Senses #1

I see flowers starting to bloom lifting their heads from the winter gloom.
I see the river running so free, life force of nature for you and me.
I see children running and playing with glee, from morning to night then in for their tea.

I see lovers on a park bench, kissing and cuddling, their hands in a clench, gazing into each other’s eyes, pure thoughts and sometimes lies.
I hear a dog bark from a far, and the backfire of a car.
I smell the diesel and fresh cut grass, as I walk along the path.
I close my eyes and see nothing but dark, nothing to love not even a spark.

Open my eyes and mind to see what has changed, all the colours of life are back here again.

Shadow Land

When I am alone, in the crowd, I feel the black dog come down from the shadow land. It’s shadow moves with slight of hand, doesn’t leave a foot print in the sand.

Depression grips and rips and tares, when the shadow land comes to bare, to cloak you in fear and anxiety, never leaving you to just be. The shadow land is in your head, where awful things happen and you always dread. Shadow lands, where no one is friendly and won’t hold your hands. Where deep fear is cast along the ground and hurt lays all around, where hearts never mend and dreams bend and the shadow land never ends.

The medication drops and the alcohol pops to hide you from the shadow land. No one sees, no one hears you are the one with the keys. On your knees a broken man in the shadow lands.

My Fat Boy

fat boyTurning the grip thumbs clad in leather to give them grip. Roar of the hog as the valves open, my Fat Boy heading for the open road. Sleek and black with gleaming chrome, seat laid back engine throbbing and starting to groan. Iron horse, my trusted steed leaves the smog of the town at good speed

Out on the vast open road, this iconic hog hauling its load, pounding the highway on empty roads. Rider clad leather and jeans the mirrored sunglasses look so mean. Cut off waist coat and tea shirt give way to heavy tattoos to suit. Bandana covers half my face, people are scared when we roll up to their place.

Wind and rain in my face, pick up the pace, the hog glides along with beauty and grace. With gleaming chrome and engine drone the Fat Boy takes me a long way from home. Wheels turning exhaust burning, see the yearning on the faces we meet.

Rider and steed, cow boys in need, on the open road the feeling that can’t be beat. me and my Fat Boy look so neat, my iron horse with its leather seat.

Shadow of Doom



In the dark and desolate land, I felt someone take my hand. I shuddered and my heart quickened as their grip on me thickened. I’m rooted to the spot turning cold from hot. Shadows engulf me, darkening the night, they left me wondering, as I could not fight. Fear was here and I dare not peer at your face, I’m just rooted in this one place.

Pull me forward with a start, beats missing from my heart. Walk me to the valley of death, an ill wind blows like your breath. In the valley of skeletons and skulls the fear and pain will finally annul, vailing me in your cloak, squeezing me tight, while I choke.

The world is black and the end is near, why did you bring me here? no light is present and this is not pleasant, all I can see is the moon’s crescent. Then as the life ebbs out of me, suddenly, you make me see.

For I will return not as an angel but as the devil, ready to devour and to dishevel. This is the end of the angel in me, now I have Satan riding with me, watching death and destruction with glee. The horsemen of the apocalypse and one of them is me.

Riding my mount with great speed, of the earth I must feed. Destroying with waves from the sea, fire and brimstone set light to the trees, death and destruction for all to see what happens when you mess with Satan and me.



No MPs just candidates peddling their lies and messages of hate, now the election has a date when we all go to rate. Will they buy bombs, or give money to moms? Will they look after the old or just leave them out in the cold.

They all say their words but some are absurd, when they win they pretend we never heard. Promises made and then reneged, social class becomes a farce, when politicians get paid so vast. The gap is massive but we stay passive and let them rule the roost.

War on the world and war on the poor while they keep money sitting off shore. Money is their driving force not people of course, they would sooner you walk than have a car of course.

Low tax and no tax hacks, yet they charge us more to fund their wars. who is paying for this pain? the usual people they are all the same, they want to make you feel ashamed. what about people who moved to Spain, what have they got to gain? will they move home again as their money takes a drain.

Pushing Through


Pushing through for me and you, making tunnels in what we do, clean the house, polish a shoe all done for me and you. Watching out for the dew on the grass, time to raise another glass. Walking along hand in hand wanting to be in nether land.

Having a dream that we are a team, sit in the bath to keep us clean. Never explaining what we mean by love, like a glove that fits so snug it never comes off, however much you pull and tug. Nights by the fire on the rug wrapped in a blanket all nice and snug.

Staying awake all night long wondering what went wrong, why we were together for so long; on the radio our favourite song, we used to dance to it on nights gone. We thought we were so strong, how could we get it so wrong? Then all of a sudden, it is gone, no heart, no love, no song.


