30 March 2013



Its cash on the barrel - you’ll get no tick from the man. Every penny will be scrutinized and he’ll get his cut if you end up on Queer Street. You have a billion to one shot at riches and a life of ease. Only the poor fall for that gag. Lotteries are a tax on dreams - desperation is a one way street. Pipe dreams are just enough to keep the poor hanging in there. For the rest of us there are always drugs. The universal panacea bought in dime bags from your local scum bag.

Scum bags get a bad press, but they perform a necessary civic function. They take what little the man has left you – pick the pennies from your pocket, but you let them because you’re a dope on the ropes. Of course there is always the power of prayer, but it’s the power of hard cash that rules this planet. So you may as well store up your treasures in the next world – you’ll only get short changed in this one.


28 March 2013

My Green Mind



Roll me a fat one

My brand of choice

God’s own medicine

Something I can use

To feel the touch

Of a higher power

There is one great truth

There is one great lie

No contradictions here

I embrace them both

Within my green mind


27 March 2013

Dust To Dust


For what it’s worth

Not one hairs breadth

Separates any of us

The best and worst

We are all of us cast

In the imperfect image

Of a mythic god

With our feet of clay

And star filled eyes

Flawed, but glorious

Doomed or redeemed

By indifferent circumstance

Each awaits the same fate


23 March 2013

Infant Song


The past brings no comfort

The future only uncertainty

You sing your infant song

To the succession of tomorrows

You gaze into the chasm

With no sense of wonder

But with shame and regret

That your time on earth

Was not better spent


14 March 2013



There are creatures

Lurking in my sleep

I know them by name

They are old friends


There are visions

Beneath my blankets


Crowd my imagination

Bad omens

Faint hopes

Carving deep tracks

Through my psyche


The syntax

Of the absurd



Impossible structures

Tilt incredibly


This ground is soaked

With innocent blood

Babies wailing

Stray dogs howling

Semaphored black lungs


You must stand - it’s the law

Poor boy

He knew the jury

No chance of acquittal

He’ll serve his time

With no reprieve

No parole

In this prison

Of his own making


9 March 2013

No Harm


In melancholic gloom

Below the visible spectrum

Jealous fingers

Type costly rumours

On sticky keys

Obvious arrangements

Sympathetically bound

To the mother hoard

Supplemented nonsense

Funded by hubris

Their forked tongues

Protest the privilege

Of innocent intention

Soul mimics

And bandaged members

Decoding south

On faulty maps

The muck masked comedy

Of the unthinking pack

Advances declined

Cast wayward stones

The lyric steadily emerging;

The deeper your touch

The higher we fly...

Away from compassing fools

Into the cool clean air

Savoured by those

Who did no harm


8 March 2013

By the still waters


I feel so low

sick to my soul

this is no place

for any man

to be left behind

dragging his heels

on the lonely trail

I’m so weary

of constant struggle

of being hooked

and strung out

on the line

so lay me down

in the tall grass

by the still waters

to loosen my burden

in greener pastures

and set me down easy

to be born again


7 March 2013

The day I died


When I called out

You couldn’t hear

I turned to talk

But you weren’t there

You left the works

But took the gear


How I wept

How I cried

I sent for a priest

But none arrived

Things were rough

The day I died