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Tuesday, November 30, 2010


For We Write Poems


Wake up O-seven O-O

Bathroom, for a number one
Or maybe a number two
Then four minutes in the shower

At forty five Centigrade

Breakfast – bet you can’t eat three
Cup of coffee, zero milk
One sugar… stirred to the left

Twelve paces to the front door

Into my four door saloon
A sixteen hundred cc
Five forward gears, one reverse

Some take the ninety nine bus

Arrive at work eight thirty
Day starts at nine on the dot
Ends at five, or thereabouts

Then back home, to Number Nine

Takeaway dinner tonight
Chinese, number forty two
Pork in green pepper, black beans

Two or three glasses of wine

Then up thirteen stairs, to bed
And I don’t mean forty winks

Morning, back to the grindstone
Five days a week, forty hours
Fifty two weeks every year

Until I reach sixty five…

Then, one day… my number’s up…

Saturday, November 27, 2010


For Writer’s Island prompt #31 2010


Although not American
On this day, especially
I have reason to recall
And reasons to be grateful

Funny how you remember…
(Some things, you just don’t forget)
Must be fifteen years ago
… Seems like only yesterday

You didn’t ask me for it
But I knew you wanted it
You didn’t even say it
But it was clear you meant it

Just an item of clothing
But you folded it, neatly
Tucked it into bed with you
Probably dreamt about it

It was such a privilege
I’m eternally grateful
For having witnessed such an
Expression of gratitude

Thursday, November 25, 2010


For Big Tent Poetry – wordle


Only just awake if truth be known
Still hung-over from last night’s session
Pen in hand, and a freshly inked nib
I check-in my pal, another lush
so the boss won’t know he’s passed out, drunk
We blame the clunk and thud of presses
(and the Coalition Government)
for a condition that resurfaced
when we thought it was under control
We’ve both spent time at de-tox session
Been named, shamed and dragged over the coals
Forklifted from the ash-pit, hand washed
and hung over the boiler, to dry
Still we don’t seem to understand why
the consumption of alcoholic
beverages is prohibited
while operating machinery

Monday, November 22, 2010


For Writers Island #30 2010 – Peerless
And We Write Poems – Swimming
Ans posted to Monday Poetry Train Revisited


Morning, bathed in rays of golden sun

Met her for a sink or swim showdown
Hoping we could pool our resources

Shall we synchronise watches? I try
Should have gone to greater lengths than that
Am I in her thoughts…? Won’t hold my breath

Learn to crawl before you walk; she laughs
That would take a stroke of luck; I think
One of us may have to take a dive
Which will send me right back to square one

Passing on the water; ships – that’s us
In her presence, I’m out of my depth
She’s aloof; Madame’s a butterfly
Floating freestyle through a crowded room
Clutching secrets to her heaving breast