Sunday, 30 December 2012

On The Rocks

Is nice
In a drink, I think
But not when it’s in your heart
It was warm
At the start
But since the problems arose-n
Your ventricles
All your tentacles
And your unmentionables
Seem frozen.

Thursday, 20 September 2012

Washing Up

I’m at the business end of you
It might be blue
But I quite like the view
It’s true
And since September, as far as I remember
It ain’t been fun for my gun and this ember
That burns still
A pill I can’t extinguish as it adds to my anguish
Like foes where I can’t turn up their toes
And vanquish
I’ll buy some Vanish
Wash you out of my downstairs hair
And dance like Lionel Blair on your grave
But save
The memories of your tits
Just the good bits
In fits
And starts
Like a painter who paints a picture
In the dark arts
I’ll play darts on your face
Hit the bullshit
But shield my cards, chase the ace
With no trace
Of the tear lines
Or parking fines
On double yellows, with violins and cellos that sound great
Even in the gutter, like the butter that’s gone out of date
It’s not runny
But it tastes funny
Like when you lick money
Or broken bricks from a wall
If only I’d been tall
And you hadn’t foxed me
And boxed me in a corner
Because I now box clever with my new pecs
And flex till I stink
Or drink so I don’t think
When I’m stood at the sink
In pink
Marigolds to stop burns
Returns with held receipts
Deceits, shelled out on bed sheets
At the dead
Of the red wine
Where there’s a sign that I don’t want to face
It’s like the plates, my best mates
Probably scheming

But luckily I’m still not dreaming

About you.

Saturday, 12 May 2012


When the butter hits the heat of the crumpet
do you think it screams?
Do you think it dreams
of being back in the fridge
on the ridge
just before
the door?

I adore
the taste as it melts
through tightened belts
and honeycombed holes
Salty, naughty,
salinating our souls.

Sometimes I have it in rolls.

And when it drips
like a golden shower
its power
draws me
to mop up the bits.

Some say it’ll give me a heart attack,
knifed to the edges of a crackers crack.
Like yellow porn
on sweetcorn
or an embarrassing rash
in mash.

Friday, 2 March 2012

There's No Such Thing As A Free Lunch

I stole some pickle from work
I’m such a berk
I could get sacked
Backed and cracked.
It’s just the sandwich at hand
Was so bland
It needed a lift.

So do I.

And what’s more I took too much
I spoiled the feast
The hardened form of milk
In Tesco’s Value
Medium sliced yeast

Infection, is what it felt like
And on reflection
I wasn’t really needy
Just greedy.

But now I must eat the evidence of the deed

Sunday, 19 February 2012

Car Trouble

There’s an anxiety
Within me
When I’m driving my old car
As I change gear, I fear
That it won’t get me far
That through engine procrastination
My destination
Will not be reached
My optimism, breached
And the temperature gauge raised.

I once praised
Her reliability
Until she overheated.

I felt cheated.

I could almost taste the battery acid
I was flaccid
And no longer placid.

I filled her up
Like two girls, one cup
Right to the brim.

It was win-win
Until she died again
And I got a new head gasket.

Thursday, 5 January 2012

Cheesy Love Poem

I rated
The things you did with cheese
When you grated
Over lasagne for your guests
And your breasts, for me.

I made goals
Elaborate plans that my hands
Tried to clutch.
But I fumbled
And Danish Blue, like you
I crumbled.

Parmesan is hard
Like your heart
And from the start I knew this
But still I remember a softness
More like brie
To me.

I may have been addicted
But then you predicted I would be.
I indulged in a Red Leicester’s delights
But it festers
This feeling within me
And with dread I now tread

I know these lines might seem cheesy
And you’ll think that it’s easy, and there’s better I can do
But as my tongue slinks around a feta
I thinks
Define ‘better’
Cheese is just a meta_phor
And I’m better for
Tasting all that life has to offer.

Well not all.
Some bits take the biscuit
And when you feel beaten
Are better left

Wednesday, 4 January 2012

Body Language

(poem about body dysmorphia for mental health charity's advertising competition)

A sad little piggy
I sit in my pen
I’m nothing like Barbie
(But you’re nothing like Ken)
I nose you seen me
I felt you looking
I’m dieting again
So there’s no point cooking.
It’s funny
I spoke to a bloke by the Tyne

I said I feel ugly
He said I look fine.

Clean Living

(poem about OCD for mental health charity's advertising competition)

I implore
You don’t keep score
Of the times I wash my hands.
No-one understands
That it’s better to be safe than sorry.
Because recklessness kills
Like the wheels of a lorry
It causes infection
And on reflection
Even after fifteen times
On bleach-scrubbed fingers
Society’s stigma
Still lingers.

The Leaf That Knows It Will Fall

I am the dust on a sandy beach
The tear that drips in a rolling wave
The gentle voice by a nuclear bomb
And the kiss in a storm that shakes while you sleep.

I am the Polaroid that fades
The flower that wilts and the ear that bends
I am the tree you lean against
I am the floor of the Sistine Chapel.

I am the sky beyond the fireworks
The thirteenth brick in the seventeenth wall
The match that’s damp, a car with no petrol
I am the leaf that knows it will fall.

Resting In Pieces

Lying in this hammock gives me time to think
That living with you is what drove me to drink.

