crazy head


be safe inside your crazy head my friend
people it with imaginary friends and fanciful stories
take a journey down those scenic back roads
where quiet moments are chance happenings
for this space is yours only
go sit there while the world rages
and be safe inside your crazy head


it’s safe in there
but you just have to trust it
lie back and sift the wheat from the chaff
there’s a way through your crazy maze
it may take days or it may take weeks
and the journey from here to there is a twisty devil of a path
but the reward is worth the effort my friend


when you can’t see the wood for the trees
just keep a-walking until you find a clearing
and take a break and concentrate on your breathing
for there’s a sky up there, a moon and stars
and little you down here just a-wondering
what place is there for you in all of this firmament?


there’s a special place for you my friend
it’s reserved inside your heart and head
two special places owned just by you
no one else can go there if you don’t want it
close them off and keep the fuckers out
yes it’s your shout my friend
your shout
so do it
whenever you want


enough from me
it’s over to you
I’ve done what I can
it’s now up to you
take it or leave it
it’s the best I can do
whatever you choose
it’s catch as catch can


C’mon Nature!

Stop crossing busy roads and getting squashed you numbskulls.
Stop migrating over lands where you’ll get shot, netted, eaten or stuffed.
Stop mixing with cattle and risk being culled for allegedly spreading TB.
Stop smiling and acting like you want to entertain us in tiny cramped pools.
Stop going near Japan, Iceland, Norway, Eskimos and harpoons ffs.
Stop growing your ivory tusks and you’ll avoid being poached.
Stop growing your pointy horns and you’ll also avoid being poached.
Stop swimming in large shoals which are easily detected by trawler men.
Stop being so lazy and get shagging to save your species. D’oh!
Stop eating plastic and sticking straws up your noses you idiots.
Stop burning bright in the forests of the night and get yourselves more camouflaged.
Stop lagging behind in the evolution stakes and get like your cousins instead.
Woolly Mammoths!
Stop dozing in the Siberian tundra and get your DNA checked out.
Stop being dead as a dodo and start making an unexpected comeback.
Stop standing still and start acting like the Ents in Lord of the Rings.
C’mon! Fight back!

the cows in the fields

the man on the train is weeping falling rain
picking his brain like a pigeon pecking grain
he holds in his hand a picture of a key
and hopes that one day a key will set him free

the girl on the bus is eating pie and puss
doubled up with pain but making little fuss
she holds in her hand a broken bumble bee
and pulls off each leg after saying one two three

the moon in the sky will ask no questions why
untroubled up on high by poets bold or shy
its tranquillity is like a flattened sea
you have to admit you cannot disagree

the cows in the field are semi-demi-monde
fishing for eels in the wavy-gravy-pond
they search in the trees for nuts to throw at me
could this be . . . the way it’s meant to be?




minute by minute

I paint brushstrokes on a grey sky
and sit and wait for a while
you never know what might fly by
minute by minute by avian mile

believe me, they do not deceive my eyes
these airborne birdies so versatile
in flight so gracious up on high
minute by minute my widening smile







for RSPB Big Garden Birdwatch 27th – 29th January 2018

Wood for the Trees

life can become overwhelming
for no obvious rhyme or reason
purpose and definition go astray

with no direction to call home
you lose yourself amongst wolves
and stray into darkened corners

but there are hands reaching out
and voices with reassuring words
waiting for your reappearance


dictum tweet

on the top of tall trees strutted the bird
with a song and name long since heard
for man had ceased to roam this world
his forgotten words in leaves unstirred
when from its throat the bird unfurled
a dictum tweet  unleashed  and  hurled



Mime Artists

The trees are moving like mime artists
Yet the wind is not their voice

They shed their silent thoughts
With every leaf that falls to the ground

The word autumn is echoed
In the crisp scrunch of footsteps

But it is a slow uncertain suicide
Shutting down and boarding up the show

Standing bare through winter
The arc of the sun scraping the horizon

Waiting to see if they will survive
And become mime artists once again