Big Twin



Everything Here



Monte Cervino



A Poem about my friend Renny


Wet Morning




Happy Birthday



There’s a bee on the doorstep

its been there for days

next to the bottle that was put out last night

for the milkman.

But it’s not really a doorstep

it’s just the place outside the front door.


I thought it was alive

when I said to my girlfriend

look! there’s a bee on the doorstep!

She said ‘I know.

It’s been there for days



Big Twin

The evening cools as the big twin coughs and spits through town. My nostrils flare as I sense

derestricted dry tarmac ahead climbing to unsuspecting bends.


builds with my pulse.

The tail-light in front disappears on the line

I focus beyond where the road disappears

and hedgerows blur on the speed limit sign.

A bend to assess,

an impending ess.

Front end skip.

Delimiting grip.

Brief anti-gravity,

on the limits

of sense and sanity.




A billion individual cells aspire for portions

I need my head seeing to. My condition worsens

pumped full of chemicals and poor advice

he really can’t care; he’s seen how many lives?

school playground, in the bogs or by the gate

Another kid who just wants to be like his mate,

Fight competition as they age and cancer catches,

Spread through urban populations by schools and matches.

Individual success breeds collective sorrow

Will this sound like nonsense tomorrow?

I’ll brush up on the grammar and the rhyming

But the human being will still be sliding



He reminds me of my cat


he acts aloof at times,


He has good manners,


basks in the sun,


and at night when all is calm,

curls up intimately with me.



Everything here is a constant reminder of you.

You have shared this settee, this bed, this bath,

you have held that knife, fork and spoon,

you have trod these boards, stripped these walls,

you have stirred this pan and me.


Every room here carries a poignant echo of you.

You have sat here, lain there, stood everywhere,

you once touched this, that and the other.

You have climbed these stairs, closed this door,

you have drawn these curtains and me.


Every blade of grass has been touched by you.

You have cut this lawn, this hedge, this bush.

You have smelt that shrub, flower and bloom.

You have mended this fence, erected this shed,

you have left this tree to die and me.


Every dream I have is consumed by you.

You touch my every thought, every wish, every hope.

You hold me, touch and smell me.

You walk with me, climb with me, mend me.

You stir me, draw me and let me live.




Stuffed full, glutton

Exclusive club

detest you moderates

no kitsch grub


mobile factory

Ingest in excess!

sated, saturated,

BIG is best!


convert to fats,

distribute globally

fast as a tractor -

Next Day Delivery


subcutaneous stockpiles,

bangers and mash

voluptuous curves

a strategic stash


inflate to flatulence,

stuff the tyre,

and in ripe old age

make the pallbearers perspire!




I saunter past it every day,

yet still I can’t recall the way

it sits there on the grey footpath,

until once more I wander past.


I wish they’d move it out of sight,

as every morning, every night,

it’s caught the corner of my eye

and made me turn as I walk by.


And then I realise too late,

as soon as gesticulate,

that someone at the window pane

has seen me looking once again.


I must admit adulterous thoughts;

sub-conscious curious imports.

But one night soon I’ll steal around

and exorcise my troubled ground...



Monte Cervino


Her shyness belies her presence

like a wraith or a beast of prey

invisible yet overwhelming

'neath swathes of spume and grey


Thousands defiled by hundreds’

base instinct to mark their way

drawn by the call of the dead

that dared to tempt affray





high up in the sparce yellow ceiling

a canopy, way out of reach,

as intangible as a tumbleweed,

the hemps creak and groan without speech.


The smell of the freshly cut grass,

the warmth of light on my limbs,

the smell of a bourgeoning summer,

the light fresh scent of the soothing winds


the seat and the limb of my comforting swing

stimulate subtle emotion.

Akin to relief from nefarious thought

as the speed of ascension caresses my skin


I rush through the light cooling air from the beech

but yield to the solace of trees

the peak of effortless flight azure summer,

drawn in to the welcoming breeze


Bouyant, quickening, infinite unconscious

enveloped by sensuous sense

away down below the vermillion lawn

disappearing to inconsequence.



Ode to Tim


Tim is slim

his legs are like a pin

his hair like string.

His brother is Kim

I like Kim and Tim

and tonic and gin

and vodka and Pimms.

His face can be grim

in the gym

or in a quim

he puts Vim

round the rim

of the toilet tin

on a whim.

My friend Tim.



A poem about my friend, Renny.

Renny long,

Renny strong,

Renny long and strong,

Girls love


Not Peter, no.

Peter, wet nose, fluffy feet,

Peter dong long,

Peter dong long pong,

Dong! Gong! What pong!

Pong! Yuk!

No not Renny,

He no dong pong,

Just dong long,

Wet feet, fluffy nose,

Girls love,


Renny long,

Renny strong.



West Pier


West Pier rose up, yet defiant, from the sea -

greater than its impending doom.

This proud glass crustacean supported by vast, decaying, skeletal legs,

broken windows staring out like sightless eyes above its tormented foe.

Ghosts of past lives move beyond its staccato railings,

ignorant of the rotting boards;

children gazing from upstairs windows...



Wet Morning

Sometimes I watch the raindrops bumble along the bonnet

towards the windscreen

like liquid mercury.

When I slow they roll forward

to the precipice

and the wind blows them onto flailing wiper blades



I will never

'larf' in the 'barth'

get up in the morning with a dewy complexion

have kempt hair

drink Pimms

understand politics

have been to public school

be completely free from my past

give up on life

give up hope.


I will always

'laff' in the bath

look shite at 6.30am

have wiggy hair

drink lager and cheap red wine

understand justice

be willing to learn

have skeletons in the cupboard

move on and learn

love you.



River Wyre

I start in the mountains

After falling from the sky,

I slowly slip down

Passing the mountains as I go by.

I start a little river

And the wind is blowing past

I go down a weir

After a while,

I reach Stannah at last. <

I'm getting a bit wider,

Salty too.

Now I'm starting to meander

Winding through.

I go into Fleetwood,

Reaching the sea.

Flowing around

so merrily.

I don't hurt

Or do any harm.

I am never angry

Just very calm.

But now you'll have to

Say goodbye to me.

For now I'm joining

The Irish sea.



The Legend of Xanathwaite.


In Slaidburn did Xanathwaite a pleasure stile erect

A bivouac inside, a greateth orange glow

The soul of man so brilliant shining

upwards of forty thousand through the earth

the cumulus above did glare angry

and he stood on the heaving ground

and in unrelinquished cry saith




and with that he died, and windy it grew

'til herds of racing shetlands,

across the sky they flew.

His tree atop the naked hill it thrashed

as driving stinging rain horizontal lashed

a crack! report! a rifle shot,

a dying bark! it broke apart,

left not a single twig -

a gargantuan trunk atop a bleeding pig.


And now 'tis quiet, no sound breaks the water cloak

and nowt atop the calvous hill

shows seal or proof of Xanathwaite

'cept a single bard, and here I sit

neath the angry sky, with pen and spit.



Happy Birthday.


Happy Birthday my sparkling Bro

I know to China you had to go

But for those of us you left behind

This is of the most terrible grind

The sun glints and we force a smile

And I know you’ve just been gone a while

I tell myself it’s by design

But the brightest things have lost their shine

And so your distance fills my gloom

For selfish reasons you can assume

But my happiness can fill the planet

That my brilliant Bro is made like granite

Great soft strength, selfless, catches the light…

How long have you got? This could take all night!

The older he gets

The taller he seems

I look up to him and all his schemes

I count my luck – one after another

I’m the luckiest sod to have you as a brother