STINKY STALLION

I grew up in the farming way

with moo-moo, quack-quack and neigh,

with baa-baa, oink-oink and cluck,

noises, noises all night and day

and sometimes when I was out of luck,

downwind of the horse and cart,

I'd catch the gagging vapour-smell

of a straw-bale-busting Dobbin fart.

(Dobbin - the stallion that could wilt a scallion!)

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Some also available on Amazon and other bookselling sites

HANNIBAL LECTER POEM

CHUMS IN MY TUM (or HANNIBAL LECTER'S POEM)

I had some friends for dinner

and from the evidence of empty dishes

despite the calorie intake

my friends were quite delicious.

You can order my books from here - http://www.feedaread.com/

Some also available on Amazon and other bookselling sites

FACTIONS

An eye for an eye mantra handed down from elder to youth,
get your boot in first, your stab, your bullet in the gut,
and more hereditary gifts bequeathed, a tooth for a tooth,
content to keep the faith simmering, feet firmly in the rut,

pointing, blaming, defending every sin, mortal to venial.
Factions finding power in war, peace not worth a toss,
division as lucrative as Judas's silver kiss of betrayal,
a river between them and no bridge to cross.

CELEBRITY BOOKS BANDWAGON

Now that the celebrity books bandwagon is in full throttle for the Christmas season........

Christmas is coming,
and do you know how I know,
celeb books are being flogged
on TV and radio.

All the starry listers,
from A right through to Zed
hope we'll spend our cash and hang 
on every word we've read.

Some reinvent their childhoods
to get the sympathy buy,
some fill 300 pages
with a mix of truth and lie.

Some get confused assuming
that we really give a toss
about shallow lives and woe-is-me
amid glittery showbiz gloss.

Amongst the crud and crappy books,
a few seem worth a read
but only when the price is right
will I pay them any heed.

Here's my plan to be selective,
with the kiss and tell and quirks,
I'll wait for the bargain season,
in January at The Works.

DOING ORDINARY THINGS

I was reading a true story of a man in early 1920s Belfast.  After work, he was hurrying to catch an evening variety show at a theatre and was caught in crossfire between two rival factions.  He was killed.

All died.
All died while doing ordinary things,
rushing to catch the evening show,
crossing the street to a pub,
waiting at a bus stop,
riding a bike in a country lane,
taking in milk bottles from the front step,
playing football in the park,
watching a horse race,
lining up a shot on a fairway,
travelling to work,
kissing a sweetheart goodnight.....

All died.
All died doing ordinary things,
all the rhyme and reason of life haywire,
all died,
caught in the crossfire.

MERGE AND BLUR

After studying an old photograph of a 1920s Belfast grim street scene.

A nailed-up sign on a flaking door:

"AN EVICTED TENANT'S HOUSE. LET NO ONE TAKE IT" 

emphasised by a childish skull and crossbones effort.

Curfew. Streets silent. Deserted.

Shadows betray rules, bent and broken.

Aged flags and bunting, ragged and flapping wildly,

Warning effigies dangling from windows,

a night of signs, spooks, whistling winds and fear of arrest or the Reaper.

Sunrise.  

The misery is illuminated as it jostles with business as usual.

Some days are endless tunnels dark as night.

The abnormal and normal merge and blur like hopeless eyesight.

NATIONAL POETRY DAY POEM

Poets have got their words out,
hip, hip, hip hooray,
poets are have got their words out
on this National Poetry Day.

If you're not a poet yet
don't sit and mope and cry
just get a pen and paper
and give a rhyme a try.

Poets have got their words out,

on this National Poetry Day,

poets are have got their words out

hip, hip, hip hooray.