Saturday, 6 November 2010


Monday, he squashed a bug;
Tuesday, he stood on a slug;
Wednesday, ran over a frog;
Thursday, he booted a dog;
Friday, he was angry and pissed
and, Saturday, raided a bird’s nest
so on Sunday he needed a rest.

Next day, he fired his PA,
later, he cut someone’s pay,
labeled his daughter a sinner,
ignored his good-wife at a dinner.
On Friday - he got the sack,
something and nothing hit back;
subdued by old Zeus – with a whack!

Friday, 5 November 2010

Birthday Bestower

See a smile
of mirth and mischief
when he leads
his laggard brother
in a march
from car to pub and bar;
a glance suggests how
fun will surely follow.

Track in-step
until he opens up
his arms with cheek
and, like a tuning fork,
stands, vibrates and hullabaloos
‘Happy Birth-day toooo you!!!’

Wednesday, 3 November 2010

Life is for giving

The conch of a cow syncopates my footfall,
a reaching tree overshadows a smaller one,
a farm lights up and winks with power on
and crazy fluffy sheep cluster up against a wall.

My bag bursts open like a circus clown
and I worry like a mother on tomorrow;
my words come clumsy, stuttering and slow;
I scatter all my change, try to smile, but frown.

I drink too much beer and stumble down a stair,
drive too daring and get myself a ticket,
fall off my bike, on my back, in a thicket,
stare at the sky and cannot name one star.

So what? So what? Shall I curl into a ball?
No, God forbid, yes, forgive them all.

Monday, 1 November 2010


When a magical child is born,
tiny fingers reach and curl,
little feet are focused on,
each nail an obvious miracle

and once I saw a family trot
beside a pram with Grandma pushing,
Father held up a parasol
to protect a sleeping tot from heat

and Mother used a large and painted
Japanese fan to keep it cool:
a focused scene of mad control
trundling down a cloudy seaside

street: immutable and soundly safe
as if a human cage protects a soul emerged, a life.

Sunday, 31 October 2010

Eliot suggests

3 things matter:
rage at the mad hatter
in others and your not-so-humble
self - the inevitable tumble
into old age - and our found
habits tracking like a hound
until we grab a chance
and maybe learn to dance.