I can’t think of a Title

I can feel the urge

clogging my brain

disordered thoughts and innuendo


mainstream maniacal mutterings

I scratch the itchy spots

plagiarise my neighbour’s pain


why is it that autumn always hits

with lingering heat and oppression

just when you thought it was safe

to cut your connection

with the communal grid

the need for air destroys your will

you sink backĀ into the alluvial slimeĀ 

everlasting summer


so here I sit

scratch my itchy places

allow my brain to be clogged

by the indecent utterings of political classes

begging for renewal at the right price


meanwhile somewhere in the depths

of the sleep-deprived non-stick frying pan of my mind

the wooden spoon keeps stirring,

itching to smack the mutt-mutt-muttering

whilst simultaneously waiting

for the winter of my utmost discontent to arrive






Copyright March 2019




I’ve Stopped

I don’t want to read anymore

for the wind blows

and the rain falls on hollow ears

I’ve stopped listening to the trees


my skin itches as the ants creep

circumnavigating the house

intent on a mission from gaia or god

I’ve stopped worrying about the ants


a single drop of sweat dances

erratically down my right thigh

it’s the humidity, you know, not the heat

I’ve stopped thinking about climate change


my heart still beats despite the years

sending blood to lost extremities

my gaze has centred somewhere within

I’ve stopped wishing for better days




Copyright March 2019


Beat Down The Devil

the pied piper of despair dances merrily down the lane

dripping with the threat of sex


she can hear the call of inner voices


a sulky little monster tightening its grip with every scream

with a smokey sigh

and horns


it feels so useless to explain or even cry

to beat down the devil before dawn arrives

{too late now you heartless little bastard}


when viewed from behind

the pied piper of despair dances merrily down the lane

as if this dry earth stands in the way of greater things




This is a Found Poem, taking lines from some of my old poems and splicing them together without changing the lines themselves.



Copyright March 2019