I was born a bonny zombie baby
It’s the only life I’ve known
But years and moons have passed since then
How I’ve zombie-grown!

Growing up sure ain’t easy
Juicy brains don’t come for free
And there’s no chance those screaming humans
Will ever let me be!

See, I’ve never craved attention
I just want an axe-free life
Somewhere peaceful in the country
Where I can find a loving, kind, decaying wife

I never knew my zombie father
Spent no childhood catching ball
No mother there to catch me
When rotting limbs would fall

And I don’t know if you’ve noticed
But zombie role models are lacking
We’re just used in films to show off
The hero’s muscles as they’re hacking

And don’t you see the irony
In claiming we love brains
Then trying to bash our heads in.
It’s prejudice ingrained!

I don’t wanna fight you.
Set aside your sword.
Quit swinging that bloody baseball bat.
Let’s sit, and have a word.

I know my tongue’s necrotic
But there’s a message ‘neath my growling
If only you would listen, really listen,
We could end this midnight prowling

Our demands are very few:
Just leave us all alone,
In basements, malls or graveyards,
Where we can rot and roam.

We’re the next step in evolution:
These are Darwinian growing pains.
We don’t want to harm you

We just want to eat your brains!





Question, or Nominate?

I attended a friend’s poetry book launch last night, and on the bus home I read of the passing of William G Stewart, a former TV producer and presenter in the UK. He hosted a quiz show, 15-to-1, for many years, in a famously unfussy, non-demonstrative style. I found myself strangely moved by his death, and compelled to write a poem about it, perhaps because of how television – and quiz shows in particular – have changed in the last few years. To me, he is a lost link to a different time.

William Gladstone Stewart,
Or to me just William G;
A remnant from a bygone age
Of simpler TV.

No flannel between questions,
No inconsequential padding.
Just quizzing for the purist
Within a geography teacher’s cladding.

No cheesy catchphrase churned out,
No tearing people down.
A host with quiet dignity,
No need to play the clown.

You reached the final round
Scored the maximum throughout.
From fifteen, to one, your time is done;
Your lights have all gone out.

RIP William G xxx



The Wheel Moves On…

Hi, it’s been a while… everyone good? … The last time I was on here, I was encouraging you to submit poems for a charity anthology, Diverse Verse, organised by Richard aka https://skaggythepoet.wordpress.com/ . Well, I took my own advice, and am now officially a published poet!

Richard invited me along to the launch on Saturday, so I caught the train over to Walsall to join him and a number of friendly, local poets for only my third ever open mic poetry reading… you wouldn’t believe how much preparation I put into a six-minute open mic slot! I’m planning a post on this in the near future. For now, check out Richard’s report on the launch here, and please support the book if you are able: diverse-verse-2-is-launched It was wonderful to finally meet Richard in person – he was exactly as I expected, although taller! He is the first blogger I’ve had the pleasure of meeting offline. Hopefully not the last 🙂

For those kind enough to have asked, I haven’t gone away completely, although it’s fair to say I’ve lost my love for blogging for a host of reasons, not all of which I want to share. I’m still writing, now performing too (!), and intend to be back here with the odd tidbit now and again. Who knows, maybe I’ll even find the “moderation in all things” approach that everyone keeps talking about!


The poet in full-on “action mode”

Banish the Blues – Get Yourself Published!

My friend Richard is putting together a poetry book to raise money for charity, and is putting out a last call for contributions! Entry is completely free. So #banishtheblues , dust off a couple of poems, contribute to a good cause, AND be able to state that you are now published. You can’t go wrong!

(I’ve also submitted a couple of mine, so we could be book-buddies! 🙂 )


I’ve copied below the key rules:

1. All poems must be the author’s own work, please don’t submit something that isn’t yours.

2. Poems are welcome from anyone, anywhere in the world.

3. Please submit no more than two poems

4. Submitted poems must be in arial font in a format free word document. If you are unable to do such then just paste the poems into the body of your email.

5. Poems on any subject and theme are welcome, however sexually explicit poetry and poems with extreme bad language will not be considered.

6. Poems should be no longer than 400 words approx.

7. Previously published poems can be submitted as long as the writer holds the copyright.

8. When submitting poems please include your full name for inclusion in the book’s contents.

9. Email your poems to Diverseverse@aol.co.uk

10. If I receive more poems than I can fit in a reasonably sized book then I shall do one of two things. Firstly I shall endeavour to put at least one of each contributors poems in the book, failing that if there are too many poems I will select my favourites and publish those.

11. The book will be published via Lulu the online publishers.

12. Closing date for submissions is 31 January 2017


A gratuitous bribe

One way to win people over is with the power of your words… another way is bribery… another bit of January fun to #banishtheblues !

Oopsy me, how careless
I don’t know what to say
You said there was no charge…
But I thought I had to pay

So here’s some rhyming chocolate
A piece of poem pie
Left down on a table
With a winking of my eye

And just in case you do not love
Those words what I have wrote
You’ll find beneath this poem
A crisp new ten pound note





Picture credit: flickr.com/photos/dysanovic/197527093




Sleep In Beauty

One way to #banishtheblues is through humour. There are other ways…

My beauty, my love, my heart’s desire,
Curls up beside me, in front of the fire
Sleeping so soundly, peaceful, serene,
Enjoying the deepest and softest of dreams.

