I wrote this little ditty after listening to a dear friend who's a lay preacher telling me that i may not be entering into the kingdom of heaven , i answered by stating that i did not want to go to heaven and he asked why surprised stating did i want to go to hell ? , i mentioned i would be quite happy to remain in limbo or purgatory rather than enter into the either where billions upon billions of souls from our past bitter waring human beings would be residing ; after experiencing the enormous divide that we have on this small mad mud island called Britain i really couldn't think of anything worse than to be crushed into a garden of eden with ever so many more people than there are here unless of course that their cantankerous contemptuous souls had been completely cleansed of all human trace in heaven's giant launderette , I have visions of souls on coat hangers totally transparent similar to the plastic covers at the dry cleaners.

A short poem about how AI artificial intelligence is now learning from other Ai algorithms using the deep learning techniques then competing against each other in the AGi' tournament what with all the different i's ranging from sci-fi ,WiFi ,hi-fi , to the secret service abbreviations of SI FBI CIA MI5 MI6 let's hope the deep learning machines know the difference between so many different i's an don't the biblical vindictive lexicon of taking "An eye for an (i) The poem is written in' haiku 5 7 5 syllable continuous which is probably more to an Ai's algorithmic programmed personality.

A eulogy for Dave who I've known for forty years . Grandfathers are like old sentinels that stand  guard over us in our early infant years , stolid as grandfather clocks their old heavy hearts pendulum a rhythm of life to our new born ears,

A mortal metronome that keeps a steady beat to the timpani of our tiny pattering feet

Twenty-five years ago it came as quite a shock when a friend announced he was bisexual especially as he'd been such a lady killer and then turned into also being a man eater , still what back then seemed such a big squeal is now an every day done deal .

A song I wrote whilst looking at the selection of sapiens on a train station I was wondering if we mixed all of them together as if they were paint in a garden shed, would we all end up resembling some khaki olive coloured bread or maybe a DNA glue that resembles a fudge fondue . All rights reserved

A little ditty I wrote as a final song for 2021 new year's eve , after watching solders marching up and down at the nearby army base I was thinking if covid turned everything up side down how we may have had a Marshall law military lockdown , I've done it in a military two step rhythm with the emphasis and accent on that very final beat of attention as if stamping the foot of authority down but still to a humorous tune. All rights reserved.

A little tune I wrote for my father over the Christmas period he still listens to all the old crooners like Frank Sinatra Matt Monro an Bing Crosby they all seem to have that lazy lullaby lilt famous in the fifties before Rock an Roll knocked them out of the park, I suppose when I'm at ninety five years of age I will probably still be singing to Motown , I've done my best to write an sing it in that old crooners style . all rights reserved.

A little tune I wrote its an impromptu improvisation using a few Chinese fourths and a little bit of blues to give it that sweet an Sour feel please excuse the sound quality my old piano has seen better days and so have I so have i it's also recorded straight into a mobile phone .

All Medieval religions outlawed usury as a sin , profit of any kind wasn't allowed it still stands as a judgement against you today the road to perdition is going to be littered with alot of Gods righteous as well as the Devil's detritus.

This is a short song I wrote for Colette's birthday she's an angel faced florist who works out of a norman church on a country estate, surrounded by angelic statues all halos and wings adding to this heavenly scene is her being bathed and baptized in the divine light from the stain glassed windows along with the scent from the flowers you think you've arrived at the garden of Eden, but then again when she puts on her leather and lace and hits the town well that's a different story , A Saturday night sinner and a Sunday morning Saint. All rights reserved.