Pistons pumping
Purposely proud
The excitement
Of the station crowd
The fireman loading
Shovels of black
Steam hissing
The crowd stand back.
The whistle
The flag
Mighty wheels turn
The steam train powers.
The anthracite burn.
Transported to a bigon time
Where steam was king
Of the railway line.

Harold the musician

Harry was having lessons
On the piano from his mum.
She was teaching fingering
From little finger to thumb.

He kept on asking questions
To fuel his hungry mind
But if he had listened
Understanding he would find.

Shhh said his mother
And listened to my instruction
Then you’ll get to play
Rather than my wrath and your destruction.

A valuable lesson learnt
The important thought lingers
The piano wasn’t for him
As he didn’t have enough fingers.

Different perspectives

It may take longer for me to get there

But I will because my will is strong.

I love and laugh like everyone

And cry when things go wrong.

I may take my happy meal apart

And eat in a different way

But see from my perspective

I play in a different way.

You may not get me

And my uniquely individual mind

But when you know me

A wonderful boy you find.

I’m not a condition

Or stereotyped facts

I’m an individual. Pleased to meet you.

My name is Max!


Bitter freezing gnawing claws

Like cold deaths merciless sickle

Hunting vulnerable prey

Who’s abandoned street beds lay.

Clinging to hope for warmth has gone

Banished in societies Street.

Singular alone invisible to sight

Clinging to a diminished fight.

Sapped of humanities warmth

Cast out, forgotten, forlorn.

Not even worth our scorn.

Where is the warmth was it even known.

Destitute abandoned alone.


Dedicated to a very special man. You know who you are baaa.


Ivor was a talented sheep
Singing from a lamb
He didn’t follow the rest
As he didn’t give a damn
His blessed bleating voice
Found him fabulous fame
And saved him many a time
From the harvesters flame
Ivor sang the West End
And Broadway in the US
The audience loved him
With his singing he did bless.
Then after the hight of fame
After he was at the top
He got older
And felt he had to stop.
He started to listen to critics
Who Ivor they would slam
The papers blasted saying…
He was mutton dressed as lamb.
But Ivor’s last performance
Was gawaddiod in Aberdare
And he sang to the best he could
And didn’t give a care.
After that Ivor disappeared
Vanished without a trace
However in aberdare can be seen
A fox with smile apon his face.

Guns guns gun

Guns guns guns we need more guns

To protect us from the bad man

Who towards us runs

I know he is the bad man

Because he’s not like me

I’ll just fire a warning shot

To make the bad man flee.

Guns guns guns we need our teachers armed

Then from the bad man I’ll

Keep my students from harm.

There he is pointing the gun at me

I shoot and fire there can be no


I stop the bad old man and watch the mirror break.

Poetry in motion

Old and New, contemporary or not.
Restricted predictive rhyming, or not.
Can I speak words that are true
Whilst rigidly rhyming stuck like steel.
Dichotomy, paradoxically, contrary veiw.
Can the poet say something new ?
Or expressive reflective profound profuse,
The executioner word Smith tightens the noose.
To end with a word that completes the rhyme.
A question to answer
If I only had longer.

Ain’t that the truth

The king has got his robes on
Processing through his land
People bow and stare
At his noble stand

None dare speak a word
Each thinking same thought
But they think in isolation
No confirmation sought

Welcomed with fanfare
As boldly he marches in
Then suddenly as a boy spoke
And heard the drop of pin
A boy with innocent wisdom
The Kings face a Scarlet rose
Spoke through the detritus
PROCLAIMED, he ain’t wearing no clothes


Where do I really stand?

Would I switch off my phone

To listen to a friend in need?

Would I give money to a homeless man,

To momentarily feed?

Would I welcome a friend home?

Who’s in need of a hearty meal?

Would I give my child my heart?

To embrace them and warmth to feel.

Would my last wage I give,

To loved one in dire debt?

Would I give my material all

When nothing back I’d get?

Would I give life;

For a brother or a friend?

Knowing your last act

be your very end?

And would I give my life

For a stranger from danger to save?

And act of complete selflessness

Some say foolish others brave.