I snuggle in behind her, cuddle her tight,
Whisper so gently, what I’d do tonight,
If only she’d wake and kiss me right here
Imagine the sounds those ears would hear…


Picture credit: flickr.com/photos/cuppini/622856689


Then There Was One

To help us all get through the dismal dirtsack we lovingly call January, I’ve started a #banishtheblues hashtag. I’d love it if you joined me! Just write, or draw, or photograph, something light, or fun, or happy, or even joyous… anything to #banishtheblues !

This is another that was written as part of an (unsuccessful) application to join the funeverse, a children’s poetry collective. It was inspired by Jion Sheibani’s sharktastic image of a shark looking hungrily at eight teeny tiny fish…

There’s eight of us, and one of him
No need to feel afraid
If we just stick together,
He’ll need First AND Second Aid!

Oh, we’re down to seven,
Mikey’s wandered off…
He had been feeling peaky,
With that ticklish, wheezy cough

But still, we’re strong at seven!
Err… has anyone seen Jill?
Six is plenty to beat that shark
We’ll not end up like those krill!

There’s six, sorry five, of us
He’ll be quaking in his boots
There’s plenty here to scare him.
No need for new recruits.

Us five will hold the line…
Oops, we’re down to four.
I hope that shark can’t count,
That he isn’t keeping score!

Still, four’s a goodly number…
Now where has Betty gone?
We only need to stick together,
Stay with me, come on!

Three will see us right…
Err… guess it’s just us two
I reckon we’ve got his number,
We’ll take him, me and you!

Simon? Simon? Where’ve you gone?
No time for playing games!
Well, if you want me Sharkey,
You’re going down in flames

What d’you mean you’re full?
I think you’re full of it.
If you won’t face me, coward,
You’d better run off quick!



The Monster of the Swamp

Happy New Year everyone! I say “happy”, but it’s January…
…it’s cold
…it’s wet
…it’s dark most of the time
…we’ve all put on weight over Christmas and are feeling it
…not to mention feeling super-broke…

Time to #banishtheblues !

Don’t torture yourself with resolutions. You’re not going to keep them anyway!

So join me this month with anything light, or funny, or happy, or joyous… anything to #banishtheblues !

To get this started, this bit of fun was written as part of an (unsuccessful) application to join the funeverse, a children’s poetry collective. Inspired by Kate Pankhurst’s wonderful picture

The Monster of the Swamp
Was preparing for her date
She’d spent hours in the mud-bath
And now was running late!

She combed her thick hair gently
So as not to wake her nits
Shaking off the clumps of mud
Which fell away in bits

She put on her monster make-up,
Made from bugs and flies,
Crushing up a beetle
As mascara for her eyes

She picked her favourite perfume
It had a pungent scent.
No matter where she wandered,
You knew just where she went

A heady mix of armpits,
Mixed with cheesy feet
It smelt of rotten swamp slime
And twelve-day rancid meat

To finalise her outfit
She picked a pretty bow
Tied it neatly to her fur
Now it’s time to go!


Picture credit: flickr.com/photos/16643636 (this isn’t the one that inspired this piece, but it’s in similar vein 🙂 )




Twelve Days

My friend Nathalie – https://arwenaragornstar.com/ – challenged me to write something on a theme of birdy vengeance… this is where my mind took it. This is for anyone who wants a non-Christmas post! Warning – not for the faint of heart…

The day the first one showed,
And settled on the sign,
Never thought it was an omen:
I paid it nevermind.

The next day came another.
I thought it rather sweet
That the single lonely raven
Had a friend to share its seat.

On the third day came a third
And on and on it went.
Each day saw another…
And I wondered what it meant.

By the end of day twelve,
Twelve birds sat on the sign.
Brooding there in silence
Waiting there in line.

Each bird would watch me closely
Fix me within its stare.
Not a one did cast a shadow.
My mind screamed out, beware.

They moved as if one creature,
Heads tilt in time as one.
Pecking down in unison
While noise still came there none.

On day thirteen, one left:
It disappeared at night.
I know not when it left
It was gone before daylight.

The remaining flock continued
Their sullen, silent vigil,
As my mind was whirring overtime
To solve this deathly riddle.

What did all this mean?
Did they portent or predict?
Was this mere coincidence,
In a sunny spot they’d picked?

Each day another left
Though I never saw one leave.
The rest continued with their study,
Their study of poor me.

I shut my curtains tight,
Rarely peeking through.
Yet every time they saw me
Each one nodded in my view.

I spurned all food, couldn’t sleep
My mind was always racing
About what these ravens stood for;
What future horrors facing.

Yet on with each day passing
Their numbers shrank still smaller.
I felt some hope returning.
I stood a little taller.

On the day there sat just one,
I sensed I’d passed a test.
I prepared myself a feast,
Enjoyed my first night’s rest.

I slept so long that night,
It was mid-morn when I woke.
I ope’d the curtains wide:
My raven spell had broke!

I ran out of my door,
Danced up and down the street,
So happy then was I…
Till I glanced down at my feet.

For despite the morning sun,
I cast no shadow down.
Where it clearly should have been,
No shadow touched the ground.

I looked up to the sky
And saw them swooping fast
My twelve ravens of judgement
Had weighed and tried my past.

They attacked and pecked as one,
Flaying at my flesh,
Feeding on my eyeballs,
Swallowed while they’re fresh.

They squawked their final verdict
Leaving not a trace
Of flesh or bone in situ:
Only blood now marked the space.

So should you venture from your door
And spy a raven scene,
Count the number carefully,
For now we are thirteen.




Picture credit: flickr.com/photos/srdjanjovanovic/11980047516