Friday, 31 January 2020

the tides of time being

sea swimmer with a glimmer of
salt on an itchy scrotum
that looks like a wrinkled prune
under a periwinkle
how on earth did procreation
peregrinate across the seas 
in the warm platitudes
of the worldly i suspect

i can take a selfie
of me writing
about taking a selfie
on my smart phone
now how dumb is that
asking for a friend
who is looking over my shoulder
selfishly photobombing 
collateral damage
caught and tweeted 



across the snow 
  we did not know
yet by the eruption were reminded
that in the setting sun 
  that day my son
our very nature was blindsided

Tuesday, 28 January 2020



where does the sky come from
do the clouds go round and around
is this a flat earth idea
or is there a cloud factory
in a toy land somewhere 

where does the light come from
each and every dawn
does the sun go around
or the earth go around
with this idea around my head
sunset in curlers 
and chubby cheeks of joy

where do the green shoots come from 
springing out of the ground 
as the seasons go around and around
is there a shuttle cock
straight through the earth
and why is birth so full of mirth

and where do babies come from
and why is your tummy now so round
as i run around and around you
asking silly questions
that i know the answers of
but i am not at all sure
if i want a brother or a sister
or a puppy now that you are asking

and where does where come from
asks an empty little head
so full of around and around about it
is time you grew up lad
put all your funny little ideas
upon a bonfire of joyous tears
for it’s time you grew up lad
and be glad you’re no longer glad

Monday, 27 January 2020

global yawning

global yawning

transport need
always an excuse
same old excuse
always a need
same old need
carbon copies
carbon copies
read all about it
cold off the press



‪eternity in a moment‬
‪that is so moving it is congealed‬
‪in a drying pool of dry tears‬
‪that will
that will fall one day 
but not yet‬

Saturday, 25 January 2020

bury me with a book

bury me with a book
deep within a dingle nook
then whisper to the breeze 
do not defame or even
whisper his name
save what the pages
in all of their sadness rages
shaking the tears from the trees
to lay upon a silver brook
to hook his seven seas

Thursday, 23 January 2020

should we lament

should we lament

should we lament
the sperm that didn’t make the womb
or the precious egg
that fell out far too soon 
or the day we went our separate way
and rend our troth pledged to the moon
it was meant to be
it was not you or me
that fell apart down the days

the torso of the earth is often bleak
caves and mountains dark and light
and try as we might
we never found the love we sought
yet bought the time to crave a
love that we could take to our grave

so lament not our gamete games
in gonadotropin trust and beg
that egg will meet sperm
and sperm meet egg
and start all over again

Tuesday, 21 January 2020

walking the works

walking the works

fountains of steam in the cold morning air
the ironwork’s cooling ponds just over there
where the giant reed mace in bobbing refrain
the coot and the moorhen patrol their domain

past the gasometer rusting and well past reprise
and the tyre garage squealing oil black debris 
on across the neath road to raid the abattoir 
for maggots that tempt the trout out the choir

past the swansea vale works leaded and white
in deep culverts of slag speltered in spite
old derelict works with shuttered windows of lore
smiling when the kids of dare daring explore

foxes with golden coats just like the trains
with their names resplendent in dead-end domains
of scrapyards in rusting of green engine livery
and pipes to where god knows where - certainly not me

the dog and the fisherman watch water voles unfold
with trout in the rapids or under the banks to behold
the chickweed carpets rendered in surprise
hooks worms in both pockets diminutive in size

the rod and the reel of adventure fulfilled
noise on the iron works hammered and drilled
no deathly silence broken of late for
the manesment works is now far from great

where the roach and eels from the sargosso sea
caught at the end of the rickety pier by me
smaller and smaller to heol las a stream in demean
with tributaries disappearing into a marsh obscene

secondary-modern llansamlet’s toughest of schools
bullied into being a wooden corridor of fools 
so there our excursion has run to its source
and i return home for dinner of course

hark noah

come in granddad let’s run out
come out granddad let’s run in
come on granddad let’s run and run
hang hang on noah my grandson

do you know how old your granddad is? !!!!

