#trainsontime (a perceived rant)


It was 5 2 9
On the Brighton line
The trains were running
Right on time
The last one that left
That was mine
It left 3 minutes early
And that is a crime
The next one I can get
Is an hour yet
And I shall be late

A stream-of-consciousness poem

Whenever I think

My thoughts drink

And, drunk, with ideas

I weave my words

Upon the page,

And as I write

My hand-written words

My hand-writing becomes

More and more

Undecipherable or

Is that


I know not.


a little musing is no bad thing


How nutty ‘is’ a fruitcake?
Come to that, how fruity is a nutcake – if such a thing exists?
And if it does why have I never heard of one until now?
There are many things in the world
That I have no knowledge of
Which may mean that I am a fool
Or that my brain is ‘full’
And I have no available space
For further information.
Perhaps if I forget something
I may be able to remember something new
Or maybe I shall just know less
I guess I shall find out the answer
To the question
Or maybe I won’t
Who knows?
What was the question again?



This is…
This is not…
This is not a…
This is not a performance…
This is not a performance poem…
Or is it?

Can I perform it
As if it were
Or was?

This is…
This is my…

Geek Chic!


We speak of chic
At least one day a week
And enlightenment seek.

In a fit of pique
We seem unique
But it’s all just Greek.

I feel antique
As my bones do creak
And my future is bleak.

It’s a bit of a cheek
To down the geek
For his puny physique.

And the way he will speak
Of a Klingon’s reek
Or a Phoenix’s beak.

So, shiny, sleek
We are not – ‘we are freak!’
And like a mouse we eek oh so meek!

At my age it’s difficult to undo rappers (or ‘maybe I peaked too soon’)


I’ve got my cap on backwards

I’m one cool dude

I hop and have hips

I got attitude

I may be older

And rarely rude

I’m an adult on the outside

But, under my clothes…

I’m totally…


Puns don’t kill people…


Puns don’t kill people,
People kill puns;
With their bad, timing…
PS … and delivery.