Imperial Thoughts

back and forth the argument goes

she could follow the thread if she wanted to

but her mind drifts on other thoughts

of sunny endless times

and 26 inch waists

{she wonders when she stopped mentally translating imperial into metric}

she thinks of diets and books

and who in their right mind would pay $32,000 for a dress

{skewed priorities}

when it could buy a whole library of adventures

she thinks on landlords and a quick buck

of people trapped in life

and burning infernos

she tunes back in for a moment

only to realise the argument

has tied itself in knots

it could take years to unravel

{keep them occupied for the rest of the term}

she sidles back within

has a cup of tea and a chat

with the various demons who have taken up residence

in her mind over the years

“give a man an inch and he’ll take a mile” she thinks to herself

{mentally translating the measurements into centimetres}

before picking up a book

and escaping for a while

into fantasies



Copyright June 2017



I Don’t Know why

I don’t know why
It’s a teary kind of day
A day for wallowing
And following paths of thought
Down darkened tracks
Of times once lived
To the crossroads
Where strangers meet
And even stranger beings
Beat tales of woe on tightened drums
And creatures dance a dance of sorrow
Whilst fluttering their tattered wings


Copyright January 2017

Sweet Suicide of Life

those sweet thoughts

give in to all the pressures

and the complicated rituals of man

oh! the ending makes me smile

as if, one day, it will all make sense

and I’ll be free to leave or stay

at the moment I barely cope

pulled along from day to day by time


if I do the same things everyday

then all shall be well for now

at least that’s what I tell myself

as I force my ever weary limbs

from bed to bathroom to sanity

out there is the madhouse

in here under the cocoon of humidity

I can track the many morons far

seize upon their greed and selfishness

and tut at their desperate need

to see themselves reflected back


as for me, it all becomes too much

so I hide between the pages of another life

waiting for an abrupt end of my own making

I come from a long line of melancholia



copyright December 2016






An Alice picture by Salvador Dali



I’ll make a note of that

I think to myself and my pen

immediately becoming distracted

by tantalising glimpses of other lives

a little out of reach

forever running parallel

and beyond that another

and another and another and another

an endless me

living countless lives

over and over and over

all slightly different

from the neighbouring one

and the me that neighbours that

I wonder if Alice knew the theory

of parallel universes

or perhaps she was obsessed with string



Copyright November 2016