The image bleeds

Hard glass distorts

Reflections of captivity

Homeward bound

The eyes beseech

Visions of distorted hope

But this will pass

And comfort close around

Their aching thirst

A time-table dictates this

The lost and found

Journeys on a merry go round

Feet will accelerate to meet

Impatient minds

Hungry with anticipation

And the train will cause to move

Reflections that scrape and slide

On glass that carries a parting kiss

Pulling pint’s 50’s style at The Frog and Wicket, Fullers pub in Eversley Cross, Hampshire.

Frog & Wicket

Staff and customers at this newly refurbished Fullers pub stepped-up to the mark in their blue suede shoes and quiffs in a 50’s revival night with music from the Blue Jays. A classic Vanguard car was parked outside to set the scene. Inside the locals fell easily into character.


I spent the evening looking for Long Tall Sally but I must have been dreamin’ cos I left empty handed. Ain’t that the blues.

Hampton Hounds from Hampton’s Rhymes

Kiki. A ridiculous dog

Kiki. A ridiculous dog


I call my dog ridiculous

A term of endearment tinged with truth

And we go out on a regular basis


In this I’m not alone

For all around converge

On local scenes


Days become rituals

When those of us with leads on dogs

Becomes experts on matters of the day


Encounters with strangers

Often end well

Because dogs dispense with formalities


Conversation, however stilted

Is civil and shared

With an emotional bond


The dog may be a tramp

A mongrel, bitch or vagabond

But owners invariably share the love of them


Their names, like fortune cookies

Are full of hope

From Ocean to Sky, Hollie and Bella


So, on Hamptons roads

Parks and open spaces

And places further afield


My ridiculous dog

Rubs shoulders with hilarious hounds

All tangled up in this funny old world

Hampton Pool

Hampton Pool

Hampton Pool


On days like these steam rises

Above water and the dawn

When tired faces cling to warmth

While other hardy souls celebrate

Not just the season but something simple,


To be immersed yet float

Below cold sweating air

And laughing. Emitting happy sounds

That echo with uninhibited fun

Reaching out across the fields

An a cappella chant to church bells

With a chorus that connects us all.

Hampton Ferry

Hampton Ferry

Hampton Ferry


An ancient tale

Will travel between the banks

Of England’s most famous river

And here, at Hampton

The ferryman still plys his trade

Oblivious to ghosts and superstition

His transport now is much the same

In that he transfers passengers

And denizens of faraway places

From side to side

And we, the inheritors of now

Indulge ourselves with modern coinage

To perpetuate this ritual

And ruffle the waters

As citizens who find pleasure

In short trips

Duke’s Head Passage

Duke's Head Passage

Duke’s Head Passage


Who will come to pass

Through this bright arch

Safe passage between the Duke’s Head

And Henry’s Royal Park

Where walkers exchange pleasantries

And dogs acknowledge their own formalities


Who will mark time as seasons change

And speculate on the weather

On clothes and family matters

As they pass yet another familiar face

Take note of difference, of growth

Of time passing and fading light


Yet all the time

As black and white dissolves

Roiling clouds and personal moods

Exchange their subconscious wares

This path will be resolute

A stoic witness to familiar traffic

Man O’ War

Man O' War

Man O’ War

Man O’ War


Stragglers that languish

In the sea of consciousness

Drift and hope, almost gripped

By ennui

Though sometimes the strands of thought

Go fishing and drag watery membranes

Against a flowing tide of loss

To snare or snatch at luminescence


Electric sparks of colour


Illuminate a word or thought

And travel quickly to the lode

That mother ship

Where all the others jostle

In their queues of confusion

Simpering and damp with memory

Oh, I am host to all of those

Nervous tics


Electric sparks of colour


Sucked-up through tendrils

That tremble on the oceans currents

As dreams weave amongst the fathoms

Forever present in the swell

And ready to vanish on a tide

With the broiling enigma

In a long tangle



Electric sparks of colour

For eyes

For eyes

For eyes


I am witness. I am life.

Hunter. Gatherer.

Your very own all-action heroes

Two messengers to high command

That you exist in time and space

I am sight


I crease. I fade

I am another’s witness

For often I am truth

And I mutely signal

Distress or desire

However they are dressed


I am the arbiter of the light

You receive

Your watchman. A sentry

That hint for a smile

That mirror to shame

I am yours I presume.

Rhythm and Hues: ‘whoop-de-doo’



A rhymester writes

I was always set to do

Something along these lines

The ‘whoop-de-doo’

A mission statement

My coat of arms

A calling card

A visual cue

The sonic signature

Of a guy who does

The ‘whoop-de-doo’

It’s attitude and life-style for a man

Who wants to mesmerise you

So listen to the little guy

Who is a shadow, you’re counterpart

When he whistles and coo’s

Aware that he’s been tickled by

The ‘whoop-de-doo’

There’s no hiding nor shame

In a continuous rhythm

That settles in the mind

Colours the blood

And fills all your waking spaces

With ‘whoop-de-doo’

Absence. #Nationalpoetryday





Every day. A call to arms

Such devotion. Such energy

Oh how I wish that this

Would all come naturally

Without prompts, self-doubt, recrimination

For I am so transparent

So wanting. So close to the wounds

Of a life that slips inexorably by

It should be marked. Arrested in flight

And the beauty noted

Pressed between the leaves

Of a book that seals

Filaments and membranes

That contain the essence

Of me


But. And this but is big

For clarity to put a sheen on the scene

We must be immersed

In the life of the soul

And take a keen interest

In just how much we can give away

Like a smile or a hug

When indifference would normally win

Because we are casual. Thoughts slip

Best intentions drift. Sink in the ooze

Of  footprints left in migratory soil