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Alas! alas! why build your billets for bullets and missiles mixed with medics and mosques mingling …

A brutalist and brutal poem. It's my hometown so I can.

I watched the girl in silence, not a single word she spoke.

My great grandfather Frank Brown was miraculously of a handful survivors in the battle of Delville Wood, where the South African infantry was wiped...

In your house, it’s always night time You never let the sunshine in Running on an endless loop Stale thoughts on ever deepening tracks Landscapes are...

I love my life. I love my job. I am well known, and because of that I can be a good influence. I can, empower and encourage young women. I help them...

Mama – your wisdom was such a fine and delicate instrument in my younger days and I crave your touch of love this very moment.

When my son was born under a cornucopia of strip lights and blades I wanted to bear hug the ECG monitor to glide into the mains to race through the...

Fyodor Dostoevsky once said. ‘The cleverest of all, in my opinion, is the man who calls himself a fool at least once a month.’ With this in mind I have taken to revealing on the worldwide web the contents of my journal once (maybe twice) a month, allowing fellow worldwide webbers to judge the level of foolery and share their opinion.