I discarded a book

back to the library it will go

I’ve had enough of power being abused

and the witchfinder general had to go


I need a juicy murder

with meat upon its bones

and twisted lights and livers

with a clear case of comeuppance at the end


not a hint of romance in the plot

for romance is a sour and unnatural thing

used to trap the unwary

and those light of heart and wishful


in a nightmare




Copyright February 2020






13th January

my thoughts, they run

in and out of separate compartments

house reflected in mind


I find the library

books tottering in unread piles

forecast of an adventurous future


soon the rooms will divide

thoughts forced on an avalanche

of ever multiplying possibilities


if only I could grasp them

without ever leaving the house

or indeed, my mind



Copyright January 2020

January 11th + 12th

writing cheap poetry

at the end of a weekend

head stuck in words


juggling stories

voicing adding verisimilitude

to an old favourite


plus all the corpses dressed in tartan


the bears, horses and witches

with all the old gods of hearth

and forest and frost

in deepest darkest, Russia


and so I travelled

in a sweat box

waiting for the cool change


dismayed when only showers

passed by quickly


I was only an acolyte

to showers and whirling clouds

and quick winds which blew away my cobwebs


still leaving the earth thirsty

my head buzzing with stories

and a pen limp in my hand




Copyright January 2020