Adopt a poet


So if you are allergic to cats,
Or not allowed pets in your flat.
Or don’t want to stroke a goat,
Why not instead adopt a poet?
They are nearly all house trained,
And always willing to entertain.
Often full of deep deep thoughts,
With a heavy brow and posh talk.
They never leave the loo seat up,
Never slurp tea from their cup.
They eat whatever you give them,
And behave like ladies or gentlemen.
Of course they steal all your pens,
But it’s too late to complain by then.
As they’ve also pinched your paper,
For a poem they will write later.
And if they run out of writing material,
They will write anywhere it’s immaterial.
To them that they scrawl on the floor,
Or on your windows or on the door.
And don’t try to take their pens away,
Else they will get angry and say.
You’re a liar and a cheater,
All in perfect iambic pentameter.
What’s that your allergic to poets,
Well wouldn’t you know it.
How sad you can’t give one a home,
I hope it doesn’t have to be put down.


I’m your unbalanced Valentine

Somewhere along the way my Valentine’s Day poem got a little dark.

bloody rose

I’m your unbalanced Valentine
My fist clenched around your rose.
Ignoring the pain of the thorns
While my hand slowly turns red.

I’m your unbalanced Valentine
Who’d love to have a drink with you.
But alcohol interferes with my meds
And clouds my mind with dark thoughts.

I’m your unbalanced Valentine
Who loves to post you romantic gifts.
Now I’ve learnt your home address
When I was stalking you last week.

I’m your unbalanced Valentine
Who loves you so much.
That I’d do anything for you
Like break my restraining order.

I’m your unbalanced Valentine
Unable to rest day or night.
Until we are at last together



Trying to understand love

As it’s nearly Valentine’s day I’m experimenting this week and next week with a “love” poem.


Some search the internet for it,
Others have nothing but regret for it .
Anyone can lose their mind to it,
Sometimes you’re just blind to it.
Prudes are not proud of it,
The perverse get aroused by it.
The grateful nourish a spark of it,
The lost grope in the dark for it.
Weddings are booked on it,
Lovers seem to be hooked on it.
Diamonds are bought for it,
Duels are fought for it.
People are thrilled by it,
Others are killed by it.
Computers try to scan it,
Religions try to ban it.
The bold travel the world for it,
The content don’t care for it.
Some never want a part of it,
Others quietly lose their heart to it.
The hopeful look all around for it,
And many die having never found it.


We are the Robots

I wrote a poem about my commute to work over two years ago, recently I updated it for an anthology but didn’t make the cut so I thought I would share it here.

commuting robot

We are the Robots.

In unison down the city street,
Pavement pounding to the beat.
March the robots the mighty crowd,
Marching steady, heads all bowed.
Robots marching on and off the trains,
Brandishing brollies against the rain.
Robots with I-pods and phones ready,
Marching forward, their pace steady.

And so easily I take my place,
Matching their robotic pace.
My feet so quickly find the rhythm,
Marching forward as if driven.
Because us robots can not stop,
We must march until we drop.
Eternally marching as if cursed
Forever and ever across the earth.

Cake – remixed

Some time ago I wrote a poem about Cake, then I rewrote it for publishing in an anthology, after reading it again today I thought I might as well repost it.



Cake will never let you down
Cake will always be around.
Cake never ever goes out late
Or gets drunk with its mates.
Cake never ever hogs the duvet
Cake always knows what to say.
Cake doesn’t mind your family
Arriving unannounced for tea.
Cake doesn’t pester you for sex
Cake doesn’t care about your ex.
Cake will help you lose weight
And thinks your new shoes are great.
Cake lets you see other cakes
Cake never ever wants “a break.”
Cake will never let you down
Pity there’s not enough to go round.


An ode to my first ever Star Wars action figure.

Death Squad Commander Star Wars Action Figure

I remember how keen my fingers were
To tear you quickly out of your box.
And equip you with your trusty blaster,
Which up the Hoover was soon lost.
Oh Star Wars Death Squad commander
I loved you despite your lack of elbows and knees.
I loved your very stylish hat which is,
Still favoured by Olympic cyclists it seems.
Sadly I couldn’t afford the Death Star,
To give you a base from which to command.
So from an old box the washer came in,
I armed myself with a black felt and a plan.
To transform that mountain of waste card,
Into what I thought for you was a fitting base.
Full of trap doors, exhaust ports and cell blocks,
Plus a trash compactor space.
So when you adventured with Action Man,
Or fought off a LEGO rebel attack.
You defended your cardboard Empire with pride,
But now I find that as I write this and look back.
That I wonder if I’d left you in your packet,
And put you safely away on a shelf.
That today your Ebay value,
Might have paid for a new TV for my house?
But my young hands just wanted to play,
They longed to adventure and create.
And in those simpler times the phrase “ mint in box, “
Just meant to me a delicious After Eight.*


*Just in case you weren’t aware, After Eight’s were tasty minty chocolates that come in a posh looking box.

after eight