Ding dong Verity is high

To be sung loudly and with good cheer.

Ding dong Verity is high

On fumes of sherry trifle,

Her vajazzle’s gone awry

The lodger got an eyeful.

Poor Gloria, her spanner is at Chelsea’s!

Dean’s got blisters down below

He’s rather well hungen,

He gave a latex doll a go

Then the rash begunen.

Poor Gloria, her spanner is at Chelsea’s!

In church of a Christmastime

Those lusty loud bellringers,

When they’ve dutifully chimed

They’re a bunch of swingers.

Poor Gloria, her spanner is at Chelsea’s!

Poor Gloria, her spanner is at Chelsea’s!

Her spanner is at Chelsea’s!!!

A very merry Christmas and a wonderful New Year filled with light and love and peace and joy to you all.

On Tea and Writing (and biscuits)

A piece of whimsy (based on factual events) that I wrote and read at Firstsite Gallery, along with others, on Friday 3rd November 2017, as part of a readings evening to raise money for EducAid.

The scene: A day of writing at the family house, whilst I am waiting in for a delivery. There are two things present in the house that I do not have in  my flat; a Staffordshire Bull Terrier and a telly...

Arrive at the house

Get licked all over

By a very

excited Staffie.

Play with her

Until she settles

Which takes forever.

Make myself a cuppa

With biscuits for dunking

Get my writing stuff out

All over the table.

Write a few words down

Oh, what’s that one I’m looking for?

After a while

Get a bit distracted.

Scroll through the Sky menu.

Watch George Gently,

And American Pickers,

And Hercule Poirot,

And Wheeler Dealers,

(converting a vintage Chevy

a ’54 stepside).

Answer the door

Sign for the parcel

Play with the Staffie

(Who was woken by the delivery)

Until she settles

Which takes forever.

Make another cuppa

Eat a pack of kit kat snacks

Think about my cholesterol.

Write a few more words down

Is this a poem

Or a piece of flash fiction?

Have a little nap

Because writing is tiring

(that’s my excuse).

Get woken by the Staffie

Let her in the garden

Play ball with her

Until she settles

Which takes forever.

Make another cuppa

With some biscuits for dunking

Write a few more words down.

Why is it so hard

to say what I want to?

After a while

Get a bit distracted.

Start thinking about swords

That poem about Excalibur

I still haven’t written.

Try to remember

the name of Frodo’s sword

in Lord of the Rings

(that turns blue when Orcs are near).

Go on google

It’s called Sting

And it’s only a dagger,

Then go on you tube

And listen to some Police songs.

Make another cuppa

With some biscuits for dunking

Write a few more words down.

After a while

Get stuck with the story.

Read through what I’ve written

Think about my writing

Wish that I was better.

Have a pity-party

Indulge in some pointless

Self-recrimination.

Realise I’m being stared at

By a playful Staffie.

Give her some attention

Until she settles

Which takes forever.

Realise I’m hungry.

Make myself a sandwich

And another cuppa.

I’ve eaten all the biscuits

so no more for dunking.

Make the Staffies dinner

Hope that she’ll stop pestering

While I eat my sarnie

And drink my cuppa

There’s not a hope in hell

Of that happening

She’s a multi-tasker

Where food is concerned.

Where has the time gone?

The day has flown by

I’ve managed to do some writing

Which will need an edit

And then another one

But that’s for another day

It’s bloody never ending

Why did I choose writing?

Pack all my things up

Then do the washing up

Hide the empty biscuit wrapper

In the bottom of the bin.

Hope no one notices.

Try to say goodbye

To the lovely Staffie

Who just wants to play

So we get her ball

I chase her round the room

Then she chases me.

Put the kettle on again

Make another cuppa.

Sit on the sofa

While she curls up on my lap

And starts snoring.

Get my book out

I’ll be here for a while now

Anyway there’s no hurry

Before I know it

I’m snoring too.

Writing days are lovely

With a sleepy Staffie

If I’m very lucky

There’ll be another soon.

And I can do more writing

And drink more tea

With biscuits for dunking.

A Haibun for National Poetry Day 2017

I've written a Haibun for National Poetry Day, a first for me. The theme this year is Freedom; I hope you like it and may even try and write your own and read some others. It's a challenging form, be gentle with me.

Freedom: A Haibun

Their paths first crossed whilst backpacking in Marrakech and the attraction was immediate. They moved into a rundown riad which became their sanctuary. He wrote while she painted, and when they made love the entire universe ceased to exist and they were all that mattered. When a child came along they named her Free; she played barefoot in the sun and her skin went brown. When the bills started to come he found work in a local bar and she sold her art at the bazaar. Working all the hours they could they found the freedom they were both looking for, and she was everything.

from the eyrie

yellow eyes see more

than we can ever dream

Read My Poem And Buy The Book

I wrote this a couple of years ago and submitted it to a few publications as you do. It has ended up being published in Creel 3: An anthology of creative writing; a product of the Centre for Creative Writing at Essex University. I could not be happier. I read it at the launch evening, along with some other lovely and talented writers and fellow postgrad students. Held at The Wivenhoe Bookshop as part of the Wivenhoe ArtSea Festival, (and published by their own publishing imprint Wivenbooks), you could do worse than visit a brilliant independent family bookshop and buy a copy for yourself.

Questions

If the Jackdaw that struts across your lawn

like a soldier on parade

stopped and spoke to you of his loneliness,

Would you listen?

If you could hear the cry of the salmon

caught in the eagles claws,

Would you care?

If you saw the fear in the eyes of the moth

trapped in the spiders web,

Would you set it free?

Does the noise the doe makes

as she tries to find her way back

to the safety of the herd

disturb you?

When the leaf falls from the tree

do you feel sadness for its loss,

or joy at the change of seasons?

If you had just one wish

from a Djinns lantern

would you ask for your heart's desire

or would you set another free

from the prison of their own longing?

How many lies would it take

to awaken the phoenix of truth

that sleeps on your tongue?

and how many lives will you need

to live

before you can look death in the face

and still walk the path you have chosen?

Have my questions

tightened the rope you bind yourself with

or opened a door to a greater perception?

Only you have the answer.

I am just a white room

on a sunlit day

with a mirror on every wall.

Wherever you turn

you will see your own reflection

looking back at you.

Will you live here?