Flamingo Dance of the Stinky Prawns

the pink flamingo

staked in a pot of orange birds of paradise

has stolen my real name

my hidden magical name

the source of all my imaginary powers

together we dance the steps of give and take

waltz around the garden in full sunlight

breathe in the fishy aroma of regurgitated prawns

the sun beats down

the prawns stink high

we dance and dance as day goes by

we dance right on into the night

as midnight nears the dance goes wild

with curried prawns and fishy lies

we dance around now in a pack

rows of flamingos back to back

we are the pinkest of the pink

kicking our heels up in the stink

as the sun rises I look around

and realise something quite profound

I have a split personality

for all these flamingos are just me




Copyright April 2014






The Frustrating Weight of Walls

I talk to the walls

Long conversations

Concerning bricks and mortar

The affect of coloured paint

We ponder the significance

Of all those nails

Banged inexpertly

With a toffee hammer

And a shaky outlook

Things hung

Sacrificial works

And photographs

All the clocks clashing tick tock

In time with the low heartbeat

Of walls expiring

In the humidity

Sometimes I’ve wanted to bang my head against these walls

My head a hammer blow

Knocking through the plaster

Blood and bone

Our sawdust mixing

Into termite stew



Copyright March 2014


If the world was great for me
If I used my logic more sanely
Then maybe I would be more understood
By those who look down upon my twisted thoughts
With such obvious disdain

There is an internal logic to the way I approach my life
I know exactly why I stopped taking those pills
I wanted to see what would happen
I was just checking
A scientific study in fact
To see whether I needed them in the first place

Makes sense to me

I’m anaemic because I don’t eat meat
Vit D deficient because I avoid the sun
Mr. Doctor Man do not tut
I live in a hut!
{I don’t really but I do tell tall tales}

I think my life is the price I pay
For looking at the world in an upside down way
So that’s what I’ll tell the Psychiatrist
Between my tears and a tightly clenched fist

Copyright February 2014

The Poetry of Coward Words

Inside the skin and bone
Fat I sit
Curled around myself
I cannot see
You cannot see
Oh these lies I do believe

Run away on winged feet
Leaving the skull door ajar
Stomping boots in unison
March March March
Left Left Left Left Left
Present arms!
Shoot the whispering doom

As poetry hides
Shivering in hopeful forgotten corners
Unwilling to contribute
To the new brain order
Amassed images of future fear
All sing together
About nothing in particular

The past beats itself to pulp
Fiction strangles reality
As a petechial haemorrhage of thought
Draws blood monsters in the dark

Why don’t you just die……BITCH!!


The door shuts
Snapping umbilical chords

Cremated from within
They run out of ammunition

The poetry of coward words
Wins the war again

Copyright February 2014