As the choices get more difficult Where’s your line in the sand?

Be provoked to think

Where do I really stand?

Tender shoots

The tender shoots of spring approach

The winter ebbs away

Welcome the warmer beams

Of sunshine in a longer day.

Winter you were cruel

Like a tyrants masters whip

We politely bid you farewell

As into welcome spring we slip.

Little Max

Little max in the bath I put
Down the plug hole he put his foot
The water filled and there he stayed
As water filled as he played

Higher and higher the water rose
Caused by his little stuck toes
Over the side the water ran
Now daddy has given max a ban.

No more to bath that naughty tike
Out of the bath and on your bike
However with that cheeky smile
How could one not like
Go on run it again you cheeky tike



Irrational thought of manipulative foe
Parasitic, riding where’er you go
Bleed your life dry
To exhaustion lie
Zapping good will
To point of your will

Break the vicious cycle
And stand for yourself
Toxicity be gone
And the haters shelf

Remember your good to no one
If you become the shadow of your man.
It’s OK to think of yourself
And to the pathogens give no damn.

Remember those who love you
Who’s thoughts are your best path.
And if the parasitic foes continue.
In sympathy offer a laugh.


The little man

There was a little man
Who lived in a little house
Who’s love of cheese
Caused him, to befriend a little mouse.
They laughed and joked and discussed things
From politics to sport
They were both a little partial
To cheese and a little port.
Happy and contented
They lived a happy life
They chatted by the fire
Far from grief and strife.
Then one day the little mouse
Said to the little man.
“do you have any regrets to share?”
“Only one” he replied.
“would you care for me to share?”
“please do” said the very little mouse
As he listened with intent
And snuggled into the little man
And inquisitively his head, he lent.
The little man took off his spectacles
And took a long drawn breath
“It’s a story of love and life” said he
“and a very tragic death”
“When I was young
A child of little years
My father told me stories
That would calm my little fears.
I’d listened hard
and listened true
To every word of my fathers voice
Would listened stuck like glue.
He prepared me for the path ahead
Firm and planted in his stead
Stories to teach me for this life
Stories to help me through the strife
And prepared me did he
For all my years
Through happy days
To days of tears
For my stability
I have him to praise
For he has given me
Happy days ”
The little mouse
hitched up his head
And to the little man
He said.
” well that is lovely
Why have regret
Your dad allowed you
A good life to set”

The little man with tear in eye
Holding back trying not to cry
Said “I loved my dad”
“He gave me much
And forever
I will feel his touch.

But I regret one thing alone
One thing I don’t condone
He loved me and told me everything day
But it’s not a compliment I repay
I wish I told him when I had the chance
And that he could see how he made me dance.
If you feel it express it when you can
Because you never know when you’ll miss that man. ”

I love you said the little mouse
To the little man in the little house
I love you too he said in reply
To the little mouse who on his shoulder lie.

And they Sat there by the fire bright
And continued to chat into the night.

The working man 

The working man

Hands of tarnished black

That yield the anthracite vein.

Carrying heavy history

Of passion blood and pain.

And yet a song so emotional

With brother a harmonic throng

In the deepness of the valley

Is born a poets song.

For chiseled in the darkness

The sound of hope and light.

And the anguish colliers passion

With hwyl and gusto bright.

Out of the pits of comrades

One hears the engine sound.

The heart of a choir

The family underground.

Black Friday 

Black Friday

Black Friday black Friday
What does it say
Sanity lost
As the cash we pay

Sell sell sell
Get what I can
Attack the old lady
The selfish man

What is our ethos
What about us does it say
As we forget our humanity
As prices we pay

What about family
And things about love
Kindness and peace
Lick branch of the dove

Want want want
What do really need
Black Friday consumes us
As we fuel the greed

What if we invested
In family and friends
And reflect on our wrongs
With foes make amends.

Blackness darkness
Devours the soul
The blackest Friday
In deepest dark hole.

An anti Christmas carol
Where we forget the old tale
Let’s assess our priority
And at Christmas not fail

What’s worth more?
A material thing?
Or to reach out to each other
And with brothers to sing.

