Death of a tree

The tree stood, as it had, for a hundred years In the green forest, full of elven tears Beneath it stood a hoard of marauding trolls They had approached in numbers, over grassy knolls.

6: Prague Diary

Monday 16th Day five.

I'm Driving in the Desert

It’s hot here, I must be dreaming...

Melissa's Room

We used to play dress up here, in this room with the faded pink walls and scent of cherry. That's why the carpet's stained with red nail varnish and lipstick.


A 'planned accident' poem inspired by William Burroughs' cut-up's linked around the theme of watching your life pass in front of your eyes before you step out into clear air.

Literati and other things

Ever thought there should be a word for 'em?

Inverness Caledonian Thistle

Old Pesky was asking for football-related poems. Here's one for him.


No cares not afraid of the cops doesn’t really break the law just bends it


2 till four. Clouds hang back and brain is dead. Real feel, 106. I'll prick my lips with cocktail sticks to check that I'm alive. This mute and frigid air. This stupid swamp.

Three Days in the Wild

the ephemeral embrace of colours and textures

Time Travel

Haven’t written for quite while Was thinking about changing style Yes I know, it’s about time too At least think, my work through OK, OK I should give things more thought

Initiation by Hammer - Part 3

“Is he dead?” I ask. “I’m not a doctor. Maybe. He might be,” she holds her breath, as if to savour a thought, "I put my heel through his eye.”

War and Politics at Home

So, my little girl has entered the world of clandestine operations and psychological warfare.


Human I feel sadness But more often I laugh I rejoice I cry happy tears Milk squirts from my nose Rather it’s aloud or silently I laugh Smile covers majority of my face Haha lol lmao

Write to me.

'...italics vs text...'

5: Prague Diary

Sunday 15th Day four.

Sleep in Heavenly Peace

titles don’t do it all do they

A criticism

Drinking companions

I do tolerate that from bottles to books She leaves prints everywhere. But, I can't stand her envy Of the potential of my solid form. Her eternity I never begrudge.

Beauty on a Dungheap

Bobbing flight, dips out of sight, and up – ‘peep bo!’ then duck below. Perching on the pile of muck, wagging tail perfect stance to give a chance for photo-shot.