A poem written for two old Bohemians who through reckless behaviour in younger year did so destroy the fragile entity of love and are now left with just the ghost of her to haunt their empty old hearts .

A poem I wrote for the everso beautiful Lindsay who is leaving after 11 years she brought her LGBT spirit and colour into our drab fifty souls of grey community bombing us daily with vivid wondrous paintings she takes with her an extraordinary feng shui losing her is like the loss of a perpetual summer's day , artist are the community take them away and you kill it's soul you're left with empty plastic people with tarmac tongues and concrete craniums.

In the swinging sixties a sexpionage spy scandal took place called the Profumo Affaire unfortunately two of its players were amateurs and didn't know what the rules of the spy game were ; one was sacrificed as a scapegoat and the other Christine Keeler lived life under a long dark cloud until she died and all because they were enlisted by MI5 into taking part in a Russian honey trap for Queen and country which went dramatically wrong . Dr Steven Ward a brilliant osteopath and gifted portrait artist was demonised and double crossed to the point where he took his own life with an overdose of sleeping tablets the poison chalice , Baron Profumo who was the cause of it all retired in disgrace cleaning toilets and working for a charity where he was eventually awarded an OBE to pin next to the MBE and bronze star that he'd won as a military hero in the war . A wax statue still stands of Steven Ward in the house of horrors at Madame Tussauds a terribly cruel homage to say he was only doing what the British secret service ask or no doubt ordered him to do . The scandal also brought an Iron Curtain crashing down on the conservative government of Harold Macmillan .

"The ghost in our mortal machine is like a spiritual symbiotic twin, a collaborative companion that shares in our secular sin. Silently and secretively, it hides within our sapien skin, accompanying us from the womb to the tomb, and then ultimately giving evidence on the day of our doom.

Her mother is always in a constant Spring clean dusting and polishing until everything in the house begins to gleam, then again she could be addicted to the smell of Mr sheen or has she been drinking far too much caffeine, perhaps it's something to do with the covid vaccine that's turned her into this dopamine drama queen, what about the lack of vitamin b12 is she missing the red meat protein she's never quite been the same since she read the vegan magazine, oh for heaven's sake someone please intervene and turn off this terrifying domestic terrain cleaning machine .

A Musing about my artist girlfriend from Barcelona, Spain, I couldn't understand what she meant by being a spiritual suffragette. Sacrificing love and life for her art, I thought her to be pompous and pretentious, born with a silver spoon up her sleeve. Now, after months of lockdown, living as a mendicant monk in my own garret cell of solitary confinement, I'm beginning to understand her purgatory point of view .

A musing about two relative's who should never have entered into a doomed relationship due to their persuasions and personalities being planets apart one a reclusive miser and the other an extravagant extrovert ; perhaps now with the internet we might make a much better match.com or sexual selection of it with God Google's precision and profiling us to the last detail of our mortal minutiae it should make for some interesting parings that are not left to the seven senses of the sapien .

A sketch about Thornton Harding the Junior's obsession with exotic pets , from a kangaroo netball team to a badger for the bedroom and an otter for the bathroom the aristocracy are mad one also had a giraffe dray and rode around his estate as a child on a giant tortoise.

A musing about our Star Trek scientists who make it sound like our intergalactic fate is just a walk to the subway or through a nearby subatomic Stargate .

A poem for Katy on reception who drives ever man crazy by giving them a glimpse of the promised land only then to watch gleefully as they walk towards her straight into a paradise of quicksand .