Monday, 20 January 2020

his relatives are relative
as his nuclear family expands
        and he seems to be related 
     to all the people in all the lands
  how thoughts like these do twinkle
when space-time starts to wrinkle 
contemplating his ageing hands
 and relative to a baby’s bum
  this old man understands
what berefts a codger’s
   menial senile smile
shut in a dodger’s 
fluttering eyes 
far too many
light years
he is

Saturday, 18 January 2020

Life the sand between your toes‬

Life the sand between your toes‬
‪That’s how it goes‬
‪The tide comes in‬
The tide goes out‬
‪There’s never a doubt‬
That’s how it goes
That’s how it goes

Thursday, 16 January 2020

the charcoal globe awards

the charcoal globe awards

they no longer believe ya
you Kookaburra
they have what they have
and they’ll burn in hell for the
harvest of what they have sown
what they own you disown at your peril
Canute could not arrest nor 
contest in the heat of the moment
what the extinction movement
could but fleetingly irritate the sleeping
dragon’s breath or draw down
the fire curtain against ego’s nonchalance
even the softest voice warning of doom’s seduction
was stripped like a thistle silent in the scorching wind

Wednesday, 15 January 2020

the storm

the storm 

the storm ate the sea 
dribbling from a spittled mouth that
slid in abandon across a marbled milky floor
sinking beyond the sand into the meadow of a trench 
so deep-dark that neither the moon nor the sun have
ever seen the vents of hell it bore
  so deep that sorrow has been hollowed out
into the gritty hallows in a hag stone’s eye
bereft of the tide’s tears that might have rimed with
salt’s historiography written upon the sands of time 
running out now upon the lonely tides of thought

Tuesday, 14 January 2020



you can’t go out
  you can’t go out
    you just can’t go out
there’s a storm 
  there’s a storm
    there’s an awful storm
i bloody well can 
  i bloody well can 
    i bloody well will
and i did
  didn’t i 
    i just did it

Storm swim

i went for a swim
in a storm with no name
the waves were huge 
there was no one to blame
no one in the sea but me
no one there but me and the sea

Monday, 13 January 2020

global temper hate

global temper hate

turn off the news my muse
let my anger smoulder in ignorance 
of the midnight clock

passed tense

  passed tense 

take the railroad track
foot after foot upon sleeper 
upon frosty sleeper
underfoot understand

  passed the staccato 
of the wagon works
manned by the likely lads
sworn in spit

  passed engine sheds
steamed in oil rags
and blue dungarees 
turntabled in childhood

  passed the signal box
boyed in signal dreams 
the siding’s points slewed
by the long-ironed levers

  passed the frogspawn 
spotted kids with their
jam jars and hopes for
grass snakes in trepidation
of bravado’s flaring eyes

  passed the joiners works
all sawdust and shavings
so clean upon the pine air
and the mortise and tenon 
of childhood and sweethearts 

  passed six pit junction
the biro-smudged train spotting books
the bottomless pit where
stones never arrived
at their expectation 

  past tense
passed tense those wings on heels
flying flying flying
and never landing on the future
that remains fixed in the past
  passed time
    itself passed time itself 

oh my dear lord‬

oh my dear lord‬ 

what royal madness is this‬
‪for on the council house list‬
‪hope is another kingdom‬
‪  oh to be a duke‬ for a day
of wanting for nothing ‬
‪but it never will be - will it‬
‪  oh my dear lord‬

Sunday, 12 January 2020


Don’t forget to visit my daily photoblog

I fraught

i fraught

he aught to be an autodidact 
an autodidact he aught to be 
i fought i taught him 
i fought i learned him 
but he was now an autodidact 
and would not listen to me

Wednesday, 8 January 2020

god the hologram

god the hologram
on a bus from nowhere
for god’s sake ring the bell
for the next stop is 
fucking hell
this isn’t fun anymore

Saturday, 4 January 2020

the moon mountains
always return to the sea
mountain’s moon
they yawn and stretch
even enemies love to stretch 
what stretches their love
feeling down and blue
go up into the dunes
look down on the sea

hyper / hypo

hyper / hypo

‪hammering the nail‬
‪until ‬
‪it comes through to the other side‬
‪and draws all the bloody temper ‬
‪of a squeaking roundabout‬
‪the ups and downs of a seesaw‬
‪one minute‬
‪eyes squinting in the sunshine‬
‪next minute ‬
‪knees in the gravel‬
‪of a crash landing‬

Wednesday, 1 January 2020



pebbles and sand
  working with the sea
    making up the beach
      soaking up our tears
washing away our dreams
      upon lost some
          and lots of so many more

ne’er say ‘tis nonsense no more

ne’er say ‘tis nonsense no more

my pen is sealed
the inks congealed
it’ll ne’er writ no more

they took the time
to steel my rime
it’ll ne’er no mist no more

but there it ‘tis
oh gosh gee wiz
ne’er to be no more no more

so there you go
it’ll ne’er make the richter score
or awake the quake of the crust at the baker’s store

one slice short of a loaf
this poetic oaf
should ne’er writ no more

but the fool he is
he ne’er knows that ‘tis
a bore to yo-yo yore

he gods twitterati 
what’s the matter with the Maserati 
it don’t ne’er motor no more

well there ‘tis
there ‘tis there ‘tis 
say porthcawl and off we go