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Everywhere I look I’m pasted to the wall. Six records and three books, I could be John or Paul. Seven million overnight, I’m reaching new heights, I...

Brain power breaching the fringes of logic, snail's shell carried on course of adventure, a probing seeker nomad of words, fluttering pages like an...

Monday 25 May 2020 It’s seven in the morning after a sleepless night. Three times in half an hour Arthur got up and went to the bathroom, leaving the...

Enchantment By Greengate By Paul McCann We played there under the enchantment by Greengate where some Sunday’s were spent as children dressed in hand...

I’m really tired, I didn’t get much sleep last night and I’m kind of emotional, too. There’s so much going on and everything’s got really bad with...

Kiribati by Theresa C. Gaynord The sun rose, carrying the burn over the previous night’s black stare. The sea took several breaths as the land...

Some call him a bastard and others call him a cunt. But everybody hates that dog that's on Duck Hunt. When you shoot at ducks but miss, that damn dog...

During the Coronavirus lockdown, there seems to have been a renewal of interest in poetry. Perhaps this is a British characteristic – in times of crisis, a tendency to resort to rhyme rather than reason. Whatever! So, although I've not posted on here for some time I thought I'd offer up these few lines.

I was allowed to cook on Thursday night. I used to enjoy cooking, I fed two boys who grew to six foot six, I can’t be that bad at it. I am a basic...