The Chiropodist

  NaPoWriMo day twenty and poem number twenty is called The Chiropodist…


We talk of Italian shirts and Chinese food

as he takes a knife to my feet

and deftly slices away the effects

of the city’s pavements.

Alien corns are shown no mercy,

toe nail clippings fly in all directions

and my soles are buffed to perfection.

We inspect the finished articles.

He has sculpted two silk purses from sows’ ears.

Pleased with his handiwork

he points to the debris below.

I am repulsed yet strangely interested.

As I watch the Henry suck it away

I wander how many feet will fill him up.

I slide on my shoes and say goodbye

bouncing home on reborn feet.

Water Song

  NaPoWriMo day nineteen and here’s poem number nineteen. It’s called Water Song

I cried a river

Seems a strange thing to say

But when I left you tonight

I cried a small pond.

Your mind went on a journey some time ago

But the rest of you refused to follow.

Tonight it came back for a visit

And your clarity overwhelmed me

When you finally leave

And all hope is gone

I’m sure I’ll sob an ocean

But perhaps in time

It will reduce to





  NaPoWriMo day eighteen and here’s poem number eighteen. I enjoyed myself a bit too much last night and woke up this morning in a similar state. It’s called Ugh…


Head hurts

Can’t lift it

off the pillow

Someone asks

“Cup of tea?”

Can’t speak


tongue doubled

in size

Just nod


Did the trick

Cup appears

Reach hand out

Grasp cup shakily

Drink golden nectar


Bit better now


You Got Me

  NaPoWriMo day eighteen. I had a night off last night to go chuffing and boozing with friends so this is poem number seventeen. It’s called You Got Me. This one has been written with Ghost Poet’s, Off Peak Dreams ear worming me all day, I can’t get it out of my head today. It’s called You Got Me…

Okay so I lied,

you got me,

I lied but I meant well.

I tried to keep it from you,

you got me,

I hid the truth but I meant well.

What you don’t know won’t hurt you,

what you don’t know won’t cut you,

won’t make you cry.

And now you know the truth,

you got me.

Now you know I lied,

you got me,

it’s me that wants to die.

Mervyn Clutton the Bellybutton Glutton

  NaPoWriMo day sixteen. Poem number sixteen is inspired indirectly by a young man called Harrison Baugh who likes to write about underworld creatures. It’s called Mervyn Clutton the Bellybutton Glutton

Hello, my name is Mervyn Clutton.

I live inside your bellybutton.

I like to nestle in the fluff

and wallow in the icky stuff

that you would rather not face

deep within your special place.

Mites for breakfast, lunch and tea

followed by a nice fat flea.

I top it off with food that fell

into your bellybutton well.

It’s fair to say I am a glutton

for the feast that’s in your button.

I may disgust your tender soul

but someone has to clean your hole.

If left to its own device

it would be overrun with lice.

So please do receive with glee

my bellybutton friends and me.

Elegy for Dying Love

  NaPoWriMo day fifteen. Poem number fifteen was inspired by a line I heard recently in a TV drama which I thought was such a sad line that I had to steal it for the first & part of the second line of this poem. The poem is called Elegy for a Dying Love…


I am losing you.

You do not know it yet but I see it.

I see the snatched looks;

the side glances;

hear your quickened breath;

feel you tremble when he is near. Continue reading “Elegy for Dying Love”

Red Tulip

  NaPoWriMo day thirteen and here’s poem number thirteen inspired by the plentiful red tulips my garden waiting for their petals to open to the sun. It’s called Red Tulip…

Red tulip.

A floral film star

striking an ingénue pose

in the heady world of the spring garden.

At the start of a burgeoning career

petals are pulled in tight and demure.

The next day a pout appears

and the next a big, blousy smile

ruby lips flashed wide in the spotlight.

But as with every ageing beauty

stardom fades and character parts

become du jour,

a backdrop for the bluebells,

until tired and yellowing

it’s put out of its misery and replaced.

Lullaby Lady

  NaPoWriMo day twelve and here’s poem number twelve. It’s called Lullaby Lady

Hush Baby hush, no more tears.

You’ve cried enough to fill the day.

Shush Baby shush, prick up your ears

the Lullaby Lady is on her way.

She’ll rock you gently in your bed

singing to you low and sweet

and softly kiss your careworn head.

Hush now Baby go to sleep.

She’ll tuck you in and blow out the light

so sleep now dearest.

Good night, sleep tight.

I Am Still Me

  NaPoWriMo day eleven and here’s poem number eleven. I have finally caught up.

This is a bit of a sad one inspired by the death of the much loved Australian cricketer and commentator Richie Benaud. I have never been a cricket fan but, for reasons I won’t go into now, I did see a lot of cricket in the eighties and nineties and so saw a lot of Richie on the TV. I’m ashamed to say that when I saw a recent picture of him on the BBC news last night I was shocked at how much he’d aged since I’d last seen him. How stupid of me: he was eighty-four, of course he had aged. The poem is called I Am Still Me. RIP Richie…

I Am Still Me

I am still me inside this worn and wasted body.

Still the man who fought for my country

on green battlefields, serving victory in a cup.

I am the one who made you weep with happiness

and kept you strong when pride was low.

The laconic wit that made you smile and

shake your head is still part of my make-up.

These hands, once prized, may tremble

but I can still hold you in their palms.

Remember me when I am gone

as the man I was, the man I still am.