Forget all the wealth
And open your sight
Forget black Friday
And turn it white.


Remote control where are you?
Hidden in some obvious hole

The control fairies

Achieve their goal
Frustration set

And search in on.

Blaming everyone

Where’s it gone.
Unsettled now

Can’t let it be

You look in the fridge

But won’t touch the TV.
The principle it there

It called a remote

Getting angry

At your TV’s gloat
I will not turn over

By touching that box

The bloody remote

Will me, not fox
Then at last that

The frustration pass

The remote control

Was under your ass. 

Word Smith 

Word Smith 
Words so powerful

The sharpness of swords

Or blunt and pounding

Like hammer yielding hoards

They can lift you high 

Or break you down 

Evoke a smile 

Or conjure a frown 

Stick and stones they say

Can break your bone

But names will never harm 

Say that to the bullied teen alone 

Say it to the depressed

Or anorexic girl 

Or fat body boy

Who words they hurl 

Words have power

To set one free 

Or from life to hide

And make you flee. 

I give you the choice 

As smiths of words

On anvil of speech 

To forge the swords

A sword for truth

Cutting away the wrong

Or swords of hate

Creating an evil song. 

You are the custodians

With your undecided speech 

To curse or bless

With words you reach. 

The insomniac 

Oh sleep where art tho

Tiredness my friend

Sleep a long lost acquaintance

Tiredness, friendship to the end.

The ticking clock

Never to stop,

The silent bed

Where you flop.


You can count to infinity

Awakeness and tiredness

A forceful synergy

Then it happens

Your final sleeping calm

The absence of consciousness

Then the abrupt reality alarm.

​Rainbow through the clouds

(Dedicated to the cotswold youth singers) 
Dare to hope

And dare to be, 

Different to what

Ignorant people see
Don’t lose your passion

While those around you frown

Press on and upwards.

Don’t let the haters get you down.
For when you’re young

Dare to dream.

Be the cat,

That’s got the cream.
Buck the trend.

Challenge oppression

But do it with love

And no aggression.
So in a world,

That’s lost it’s way

Remember these words

This is your day.
And whilst there are acts

of horrific crime.

Take note,

Of these words in rhyme.
You are our tomorrow

And our today.

Through your hope

Let your music play.
Sing of rainbows

Through troubled clouds.

Sing to the hopeless

Gathered crowds.
And let not,

Any sadness linger.

For you are the voice of hope

A Cotswold Youth Singer.

If I was born 

If I was born 
If I were born in a land not like here

Or far away in country not my own

What would I see? what would I hear? 

Would I have friends or be very alone. 

If I knew not peace and only war

And domination was the rule of law

Would I be the same old me

Would I still be filled with bigotry 

If my plight were different 

My privilege gone

Would I be me

Or would I see the wrong. 

If my life were threatened 

And horrors were my life

Would my morals go

Would I pick up the knife. 

But I sit and watch the idiot box

Safe from harm with no Brain engage

Spouting opinion 

With total rage

Damn immigrants 

Coming here it’s hell 

You know what I’d say

Go home I would tell………. 

Stop stop stop again

Is not your life

A lottery gift

Where you were born

A chaotic shift 

What if you were born

In a different place

Somewhere far

A different race. 

Wales Germany China Iraq 

Would you still

The same opinions bark. 

Are we not on one whole earth

Why because you were born in one part 

You get more worth 

When a child dies in foreign field

No different level of pain does a parent yield. 

What is race but a dividing line

Would I be more attuned to pine 

One race I see when it comes to birth

All the same, human race, born on earth. 


The world did end

And the sky did fall 

The sun burnt up

Gone was life, mankind and all. 

But that wasn’t the thing that made me cry

That all life was gone and mankind did die. 