The butterfly knows when he goes to his trunk
That you and your ways are what made me a drunk.

Asleep on the side, take a leaf from his book
But don’t judge the cover, my lover, my crook.

The shade in your shadow and green round the gills
With ringside seats as my body distils.

Down the ravine where our hope used to flicker
You didn’t like cars but you drove me to liquor.

The house, it stands empty. Well you got your wish
Your eating was plenty; I drank like a fish.

The cowbells that follow me down to the borders
They used to sound sweet, now they call for last orders.

In a field of sunlight between two pines
I swing here and sample South African wines.

The droppings of horses are calling my bluff
When one is too many and ten’s not enough.

They’re so last year, these blazing stones
Like our love that was golden, now I’m soaked to my bones.

Leaning back as the dark comes on
With the droop of my eyelids, soon I’ll be gone.

The evening is pleading my spirit to stay
But it’s all your fault at the end of the day.

A chicken hawk floats too close to the gun
A shot in the darkness, down in one.

A tipple, a triple, I’ll drink to his life
Now wasted, I tasted, the edge of a knife.

The pain and the sorrow, she finally ceases
I drink ‘til I’m drunk and I’m resting in pieces.

Cheese At Bedtime

I'm eating cheese though it's just before bed
For experimentation, to mess with my head
I wonder if cream can cause you to dream?

I'll just have a biscuit instead.

Football Is A Bit Like Love

Football is a bit like love
It often breaks your heart
You get a funny feeling in your stomach
At the start.
It activates your brain the same
Where hopes and dreams reside.
I saw a chance to score with you
But I’d drifted offside.

They both illicit a notion of emotion.
I was wracked with fatigue, you were out of my league
But there’s always a chance of promotion.

Exorcising Demons

I'll raise a glass to you, and him
Even though you're both not here
And I won't complain that it's not champagne
I prefer a nice cold beer.
It's ice-cold like your heart in fact
And as it slips down my vocal tract
I hope he gives you fun
And makes you happy
Preceded by 'un'.
You know by now
This really shouldn't be a surprise
You're my demons
You need some exorcise.

Without You

I miss your kiss and your tender embrace
Your hips, your lips, all the bits of your face
The dark whirlpools that draw me in
It's like hitting the jackpot when there's nothing to win
Like finding a penny and losing a pound
I'm a chicken without giblets
When you're not around
I'm a donkey without rides on Blackpool beach
I'm a tag-team wrestler
Just out of reach
I'm a bird without wings
Or a beak or a head
Or a body or legs
I'm basically dead
Without you.

Dog Poetry

You pulled me in the park with those puppy dog eyes
An incisor smile under starry skies
With the brush of your tail like a breeze in the night
And a bully-boy-bark that was worse than its bite.

We danced in the daisies, I followed your lead
A mongrel like me and a pedigree breed
Let off the leash from my Battersea jail
I said “if you want me I’ll be chasing your tail”.

Caught in your claws you dissolved all my fears
Time stood still like I’d known you for dog-years
Thanks for the walkies and the lick of your bone
But Rover, it’s over,
I’ve a fella back home.

What can I say? I’m a bitch.

Cheese On Toast

You’re the girl I love the most
But you’re not quite as lovely as cheese on toast.
You're not quite as tasty
You’re not quite as hot
And for all that you cost me
I could eat quite a lot.

Body Language 2

My heart is broken
And so are my legs
My eyes, they cry
Like soft-boiled eggs.
My limbs have slimmed through under eating
You’re always so cold
Let’s turn up the heating.

You know that I only have eyes for you
I’ll put them in a parcel and seal it with glue.
Deliver them personally, not with a stamp.
I’d chase you forever
But you’ve given me cramp.

My lungs and kidneys are tired and lonely
My ears can’t hear, not that you ever phone me.
A knock-out girl left me sprawled on the deck.
I’m the thorn in your side.
You’re a pain in the neck.

My Mistress

(poem about agoraphobia for mental health charity's advertising competition)

My mistress is fickle
She’ll weave her tangled web
And then leave me
In a pickle.
She waits by the door
Like a dormant volcano
I can’t complain though
As she stretches my stomach till it snaps on a rack

But I only want to go to the shops and back.

Man Or Mouse (Or Salmon)

I'm always vexed
How I look at my phone for a text
From you.

Well anyone will do
But especially you.

Because…you know what for
And I'm sorry if I'm becoming a bore
But you still do those funny things to me in my stomach

So that I have to look

On Face_book

And work out your cryptic clues.
Because every mountain is a molehill if you wear the right shoes.

I'm a mouse who feels like shit
Because he's realised the cheese he dreamt about
Isn’t really worth it.

The cat's there
He's got the cream.

I'm a salmon in your jaws
Why'd you lead me upstream?

Tuesday, 3 January 2012


Is neither short
Nor bread.

But it tastes so ace
It laces your head.

As sweet as a pretty girl laying in flowers

I’ll tweet it
You can’t beat it
I could eat it for hours.

But too much of a good thing can make you sick

Just like my love for you
Get a bucket, quick.

Toilet Duck

There’s a stuffed toy duck on my parent’s toilet
Big eyes
Orange beak

A freak.

But looking worn
A toy all mild
No child
No purpose

But I suppose

He hasn’t paid his bill.

I’ve finished my wee now
I’ve a little more time
And a rhyme
To kill.