When I start to die Wheel me out into the garden, please And lay me on the lawn I’ll want to smell the flowers then Watch the tall grasses sway Above my head, hear the croaking frog And see the blackbird Do battle with the worm. I’ll want to feel the wind And rain on…

An angiogram Is not a stripping police Woman called Angie It is how I spend The first Monday of the rest Of my life. I hope. I have a blockage, Arterial constrictions And a condition. Good thing I complained Before it got serious Said the pessimist. I feel like I am Not a man, but…

The mortal remains Steadfastly remain This morning   Tread firm earth Tentatively Seek new rhythm For the future Make the pace To slow the last years So they scarcely seem To pass at all   The mortal remains Defiantly remain This morning   Write images To draw the day out At the speed of light…

Flakes of thunder snow drumming in my ears. Cold wind stabs me like broccoli spears. People in mufflers with their ‘Happy New Years’. Another winter day that bores me to tears.

Come on everybody, join in – you all know the tune – Christmas time, mistletoe and wine Children all being right little swines Logs on the fire, burn them at the stake, Time for the parents to admit their mistake…. Now my kids and grandkids all know that I love them, but these are the…

I look out of the window. Farage and Trump are jousting on the lawn, seeking to prove their manhood, but it is not going well. They have both landed gasping on the ground like capsized turtles, unable to right themselves under the weight of their armour. All the courtly ladies are laughing historically and throwing…

Remember the fearsome threatening time, before now? Before this new winter. When the world’s end was just a cold snap away? The fanatics all buttoned up in their cocoons, incubating their final outburst. Where was the enemy then? Over the sea, behind the walls, at missile’s reach, and without a specific face. But now? Now…

The earth’s angry core has boiled over and reached the surface. The blue planet has turned the red of a cold sun. Our children endure their pain on its molten spittings like effigies on a bonfire, their latex faces and rubber-gloved hands running and hissing in the heat. Sometimes I wish. I wish a blinding…