Poetry

A musing about the Star Trek scientists who make our intergalactic fate sound like a subway ride through a station Stargate .

When you reach fifty, plus tax, and still see yourself as a sexy silver fox with those ash-gray locks, you might want to forget about the fifty shades of grey, and perhaps put your old sex pistol away.

A tune for my godson Todd who's five years old it was inspired by listening to him talking about his modern dance class which involves quite a lot of acrobatics including parkouring from the kitchen table onto the floor then spinning round on his back hissing loudly like a fried egg or an angry snake.

A poem written about that green eyed monster of sin the secret schadenfreude that we all keep hidden away within , usually it's only seen in young children as they rival for survival craving their parents attention a lowly leftover from our anthropological ascension , however this instinct can also be witnessed later in our lives when the males begins to assert their dominance at the procreation stage of life .

In the swinging sixties a sexpionage spy scandal took place called the Profumo Affaire unfortunately two of its players were amateurs and didn't know what the rules of their spy games were ; one was sacrificed as a scapegoat and the other Christine Keeler lived life under a long dark cloud until she died and all because they were enlisted by MI5 into taking part in a Russian honey trap for Queen and country which went dramatically wrong ; Dr Steven Ward a brilliant osteopath and gifted portrait artist was demonised and double crossed to the point where he took his own life with an overdose of sleeping tablets the poison chalice , Baron Profumo who was the cause of it all retired in disgrace cleaning toilets and working for a charity where he was eventually awarded an OBE to pin next to the MBE and bronze star that he'd won as a military hero in the war . A wax statue still stands of Steven Ward in the house of horrors at Madame Tussauds a terribly cruel homage to say he was only doing what the British secret service ask or doubtless ordered him to do . The scandal also brought an Iron Curtain crashing down on the conservative government of Harold Macmillan .

A little poem I wrote about our Neo Omnipresence that seems almost God like in its power and control , the all seeing eye that invisible entity watching over everything we say and do.

A verse dedicated to Katy at the reception desk, who entices every man with a glimpse of paradise and a promised, only then to revel in glee as they step into her quagmire of quicksand.

A living monument of mystery , Robin Hood's oak is by far the most famous tree in all of ancient history a thousand years of silent sophistry , with all its empty holes and hollows the winter winds howl through creating a mournful sound of sadness and sorrow.

A poem about a mafia boss who was born in Le panier de Marseille the last bastion of Beelzebub who then rose to become France's ultimate crime Capo Di Capo lasting fifty years before being gunned down in Paris for an old corsican vendetta .

The Mustang Men were Wild tameless stallions with sports cars suntans and gold medallions , once they were war faced warriors now they're warfarin worries they part of the night time disco scene , now they're scared of cottage pie and cholesterol cream .

A poem about an artist girlfriend who's Spanish African temperament could turn from a soft mistral breeze that gently caressed your skin to violent blood rain Scirocco that rip's the blossom from trees slamming doors and smashing flower pot hearts into pieces washing them down the drain like biscuits in the rain .