My great lament and tear filled eyes did rub

The saddest depth was the shutting of my favourite pub

Social media share

Social media share

Please share this emotive message
Or type a big amen
It’s one of those manipulative posts
That get people again and again
The message behind the message
Is not one of love
It’s about how many shares can I get
And not about anyone above.
For is there a social media god
That only to likes responds
Who won’t act to save a child
Until one million he con’s
Wake up its about the advertising
Or vanity at its worst
Don’t believe the shit
If you don’t share you will be cursed.
And remember before you share it
Ask. Could this be true?
For what harm could it do?
Even if it’s a load of poo?
Well what if I took a photo?
Of an innocent man
And placed the caption
Post and share please
Because this cretin broke into my van.
Post and share post and share
Cos if you don’t… Means you don’t care.
And you will lose all you hair!!
Hold on I’m bald already.
Then the penny drops with all its might
It’s just Facebook bollocks
And a load of shite.

The gardener 

Tending green shoot

Nurture them grow

To hight of hight

From low so low

A bit of sun

A bit or rain

Are you the gardiner

That grows in vain

Your blessed weeds

That look so fine

Not those flowers

For which you pine

Green fingered dichotomy

More metropolitan son

Try as you might

With your little spray gun.

Effort and trying

Give him his due

Another failed season

£300 to B&Q.


Thank you brother 

Your life laid down

Rest in piece 

Servant of crown

Your precious life

We weep

Brother now you sleep

Safe from harm did keep 

Fellow brother of the thin blue line

A Bobby’s life

A Bobby’s life

He walked the street
And pounded the beat
Where did it take you
With black booted feet?

You started so young
A journey with rain
From naivety close
To innocence lost lane

What things you did see?
Not to be unseen
Some thought you hero
Others thought mean

A uniform only
Emotionally inert
No one saw
The inside hurt

Apart from your loved ones
And children perhaps
And close friends and colleagues
With strain when you collapse

The road is so long
And baggage picked up
Where do you store it
When you fill up your cup

You didn’t do this!
You you didn’t do that!
They didn’t see you
Under the tall Bobby’s hat.

When you made the difference
To that lost lonely child,
And dealt this the rapist
And paperwork you filed

For it is more than a uniform
Oh servant of the crown
When after that fatal
You’re called back to town

Haven’t you got better things?
Is constantly said
You may be right
But you can’t see in my head

And when it’s all over
At home in the calm.
You don’t see my cupboard
With lots of citalopram.

So when you next see the bobby
Walking the street
He’s been down many roads
With his blacked booted feet.

The drunken undress


The drunken undress.

You climb the stairs
Stumbling up to top.
You realise you left the light on down
But you’re to pissed to stop.
The bedroom door, you crash through
Without control it swings so fast
All the shit behind the door
Across the bedroom it is cast.
Then comes the unbuttoning ceremony
The blighters are stuck tight
And you wobble unstable
And with your trousers fight.
A pop and ping
And drunken sing
The battle for the trousers win.
Then comes that pivot
Trousers half way down
Youve still got your shoes on clown.!
This is the point you tumble down
And there half clothed do stay.
Sparked out until the day.
And in the morning
Head in a vice
It wasn’t the drink that made me feel like this
It was last night’s curry and rice.

All the presidents horses


Trumpity dumpidy
Said he would build a great wall
And threatened great big things
Like North Korea would fall
The start of a joke
Funny at first
Reality strikes
And realities worst
Fake news, good news
Propagandas best
Is this happening
A world wide test.
Laughing no more
Not a laugh or sound
The most powerful man
The button
Has found
A ring of gobels
With words about jews
A modern parallel
In Mexican news.
Don’t say nothing
When surrounded by foes
Champion the little boy
Pointing out
The emperors new clothes
Tell a lie often enough
They’ll start to believe
If this gains momentum
Where us will it leave?
Never compromise morality
For a powerful lie
For if we do
That’s when many will die!

The performance

The performance

Tick tock time goes by
To quickly to that place
You know where I mean?
Where in reflection we face.
Looking back
Thinking where has it gone
Thinking what music I made
If life were a song.
Was it a ballad
Or Opera or lament
A musical or concerto
My life what song was sent
If I was the performer
And my life a stage
Were the audience blessed
Or filled with rage
When the curtains
Are about to fall
Did I perform to the best
Or fall short and stall.
And when it’s all over
And critics write reviews
Did I win
Or did I lose.