Last Christmas

With apologies to George Michael…

Last Christmas, I gave you my heart
You bought me a Lynx deodorant gift set from Boots, £4.99.

I’m not a materialist
But that feels a little one-sided to me.

I don’t even like Lynx.



Merry Christmas!



Halloween HORROR!

Happy Halloween everyone! The poem below carries a huge health warning…once read, it cannot be unread. The images it will leave you with cannot be wiped (a score of witnesses will testify to this)… If you are easily offended, or have any ounce of self-respect, taste or decency, DO NOT READ ON! You have been warned!

It started as a joke
Then grew into a dare
It *may* have been the alcohol
When I agreed to wear
the mankini

Now, for those who do not know,
A mankini’s quite the thing
(Picture me in a posing pouch
Pulled up tight with bright green string)

My abs are long since absent
The six pack’s more a barrel
And without getting into fat shaming
There’s too much padding in this saddle

the mankini
…It barely hides my wedding tackle
But bares the rest for all
All this hairy flesh, all this…
And an unmanly spread of balls

You see, I’ll never be a swordsman
No Don Juan legendary lover.
If your body’s a lethal weapon,
I’m more like Danny Glover.

But a dare’s a dare and that’s that
You’ve got to live by a code.
Well, you’ve got to tell yourself something
When your ass cheeks are on show…

So, a distinctive Halloween outfit…
But it’s not easy trick or treating
On a cold, dark night in autumn
With cock and balls retreating!


I Met Her In A Graveyard

This is the second in what will inevitably form a Halloween trilogy, concluding tomorrow… I am going to perform these poems, with others, at my first ever poetry performance (excluding open mics) this weekend. Wish me luck!

I met her in a graveyard
On a dark and stormy night.
Wrapped in blackest midnight
She was something of a sight.

Her skin was pale as moonlight.
She’d dark circles round her eyes.
Her countenance was serious :
Quite incapable of surprise.

Her long black skirt hid her feet,
She seemed to glide across the ground.
Made no mark upon the floor,
Moved without a sound.

She made a beeline for me,
As I was drawn to her.
Mesmerised by each other,
Quite forgetting who we were.

Neither dared to touch the other,
To break this moonlit spell.
This eeriest enchantment
That makes two hearts compel.

Standing, still not touching,
We danced upon the mist,
The tangled trail of eddies,
The only evidence of our tryst.

Our bodies now moved closer,
I moved in for a kiss…

But I fell and passed right through her
Denied that mortal bliss.

For though I was but the ghost
In a delicious irony
I fell so hard in love with her
It’s her that haunted

So if you’re sat there lonely now
Sad, and praying for a date
Remember well this poem’s words:
It’s never too late
It’s never too late



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!




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:




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:


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: (this isn’t the one that inspired this piece, but it’s in similar vein 🙂 )




Twelve Days

My friend Nathalie – – 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: