dressed
Is love embodied in a diamond ring?
Bea's Sunday Night Flat
Mr Bleaney bagged the latex jumpsuit
And stashed the hold-all in the usual hedge.
Pushing open the guesthouse door his stoop
returned. He tripped slightly on the wedge
Wouldn't it be cool...?
A smile on any other creature's face is a warning snarl of predation...
Bright and brittle words on themes of domestic bliss...
I’m a child of the flower power generation
I used to smoke pot to get my satisfaction
I don't do it anymore I’ve given it up at last
And I get the same effect standing up to fast
All reports are in
I have to declare
It’s now confirmed
Life is officially unfair
As I drove one day, I saw a fly
I saw it as it caught my eye
What went through its mind
I wondered as it flew blind
And it hit the windscreen glass?
It was almost certainly its arse
Throughout the morning, a woman learns to listen through her baby's ears.
Somewhat sarcastically titled, an arrogant and serious piece about issues against the idea of making all abortions illegal, written as a specific letter to anti-abortion politicians and preachers.