Cartoon Princesses – Just Say No

You’ve probably seen those perfect cartoon princesses,
With wardrobes full of glamorous dresses.
That fit elegantly around impossibly thin hips,
While they smile, flashing perfect white teeth and red lips.
Setting standards that are ridiculously high,
Making today’s kids aspire to what parents cannot buy.

I mean what pet shop stocks rabbits that sing?
Where can you find a cheeky snowman who does cute things?
Despite kids pleas you can’t let them live with dwarves in a shack,
Not unless you want social services on your back.
And as for meeting the prince of your dreams
They’re not nearly as common as cartoons make them seem.

So I say sod those perfect cartoon princesses,
Strangers to real life problems and stresses.
Stuck forever in an animated world that isn’t real,
Unable to change, grow or even feel.
Unable to hide away from all the laughter,
As we realise just how fake’s their happily ever after.


Little particles
Landing and
Entering my




Hempen noose in a
tight knot binds
the unnatural blossom
to the old oak.

A foot twitches.

The lynch mob hold their breath.

Origami Swan on the X51

Down where the wet newspapers flop,
all wrinkled like damp skin.

Among the crushed drink cans,
trundling like drunken tortoises.

In the one place angels fear to tread
but where the rest of us place our souls,

Cresting a wave of slopped beer,
bobs a delicately folded swan.

I don’t know whose skilled digits
took the rough paper of their bus ticket,

then sharply folded it
before releasing it into the wild.

All can I do is watch as the beery sea swells,
then wave the swan off on its voyage.

Continuing on my own journey,
still weary and tired but now with a smile.


I really did see an origami swan on the bus, the proof is above in the photo I took on my phone, obviously being a poet I just couldn’t let the moment pass without committing it to paper.


Advice for poets and writers

From the talented Grant Snider

7 Sure Signs you were born a poet

Courtesy of South Bank Poetry’s Facebook page.

I’ve got 99 problems but a Beer Ain’t One.

I’ve drunk a beer from the north, a beer from the south,
A beer so hoppy it exploded in my mouth.
I’ve drunk a beer from the east, a beer from the west,
A beer so strong it put hairs on my chest.
I’ve drunk a beer that just defied description,
Plus a beer so good it should be on prescription.
I’ve drunk a beer I saw advertised on my TV set
And a beer so new it’s got no name yet.
I’ve drunk a beer for which I just didn’t care,
Then I drunk a beer so good I’ll never share.
I love them all, I love them crazily,
I dream of them at night, then drink them all day.
But there’s just one problem I’ll let you in on son,
I’ve drunk 99 beers,but I still can’t find a perfect one.

Guess I’ll just have to drink 99 more…


Dedicated to Walsall Beer Festival where I will be heading shortly

Life imitates poetry

The Day the Wi-fi Crashed –

My Wi-Fi has crashed again, normal service will be resumed ASAP  😀

Poetry 2017

Check out this great poetry blog from a man it seems I have inspired to pick up the pen. I know you’re going to enjoy his work.

pAul B mOrris

Having fallen back in love with poetry, I’m really excited that I’ve rediscovered the desire to try and write it! I owe a lot of this fervor to being incredibly inspired by the excellent poetry of the hugely talented Richard Archer, whom I’m delighted to be acquainted with. I’ve particularly enjoyed his fantastic book, Poems On The Bus and I heartily recommend it’s purchase!

My prolific days of writing poetry were nearly twenty five years ago! Sadly, none of the material I wrote exists anymore and there certainly wasn’t any of it published in any format. I shall not make that mistake again!

I find writing poems to be an incredibly fulfilling creative release and it’s an interesting distraction away from my current story writing, which are predominantly dark fiction and horror based. I enjoy the brief moments of writing poetry and the varied locations I journey to. The…

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I Think My Husband Is A Vampire

A great poem from Marianne Burgess

Marianne Burgess Poetry Blog

I think my husband is a vampire

He never goes to bed,

He stays up watching telly;

Films of horror and blood shed.

And when he thinks I’m sleeping

I hear the front door creak,

And then he goes on walkabout;

Sometimes for a week…

We don’t have any pets now –

They seem to meet a sticky end;

It’s the marks upon their neck

That the vet can’t comprehend…

In our shed there is a coffin

He says he’s trying it for size;

In case he comes a cropper –

Should I hypothesize?

I think my husband is a vampire

His cheeks are lacking colour;

And he may have lost some weight,

He used to look a little fuller.

He says he’s changed his diet

That his taste is more refined –

He now likes a glass of ‘red’

In the evenings to unwind…

He was a vegetarian –

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