Sunday, 31 March 2019

Trawler for Ash

Never let the frost bite.
It’s a smite.
But look at us like.
We’s bitten.
Between you and mes?
Fair seas.


The under arches
Of a Ford Cortina.
The rain lets in
Mark two, three, four-uh
This is the
Backwards world.
For which we
Are pourer.

Saturday, 30 March 2019

Masque of the Half Full Glass

And there they gathered
In darkened rooms,
Of wood and glass,
Masquerading as
Functioning human beings.
Places like this
Are great for blurring lines,
Of us and we and they and me.
Is it a community,
Below the disfuction room?
Is it a post-family necessity?
Is it below the tight belt
Of the name
Above the threshold?
At the hostelry
On the Cally Road,
You can bounce
But never leave.

Friday, 29 March 2019

Europe Still - A Haiku

Europe is not still
Forever active come what may
We’re still in Europe

Thursday, 28 March 2019

Sierra Nevada

When Sierra Nevada
Fell off the wall
The locals couldn’t believe it
At all
The aluminium and plastic
Hit one radge
Right between the imagination
And between the restless natives
Rested a beer brand badge
In gassy stasis
And his mind
Ran to the hills

Wednesday, 27 March 2019

Baldy Bastard Takes His Hat Off in the Pub

Baldy Bastard
Takes his hat off
Baldy Bastard
Needs a haircut
This life
Is getting thin
But this size
6 and 7 8ths
Has more swag
In it’s vantage spot
Than all yous lot
So together
Find your necks
Wound in

I used to get paid to cook for people

Everything I eat
Is pizza flat
It’s true that
Each within a variety of stages
Screened for knives
Or lack of dreams
Or imagination an’ that
But hands made these dishes
With too much chilli on it
So I win

Wednesday, 20 March 2019

Milking It

It’s a pile of chickens
The sun’s the colour
Of piss on chrome

Where there’s overproof
Of the underdog
Who cannot find its home

They’re outsourcing
The infighting there’s a
Claret barrack warning

Some boldly bowl
To backward go for
More sad cider mornings

Their preferred topping
Is the sleep in your eye
For their 99th balloon

Of brandy chances are
The spitfire suits are
Dry-cleaning up real soon

There’s a hole that’s drilled
In the silencer
Of your neighbour’s car

They give it one last coat
Of looking at it
Standing round the bar

There’s an inter-cover
Chevron arrangement
If you look two wine lists back

Where interstatial
Slovenly agents
Galvanise attacks

But brass they want us be
With tin tankard clinks
Like facts that lie that flow

Like piss in sinks
Where they die to cast
And where they tap to bend

Say misunderstandings
Have a long life
So be prepared to milk ‘em

Thursday, 14 March 2019


You can’t handle it
In eyes that could be yours
But yours
Are short-sighted
And the rest
And opposite

Skip lanes of ridden highways
To drop a measly
In a cup
Pretend there’s
Risk to your
Personal safety

I could right now
Draw that face
Draw up something
In debt
Move on

Tears in eyes
I’ve got a bus
I’m catching
I can reflect
There is no end of
There is no applause
One minute
Out of respect
There will be no singing
As tethers
Have a beginning

Tuesday, 12 March 2019


It’s a grey and blue freeze in here
Here it’s deja-vu number two
It’s seven pm
She’s lost her voice again
She’ll go for deja number three
There’s a point in here
In this freeze of grey and blue
That lost voices
No longer worth listening to

Sunday, 10 March 2019


Early kick off
I gaze the rainy window
Across the lane
Where the Sunday brunchers
Form snake like queues
Around the block
Play a ladder climbing game
Communist-era Poland queues
At the hip replacement joint
Aperol spritzers with babies
For hours
For quails eggs
On avocado
On walnut slices
An Instagram opportunity
Time waste it’s
Christ it’s
Whilst I’m
With the knockers
In the local
Who describe it thus
What the middle classes do
When left
To their own devices