If a Sausage Roll doesn’t have meat it’s still a Sausage Roll


The newspapers are screaming that it’s the apocalypse and the end of days,
“Society is crumbling,” the man on breakfast TV says.
The internet has gone in to complete meltdown,
The doomsday clock’s on the last minute of its countdown.
The nightly news broadcasts. ” We’re now at Def Con One,
Adding, ” if we don’t act quickly everything we love will be gone.”
Outside you can see rioters burning cars on the street,
All because now you can buy a sausage roll that has no meat.

 

Yes the UK now has a Vegan sausage roll and its causing some people a problem, read more here.

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Happy New year Poetry, We’ve Survived Another Twelve Months


Happy New year Poetry
It’s not been a bad twelve months has it?
Remember how it began when
I updated my Facebook status to
Richard Archer is
in a relationship with Poetry.
We we’re inseparable
pub, cinema, bus, work, everywhere.
People stared, some smiled,
others whispered,
“This can’t last, he’s embarrassing himself,
remember last year.”
I’d heard it all before so
didn’t pay much attention as
I’d taken you to the pub to meet my mates,
who grinned, raised a pint and told us
how pleased they were that we were back together.
Yes back together.

Because poetry for me and you it wasn’t
always rhythm and rapture and rhyme and romance.
We’ve spent more time apart than together.
Times when I’d often jolt awake
reaching for you, not realising you’d gone
until I’d shaken the dreams from my head.
Then for the rest of the day I wouldn’t
be able to focus, wondering what
you were doing or who you were with.
Because you left me without a word,
so I took all we had made together
and burnt it.
While telling myself
This
Was
It.

Then I won’t forget when I woke up
the next day, I found
you curled around me
and you looked up at me
smiled and placed a pen in my hand.
It was just like we had never been apart
as we started all over again.

Krampus


Krampus

As the winter snow falls gently down,
There’s a unholy sound carried on the breeze.
Something wicked this way comes,
You tremble with the feeling of impending unease.

Coming closer is the sound of metal clinking
Accompanied by an ominous heavy tread.
There, did you catch that brutish laughter?
Did you glimpse those eyes of fiery red?

Meet Krampus the malevolent bastard of Christmas,
He doesn’t bring presents he brings terror tonight.
Children scream as by their window Krampus stalks past,
As the monster is truly a hideous sight.

The beast’s matted hair is brown and black,
He walks quickly on twisted hooves.
On his misshapen head grow deformed goat horns,
While between cracked teeth his lecherous tongue drools.

Krampus’ huge warty hands carry,
Chains to thrash all the misbehaving children well.
On his back he bears an old rusty bath tub,
In which he drowns the naughty then washes them down to hell.

Now hold that thought of Krampus being evil,
Hold your thought that he’s a truly nasty soul.
Did you know some folks adore Krampus,
If the strange truth be told.

These folks have made Krampus a celebrity,
He’s the figurehead of a vast empire
Of Krampus related merchandise,
That children and adults at Christmas all desire.

You can now buy Krampus action figures,
Or purchase Krampus t-shirts and masks.
You can dress your partner up as Krampus,
But let’s move quickly on from that.

It seems to me that Krampus has gone from being nasty,
To being a multi-media celebrity icon.
He now truly represents the dark side of Christmas,
But I can see what is really going on.

There’s a new streak to Krampus’ evil,
It’s that what makes me really afraid.
As now rather than drown me and then send me to hell,
He’ll keep me alive because there’s money to be made.

 

 

Christmas Shopping Disaster


On the first day of Christmas I was
surprised to receive in the post…

Twelve best of Drum and Bass CDs,
Eleven vaping pipes,
Ten LEGO models of the House of Lords,
Nine ladies tasteless Christmas jumpers,
Eight Maid Marian cosplay outfits,
Seven boxes of Swan filter tips,
Six Wild Geese DVDs,
Five Ex- Ratners gold rings
Four calling bird ring tones
Three roasted French hens
Two Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle Doves and
A signed photo of Alan Partridge.

That’s the last time I do the Christmas shopping on Amazon when I’m drunk.

 

Train Wreck


Monday hits you with the force of a runaway train,
Tuesday you get up only to be crushed back down again,
Wednesday starts quietly then sneakily stabs you in the back,
Thursday feels like a full-blown heart attack,
Friday you crawl towards the light at the tunnels end,
Saturday you let your broken brain try to mend,
Sunday you brace yourself for it to start all over again.

Heart of Steel, Feet of Clay


Sometimes the world thinks you’re made of steel, when really it’s just clay
and you chip and crack a little more and more each day.
You’ve kept a lot of secrets but never kept a single promise,
as it’s easy to lie to everyone when to yourself you’re never honest.

My new poetry book “A Pigeon Among the Cats” is now available


After a lot of hard work my new poetry collection “A Pigeon Among the Cats,” is now finished and out in the world, flying free. Published by Pretty Tattered Soul Press run by the fantastic Paul B Morris the book can be found on Amazon right now.

The UK version can be found here, paperback or Kindle

The US version can be found here, paperback or Kindle

Here’s the title poem from the book….

Some days I feel like a neurotic pigeon,
pecking out a meagre existence,
surviving on my dumb luck alone
in a world full of cats.
I constantly walk on eggshells,
while all around me the
sleek fat chic pad confidently by,
their lips curled in sneers or snarls.

I’m an endangered species
with no defence except
my novelty value.
Which is no real protection for a neurotic pigeon
whose dumb luck could run out at any time,
constantly scrabbling to exist
in a world full of cats.
A pigeon who realises that his problem is
he’s that bloody stupid he’s forgotten he’s got wings.

 

Keep Going


You dragged yourself through last week and now it’s starting all over again,
It’s another Monday and you wake to your alarm’s incessant cry of pain.
You vaguely recall another weekend that flew by much too fast,
So you force yourself out of bed when your brain is begging you to crash.
Stumbling around your flat in the gloom and cold,
Your body complaining of aches and pains, you feel prematurely old.
Slumped in your untidy kitchen you eat your toast alone,
As you summon up the will to get up and leave your home.
Setting off to the bus dragging your feet,
Kicking at the dead leaves clogging the street.
The wind is like an icy fist punching you in the face,
You feel like a conscientious objector to the human race.
Hoping if you make it to the end of the week they’ll be a solution
Then maybe, just maybe to your problems they’ll be some resolution.
But buried deep within you is the thought that this isn’t true,
This will yet again be just another week of surviving as you.
And the only real goal for which you feel you should strive,
Is trying to make it to the end of another week alive.

Taking the Plunge


When I finally worked up the courage
to take the plunge and ask you out,
I felt as lost as a diver
plummeting to the bottom of the inky sea.
Buffeted by currents
I panicked about what I’d fallen in to.
Until you pulled my helpless body
to the surface where
I floundered gasping for oxygen
as you pounded on my chest and
started my heart beating again.

Change can’t come too soon


I met a homeless man while I walked home through town last week,
I listened while he told me of his daily struggle to survive on the street.
I heard how he lost his job, his house, his family and his dignity,
Now he’s just one more lost soul in this soulless city.
He said he didn’t know any easy fix or change this country could try,
And as I parted company with him I realised that neither did I.