I wake up in that zone where you aren’t sure if you are dreaming or if its real, my  GPS fires up, the brain engages and I begin to find my bearings. I can hear a crashing sound, then I realise, it’s  waves breaking on the beach. Then I remember the period between my last … More

F*ck you poetically.

  “Fuck You Poem #45 Fuck you in slang and conventional English. Fuck you in lost and neglected lingoes. Fuck you hungry and sated; faded, pock marked, and defaced. Fuck you with orange rind, fennel and anchovy paste. Fuck you with rosemary and thyme, and fried green olives on the side. Fuck you humidly and … More F*ck you poetically.

Man with a Gun.

I am in Covent Garden, a pub, The Lamb and Flag, one of those woody, beery old fashioned English pubs that are now rather rare, I am catching up with an old friend, we are joined by her friend, a chap I’ve not met before,lets call him Bill. Over drinks  we chatter away the conversation … More Man with a Gun.