Tag Archives: words

From The Viewpoint of the Garden

From The Viewpoint of the Garden

Leaves and clouds and sky and stuff,

like my words and rhymes

the weather can be rough

or smooth;

and I can either move to the groove

or shelter from the storm

(or the excessively warm)

in the garden

where the pottery of poetry

is often found

by looking skywards

at the ground.


Demon Library: Where Angels Fear To Read

Demon Library: Where Angels Fear To Read

For fools rush in

and knock over a stand,

a floral display, a waste-paper bin;

loiterers loiter (as is their wont)

by the sign shouting “Silence!”

and only returning

from whence they came

at cloning time.

A book upon the Mafia,

once taken out,

remains taken out.

And the crumbs of information

gleaned from the Reference Section

are a scant comfort to readers

far and wide.

Letters #8

Letters #8

What can you make out of letters?


Words of complaint,

bold enough to make you feint

this way and that;

thrust, parry, Jerusalem Larry;

creative types straight from the font,

you make them do what you want

and curse them when they won’t –

because often they don’t;

you can’t alter their wont,

they’re not yours alone,

and though you try to atone,

I’d give it up for Lent,

if you know what is meant

by a life more or less well spent.

Words don’t come easy

peasy, lemon drizzle cake.

Out of letters come my words,

please make of them what you will


‘Everything up north is monochrome’

‘Everything up north is monochrome’

‘Everything up north is monochrome’

I was told this by a chappie who lives there;

‘It’s all black and white,

but we like it, alright;

and it helps us to sleep well through t’ night.

Though… ‘ he said, having thought on a bit,

‘If we are the claret and blue loyal…’

and here his argument fell into pieces,

‘Dang! I’d have got away with saying it, if it hadn’t have been for those darn meeces!’

It was there that I realised

he had mixed up his kids’ TV references,

and I left the conversation at that.

#Letters 4

#Letters 4

I don’t have letters after my name,

nor bailiffs after my goods and chattels;

I am solely to blame

for any skirmishes and battles

that I have entered into

with the dubious intention

of staking my claim

to the wealth of a nation;

and I have ‘never’ liaised with the Devil;

though, to give him his due,

he has ‘never’ ‘ever’ asked me to.

I don’t receive many letters

with my name emblazoned

upon the envelope;

I live in hope,

not literally, but laterally,

and how long is a piece of rope?

What is there left when all soap is gone?

Why do rhetorical questions matter so little to me;

the former? The latter?

the letter of the law is unsure upon this point,

and, so, I anoint myself with the moisture of sweat,

or, better yet,

a lack of physical and mental debt.

We are ‘all’ living in a material world,

and I am a material;

well, maybe knot.

My D.I.G.N.I.T.Y.

becomes less ev’ry day.

PS Good Luck with the above.




make the words

that make the sentences

that make the words go round

the world.

And I bet,

that an alphabet

is better at aiding that

than a black cravat.

Which is kinda weird;

but, as I’ve said before,

it’s what I do.

The Lonely Words in the Woods.

The Lonely Words in the Woods.

I must go down to the words today,

the lonely words in the wood;

the ones that just aren’t used enough;

and not because

they are no good;

but, because they are so shy;

and no one goes to visit them,

and if someone does, they cry.

The words all hide

amongst the trees,

they keep themselves unspoken;

solitude is the thing they crave,

a silence likened to the grave,

or a morning quite unbroken.

I must just go,

to see they’re safe,

check they haven’t wilted;

for they had worth

in better days

before their use was stilted.

I must go down to the words today,

the lonely words in the wood.