Be Kind

Cruel words launched Behind lit screens. In anonymity, you don’t Hear the screams, As the hate and bile You spew in haste Makes others feel They’re just a waste.   Do you not care? Or see? Or know? How each barb and taunt Just drags them low And scars and wounds Their fractured soul. Is…

A Rubbish Poem #09

Darkness dies revealing Drabness in morning’s wake. Undercoat skies grieve, greyly weeping Unsettling drops of hard, cold sorrow.   Dreams wither to shades and Dampen while reality folds her smothering mantle Upon the fading cheers of a new year, Usurping expectations. But, look, there, in the   Distance, hope glows weakly. Down the lane, advances…

A Rubbish Poem #08

My final “Rubbish Poem” of the year. Happy New Year to all. Beware The Beast.   Ohseventhirtythree On the last morn of the Year, The bins out in the streets Packed deep with excess festive Cheer.   It’s cold outside, In here, it’s Warm, Safe inside, ignorant, we Await the coming of the Storm.  …

A Rubbish Poem #07

They’re here, Lights flashing, Hi-Viz loading All the trash in- To the belly of The Beast For her weekly Roadside feast On all the debris Left outside of The houses on Each street. Where in piles stacked So very neat, The Beast Devours each tasty treat Left in cans and Inside jars, And in boxes…

The regular.

My wife has a 7pm meet at a local pub. “What’ll you do while I’m out?” I think. “I’ll come. Have a pint and wait. Read my book.” It’s a ten-minute walk to the pub; it’s old fashioned, tired. The main bar and a side room are lit, a pool room and one other room…

Six Across The Pond

*I wrote this poem towards the end of fourteen days onboard Cunard’s Queen Mary II on a Trans-Atlantic crossing from Southampton to New York and back again. It was a marvellous two weeks and we met some lovely people. People who inspired the following. Don’t fret about just getting there, On hitting all your goals….

A Rubbish Poem #06

Hark! Hear her squawk, hear her screech As The Beast backs down the street. Glowing orange, flash and blink, She chases winter’s night to ground. Marching beside, solemn in their duty, The Hi-Viz Herald her descent.   Hark! Hear her groan, hear her grind As she feasts, gorging on the Offerings roadside left behind. Satiated,…

When Saturday Comes.

I wrote this poem on March 3rd, 2017. It was only two-and-a-half years ago but, with my recent loss of identity with Bradford City, and my love for the club – fast approaching forty years now – it seems a lifetime ago.   When Saturday comes and the sun burns high From up in a…

A Rubbish Poem #05

Day dawns bright, skies on fire, Night retreating on a funeral pyre. A resurgent sun flames new light, Holds firm against the black of night. The cold, the dark, both slip away Revealing in their wake a chill Tuesday.   Emerging now from the dying gloom, Adorned in tabards bright as a nuclear bloom. Their…

Capital Crime – New Voices Award 2019

It was late last night when I saw the tweet. And it was a nanosecond after that I leapt from my chair and fist-pumped. There may have been a shouted exclamation too. Nominee. . . sounds good, doesn’t it? And, in a double whammy, the title I voted for, “The Last Bird”, made it onto…

Capital Crime – New Voices Award

During the course of last week, I submitted the opening three chapters of my WIP (work in progress), “The Kerning”, to the Capital Crime New Voices Award. Voting for this award closed at midnight last night. I now eagerly await to hear if I have made the shortlist. The winner will be announced at the opening night…

A Rubbish Poem #04.

Perched high atop the lumbering beast, he oversees The weekly feast, As down below, in dirty streets, his Hi-Viz crew Prepare the treats That the behemoth Chomps and chews and gnaws.   He watches as yellow vests feed the beast from kerb and step and from Drives left gated. With the weekly wastes choicest morsels….