​Power of Waves

I like walking on the beach watching the tide amble it’s way in, filling rock pools and breaching sand castle walls, as it fizzes and bubbles and crawls. The coldness of the sea make calf’s go tight and feet sink into the soft sand below. The sea advances with no stopping jumping and hopping as it raises it’s game twice a day it plays the same. 

Waves get larger and stronger white tips across the rabid sprawl as they hit the sea wall. Spray flying into the air dampening any who dare. Then comes another wave and the water flare.  Crashing on rocks and groins and piers, sound of whooshing in the ears. 

Cold mist forms, the sea fret roles in land.  So thick you can’t see your hand. The mighty force takes its natural course.  

Then the tide starts to turn the fret recedes and the sun starts to burn as the sea is on the turn. Dragging it’s treasures back down deep rubbish and shells it wants to keep. Deposits stones and crabs and shells as the sea slowly back swells. White peaks fade to a foam, drawing down the beach all the way home. 

The sand is wet and cold where the sea took hold and rock pools glisten so bold. Seaweed and kelp lay on the shore like the aftermath of dragons at war. Then come the bathers the children and more and seagulls still happily saw above the newly replenished shore. 

The sea goes back to its place,  gently washing the sand with all its grace. Trickling back  with every reach showing off more of its nice clean beach. No trace of the immense power that was there the last hour. 


apacheA big wind fills the sky dropping out of the storms eye, dust cloud to shroud, ready to deploy its lethal crowd. Down goes the ramp to start the decamp, thirty men fresh out of camp. Out they go to and froe; left and right into the night covering the arcs in case of a fire fight.

Heads down and up goes the storm, big wind lifts to the skies, clouds of dust, sting the eyes. Night goggles down its green all around, now they can see the role of the ground. Up on their feet, they start to move out, talking in sign, no need to shout.

Then comes the crack of enemy fire, a large explosion from a trip wire. Everyone’s down returning fire, movement up ahead, five hundred men wanting to fill them with led. Grenades and rockets crash to the ground bullets are seen whizzing around. The enemy is to big they have brought to few men for this gig. The order is given to give ground, back they start running, boots and hearts pound.

Every man running into the night trying to avoid capture they know their plight. Into ditches left and right, zero sights for the impending fire fight. The radio operator gets on the wire asking headquarters to send some hell fire. One by one the bodies fall then comes the deadliest sound of all. Click, click the ammunition is spent and in the enemy hardly a dent. More and more the enemies might, hammers at the men on the run in the night.

Up goes the order to stand and fight they know this would be their last night. Fix bayonets prepare to charge eyes wide open the battle is large. Next comes the order to engage the enemy, 30 angry men with fire in their belly, charge. One by one they are cut down, the last man falls as he reaches the crown of the hill, to the noise of the apache ready to kill.

The apache strafes with all its might, hellfire missiles light up the night, Hundreds of soldiers run with fright but no one is safe from Satan’s might. It comes in for another pass sweeping the grass left to right. Then the ground becomes still, off goes the apache back over the hill, back to base with news of their kill. Graves are dug and bodies tagged and put in the ground small wooden crosses lay all around this killing ground.




That sensation of falling sends you sprawling, head spinning cold sweat, floor met. Staggering , bouncing off the walls, walking down the hall. Shut your eyes hoping it subsides.

Sit up quick before you are sick, call out grab me quick I’m falling. Fullness in the ears this could last for years.

Empty shell living hell, no aura, no taste, no smell just the dizzy spells. I’ve felt like this on a night out but it was alcohol before.

Now, I’m sober liable to keel over. Then nausea and sick, ears not feeling so thick. Hearing damaged further ravaged. Oh how I wish the room would not turn, my stomach churns and with my lack of hearing I discern.


Media tells us you sit around all day on your ass lambasted cos you are a subclass. No real value no real worth why were you put on this earth. You don’t work you are seen as a jerk no right to live to be, to survive seen as a skive why are you alive. 

You did not choose to be in that chair, fate put you there, people stop and stare glad they are not there. Why should they care they have not been there. They think they know the pain, think it’s all a game and you are lame. Society would sooner embrace fame while for the subclass nothing will change. Seen as not normal you must change cos you don’t fit our stereotype cos we listened to all the hype. 

No one gives you a  chance for your life to enhance and  let you be the best you can,but please remember you are more than an empty can, you are a fellow man. So while they sit in their ivory tower, trying to exsert their power. They should think about how they would manage if they had sustained this physical and mental damage.

You are tough and never complain when it’s rough even when your body has had enough. Yet you get up every day, no prospect of any pay, medicines swallowed all day just to keep the pain at bay. It’s all just another day, you wish it wasn’t this way but it will never go away. So don’t judge or  throw people  away as you could be them one day.