My Thursday is Missing

Angry men are everywhere

Each day I see them

Taking apart a world

They’re meant to rule by right of birth

Cocksure of their position

Until the day they realise

There is not room at the inn for every man

They might as well be women





He wrote sonnets to his lady

A love declared

For only one to hear


Published for all the world to read

For evermore

For money




Over fifty years ago

My Mum left England

Never looked back

Glad to leave the

Claustrophobic village life

Recently she has begun

To watch Coronation Street

All I hear are moaning Poms

She hears her youth




I flatten out my words for wordpress

Press and press and press

Until I write long and bland

Like a tapeworm

Only less parasitic




Even though grey skies have covered my day

There have been no chance of storms

The differentials between hot and cold

Are just not enough to sustain

Thor’s tantrum

No matter how many times he strikes

His hammer falls on deafly



Copyright June 2013