No loss

Bite me,
Do what you will-
I’ve suffered worse,

Not the
Fucking star in
This universe.

Some folks,
People like me,
We see through your shit;

Know you,
Know you so well
You one inch hypocrite.

Piss off;
Pack up your bags,
Take your spiel and go.

Go on.
Understand me-
No means fucking no.

the one

the day i saw you sitting there
so nonchalantly, free of care,
it crossed my heart that you might be
my one and only, meant for me

you saw me too and wondered why
i had just then begun to cry,
so you approached and wiped away
the tears that did my love betray

then when my face was dry once more
you gently stroked me with your paw,
you placed yourself upon my lap,
curled up and took another nap


Ladies and gentlemen of the jury,
In the case I present here to you
I describe how a wicked conspiracy
Caused the victim to vanish from view.

All seven accused were responsible
For abducting the doctor this week;
Yes I know you will think it improbable,
So I’ll tell you about their technique.

Every day, one of the accused would call
On the doctor to poison his tea;
When he took a sip he was held in thrall-
As their prisoner he couldn’t go free.

In this frozen state he was kept for years,
Til long forgotten by all of his peers;
Falling victim to murder one homicide
When at last critically poisoned he died.

So the seven stand trial for what they’ve done,
There’s the three who all quickly confessed:
Bad Ben Davis, Malinda and Jonathan-
They came clean when placed under arrest.

There’s Lord Derby, the foppish socialite,
Who’s not showing a sign of regret;
While young Rosemary Russet, once lily-white,
Is just trying her best to forget.

Angry Paula Red, has an axe to grind,
And they cower whenever she swings;
But behind it all, is the mastermind:
Dear old Granny Smith pulling the strings.

So ladies and gentlemen of the jury,
All the evidence says that they’re guilty;
There can be no doubt, for it’s true what they say:
An apple a day keeps the doctor away.

Puttin’ on the Ritz

It’s time for afternoon tea at the Ritz
For our alien neighbours from Mars;
They’ve heard the songs of its glamour and glitz
So zipped over to mingle with stars.

They’ve dressed the part in their high hats and furs
Look a million dollars top drawer;
The lavish service, the ‘madams’ and ‘sirs’
Makes them feel like they’re worth even more.

“Champagne? Why yes, that is just what we need”
So the pop of a cork fills the air;
They clink and drink, this is good stuff indeed,
Not the kind you can find anywhere.

Some music starts: it is Irving Berlin,
He is playing the piano nearby;
They catch his eye, he responds with a grin
And a wink that no money can buy.

He takes backseat as the dancing begins
Here come Ginger and Fred to the floor;
Electric tapping on rapidfire pins
It’s the type that demands an encore.

They’re really having a wonderful time
Just surrounded by opulent grace;
Expense be damned, they would spend every dime,
They could scrimp when they went back to space.

Their thoughts then turned towards something to eat,
They were quick to decide in a whizz;
“Some strawberry shortcake, delicious and sweet,
Won’t you bring some to us with more fizz.”

The waitress blanched, she was sorely aghast,
The request made her weak at the knees;
“I’m sorry sir, we have just served our last
We’ve peach shortcake instead if you please.”

In awkward silence ten seconds passed by
As the truth of the matter sunk in;
This wouldn’t do, how could Earthlings deny
Them their cake, when they’d starved themselves thin?

Distraught and angry they stormed out the place
To the saucer they’d parked on the roof;
Incensed, they lasered the hotel from space
So it vanished from sight in a <<poof>>

Hot stuff

The indie craft brewer,
The artisan baker;
So good are their wares
They never last long.
Whenever they plan
To make a fresh batch
It’s always a case
Of beer today and
Scone tomorrow.

Surviving: a sonnet

You know what I need? A survival guide
For when the shuffling zombie hordes arrive;
Instructions for when I should run and hide,
With fighting techniques for staying alive.

No hold up, scratch that, what I really need
Is a kick-ass guide for vampire slaying;
How to save my neck when they try to feed,
Avoid their glamours with well-placed staking.

Or maybe, just maybe, what I need most
Is a guide to surviving high school cliques;
At my current rate I’m as good as toast,
Always marginalised with the other freaks.

In life’s monster’s ball you’re sure to be trolled,
That’s doubly true when you’re thirteen years old.

Ave II Zed

In the centre of the Coliseum
the emcee stands alone:

“Ladies and Gentlemen.
Now the moment you’ve
all been waiting for: the
world famous

As the emcee exits,
two verbal gladiators emerge
from the theatre’s bowels and
address their patron:

“Hail Caesar!
Those who are about to rhyme
salute you!”

As Caesar gives the
signal for them to begin, the
thousands of spectators
erupt in delight.

The pair turns to face off, the
one to the left begins:

“My life is full of hardship
all I’ve known has been distress;
by the rod and by the whip
I have suffered such duress.”

“My life is…”
At this Caesar
turns to his companions
“What is this drivel?” he demands
“Is this” indicating the men below
“meant to be entertainment?”

Sat behind, Brutus is the
only one that dare respond:
“Let us pray to the
Gods that it improves.”

At that moment a
deafening roar from the crowd: a
misplaced adjective and the
challenge is lost.

Gates are opened
around the Coliseum; an
arkful of wild beasts are
released into the arena.

Caesar claps his hands
together in excitement
“Now this is more like it!”

Wine by Numbers

If you want to rate a bottle
Then a five point scale will do,
It is all that’s really needed
There’s no point in bluffing through.

At the bottom there’s the trashy,
The disgusting scores a one;
Stuff you’d rather spit than swallow
That you’ll then forever shun.

For a two a wine is okay,
You can quaff it by the glass,
But you know it’s not that fancy,
You don’t drink it for its class.

If you’re looking for good value,
You can drink most every day,
Then a three is your companion,
This friend won’t lead you astray.

When you find one that’s delicious
Then you know you’ve found a four;
You just wish you had more bottles,
Yes you’ll wish for much, much more.

Now a five isn’t judged so simply,
By bouquet and taste alone;
It’s a product of occasion
That will let itself be known.

So you needn’t a fancy system
To become an oenophile;
You just need a healthy palate,
If you want to drink in style.


I’m two sixty-three fifty-four,
I’m not a copy,
I don’t dream

I’m not prisoner number six,
I am a person;
one’s the

I’m forty-two and fifty-four,
am I your answer?
Don’t panic –
just drink

Attuned to two point three four two;
You’re my one constant
I won’t call
for eight

I’m three point one four one five
Nine to forever;
On and on,
on I