Art Trading Card experiment. A bit of fun.

Arnold wasn’t much of a name, but it was the one his novelist had dreamt up for him. It was a mug’s name, no two ways about it, and he wanted out from under its influence. Trouble is, you can’t just ignore these things, or refuse to answer to them, because that won’t make them…

I strayed here on a pathway of words, where others had walked before. I stamped on their vocabulary and punctuation, seeking to find a meaning of my own, but the path was worn deep with many footsteps. I struggled to stray beyond its confines, found myself foundering in the well-trodden mud, but myself and his…

The eel fisherman Paddles his flat-bottomed boat Between the tall reeds Funnelling himself Into his life, while his prey Glides towards a trap In fatalistic Innocence, silent victim Of an unfair fight To which it has not Been challenged. Nor can the man Escape this channel.

Sometimes, when conventional treatments seem not to be working, there remains no alternative but to seek more esoteric advice. Well, I’ve been ingesting high-dosage chemicals for three weeks now, and yet it feels like every night a storm comes and throws another beachload of shingles at the side of my head. So the time came…

‘Scum!’ they called me, parumpapumpum But it’s not my fault, you see, parumpapumpum I blame my dad for me, parumpapumpum Him and my mum. For making me scum. Sing it in the bath for Christmas.

  Ah! The campervan life! The freedom of the open road. The freedom to have a blow-out on the A1, to injure your back fighting with sleep on a narrow bunk that tips towards the floor. A floor soaking with dog drool and the spillings of his water bowl, which has capsized during the night…

They told you it was a meteor shower You gazed at that bleak night But you observed a cloud of chemicals Falling to earth like ice on fire, Come to vaporise your muse, A cloud you could not see past To the apparition of yourself Standing on the other side.

    Sing me no metaphors of the sacred heart. Do not imagine that here lies love Or the seat of the eternal soul. Do not tell me of the spiritual ache Housed within, or the thrill of the bounding beat That cries of your innermost sufferings And ecstasies.   Sing me no metaphors of…