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watch your hair fall out in those unfaced, blank slate sertraline dreams.

I sit on the shores of the coastline, the sand is warm, the water dances with blinding radiance and the people around me are light-hearted . Today...

growing pains there’s a pack of surly black dogs snarling and hissing at my heels it scatters when I turn to face it, regathers when I’m feeling down...

The freedom of the birds and the whispy summer clouds are what we dream of now Spring was quietly stolen our liberties curtailed homes were a prison...

I was born in October, and I always knew my name was chosen as a political statement. My Dad was a member of the International Marxist Group back then. They were big in the seventies.

Josiah and Archibald consider the possibility of further Covid restrictions, with mixed results.

Every week or so Ilkley Literature Festival's web-site runs a Creative Writing Challenge called Be All Write. via its Facebook page. I enter from time to time. This week the challenge is to write a poem about The Last (Wo)Man on Earth. https://www.facebook.com/ilkleylitfest/ Anyway, this is mine. Picture author LeBanc (pixabay.com) licence CC.2.0

broken home each night repeats the one before; get drunk somewhere, sleep with a stranger, or home alone, a sleepless night on a sheet-less single...

Susan had seen Billy the Pie around, obviously. He was the purple-haired clown at the end of her street, the one with the clown car outside his house...