RAVENHEART

A musing about Lord Kitchener who's Sabre rattling speeches come sermons raised rampant applause back in Whitehall and Westminster whilst unfortunately his young Virgin soldiers were dying by 6000 a day , he had printed into their guide books for war , "avoid wine and women" meaning french prostitutes , with a life expectancy of 17 hours catching a little pox would have been the least of their worries .

Every day the paparazzi serve us our sadistic sacrifice all flesh red and raw, no good being a herbivore if you read the daily tabloid's blood and gore , You've really got to be a proper cover story carnivore with the stomach of a toreador , let's face it the press room's a slaughtering house stable and the editor's desk is nothing more than the butcher's table.

A short song I wrote about owning a car in the swinging sixties which was extremely rare especially for young people but if it was a jaguar then you were the nouveau rich make believe millionaires the fake faux movie stars members of my family and their friends were just this usually their balloons burst into bankruptcy debt and divorce, too much money in young hands its like mixing desire together with hell fire . All rights reserved

A short song I wrote about riding aboard the busiest train in Europe the 7.32 Woking to Waterloo 100 million passengers a year pass through Waterloo which makes for some terrifying or tantalising flesh to flesh points of view . All rights reserved.

A poem written about a mafia boss who was born in Le panier Marseille the last bastion of Beelzebub , he then rose to become France's ultimate crime Capo Di Capo ruling over France's under world for fifty years before being gunned down in Paris for an old corsican vendetta .

The Queen of green has the monumental task of convincing the oligarchy to give up there Lear jets and super yachts, this mission of attrition to which no one will listen is falling onto the deafest of diamond earrings ,they think it's just a tempest in a teapot NEVER WAS SO MUCH TAKEN BY SO FEW FROM SO MANY.

A poem about a Spanish African artist girlfriend who's temperament could turn from being a soft mistral breeze that gently caresses into violent blood raining Scirocco that tears the blossom from the trees.

When you turn on a virtual assistant Alexa , Siri or Cortana , for the first time even as an adult but especially as a child it feels like You've turned into a God or Goddess of wisdom children will almost certainly give up on any parental guidance and move into a cyber space or a Walt Disney crack house world .

A musing for a girl called RUBY a teenage dream queen that's been hand made in heaven to a cat walking cool talking size seven fully loaded and as dangerous as a hot stick of nitroglycerin she glares an glints back guilty as the guillotine .

This is a song I wrote for supertramp a friend who became homeless through drink one of the Montpellier mice , our band of bonhomie brothers who lived with such reckless abandonment to the stage where some would drink your bathroom cabinet dry aftershave aperitifs and cough medicine cognacs all round. Three days a week I take a coffee with the alcoholics I wrote this song whilst looking across at a homeless person living in a doorway of an abandoned gallery and think how fragile we are . All rights reserved