A song I wrote yesterday with my godson about his father's nightly drinking habits we call it the old and filthy. all rights reserved .

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A poem I wrote about a crippled girl I lived aside who had a soul so beautiful

it cast long shadows of perfection over my dirty old anima.

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This is a poem about the complacency of people and their attitudes towards the temperature rise of two degrees you'd think that the powers that be were waffling about a couple of cream teas or the price of peas, some have the audacity to blame the up and coming new economies such as the Chinese after we have been pumping out the smoke and sleaze since the early 1750's others think that it's just a temperature tease and come the next year we'll all be back to the big freeze I don't know what it's going to take to move the world's most powerful trustees maybe when it begins to back flush the drains up around everyone's knees .

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This is a poem I wrote for an innocent looking girl called Alice who when tempered up turns into a hell's angel of malice she resembles a fairytale princess fresh from a folkloric palace yet soon as she opens her mouth you think she's been drinking from the poisoned chalice with her hands in the air she stands about four feet tall but after a rise through with alcohol she turns into a native neanderthal, forget all about etiquette and protocol this little tomboy is more likely to be found scrapping on the terraces at an away game of football.

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As you get older looking for love is similar to rummaging through a scrap yard come jumble sale you sift an shake through the worn torn fragile and fail usually to no avail things are stretched out of shape almost befitting the proverbial grey whale instead of the once sleek male or female then suddenly there it is the right one for you the little bunny rabbits bob tail an together you dovetail perfectly as you'd been handmade by thomas chippendale .

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Covid 19 as seen through the eyes of a squirrel watching them  fighting for scraps from the dustbins whilst under lock down ,they appear so confident without us , I think possibly the only thing they'd missed about our absence is possible the leftovers of Ben and Jerry's ice cream .

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This is a musing I wrote after listening to my father who'd been conscripted into the British army during the second world war you can quite easily see why by year twenty three most members of the military have gone completely mad with OCD its perhaps due to the cour d'esprit of the British army which has a relentless marching rhythm beating to the sweet spot tempo of 120 , from day one your heart soul body and mind are recalibrated and realined to the measured metronome of the military kind in order for you to keep in perfect tune whilst playing together in the theatre of war with the other synchronised members of your platoon .

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A poem about the rain cycle's continual celestial cleansing this perpetual purification of precipitation shows no discrimination of skin treating us all to the same asperging sanctification from sin .

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A poem about falling into destitution especially ex soldiers and sailors who you find in the beggars brigade of most British towns, how easy to forget these courageous service personnel who once protected us .

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A poem for big Manchester Pete the hardest looking man you'd ever meet a face made for trick or treat but inside his heart was softer than boiled sugar beet .

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