’twas due decided 

though no vote was cast 

’twas agreed 

concord emphatic 

rules bent and broken 

’twas signed in silence 

pact decreed 


’twas undisputed 

whilst no lots were drawn 

’twas that hour 

’twas polled on hindsight 

with none attending 

consensus called for 

to empow’r 


’twas given, taken 

rued opposition 

to result 

’twas never, always 

’twas ever after  

’twas only option 

by default 



Count Down



take my six hours, we’ll call it a day

I’d like to leap a different way

a quarter to keep for myself

a fraction of time that is mine

all just mine

borrowed time there on the shelf

I’d rise at first stroke

spend my two bits till I’m broke

a revolution, in minutes, all mine

no time to do aught but eat and clear up

is this how I’d spend that brief time

breakfast at twelve, elevenses at one

lunchtime I’d have about two

afternoon tea at the a.m. of three

and dinner at four, that would do

I’d supper at five, that would be a surprise

and at six I’d depart for the night

one hour to rest then up on my feet

to begin a new day, sleepless fright

but oh, what a waste, to be eating in haste

and spend all night washing up

I could do better if I saved time till later

some minutes to give it more thought


how about this for alternative bliss

save all my quarters for years

a decade or three, a whole week for free

to choose when I want with no fears

folk would be working, couldn’t accuse me of shirking

’cause I had my time in the bag

could swanny around with my feet off the ground

flying without the jet lag

I’d meet other folk who had theirs and we’d joke

about using up time of our own

frugally friends meeting now and again

who could buy several days without loan

right about now I’d have two weeks to spare

time saved for the chance to be anywhere

Leap Fortnight I’d call it and smile

I’ll be gone for a while, checking leap watch’s dial

standing time on its head way out there


‘Do you know what you’re going to do with it yet?’

I smile and check my leap watch again.

‘Two weeks! Wow! I spent mine on one.’

‘What did you do with yours?’

‘Lazed around, mainly. Got to the point I didn’t know which day it was let alone what time.’

‘Kinda the way I want mine to be. But I don’t want to waste it either.’

‘Have you made any plans at all?’

‘One or two…’

And I said nothing else. How to explain the different me that I would be with two weeks I’d saved for fifty-two years.

‘I’ve booked a flight…’

‘Ooh, where? Can you say?’

‘Somewhere where time stands still…well, slows down….’

‘But that can only be….’

‘Shh! No one else knows yet.’

‘I’ll miss you.’

‘No, you won’t. I’ll still be back in two of your weeks, with seconds to spare.’

Rich Guy Ghettoes

vacant windows

with fresh flowers

furnished properties

doorstep dallies

rich guy ghettoes

taking liberties


and empty boxes

frontages with frills


of cosmocrats

buying up at will

spacious places

specious facades

global marketeers

purchased post codes

digging downwards

hell’s the new frontier

high alert to penis size


golden bricks

more luxuries

than communities

up to all the tricks

media complex

bowelled basements

dugouts for midas fools

central perks

with hotel lobbies

breaking all the rules

deserted dozens


waiting for their souls

while on the pavements

in shop doorways

homes sacrificed for goals

Spectre At The Table



wrote the book you live by


every chapter


versed the violent

lived the calm


the unknown angst 

that haunts at dinners


asks for answers


knows you are

for every claim of



 I am


I am the you 

you are the me-ness

the other side of we

that works on pause 

and wonders why

 and guesses


am I doing this 



or alright

going with what comes naturally

with flaws


identical in sin and saving graces

alternate side of wishes

wants denied

the spectre at the table

soon diminished

when questioned

who are you

and who am I


I am the ghost of 


and after


the filament of

light that blesses



the saving thought that questions

shall I

shan’t I

the conscience 

that demands



Planning For Change



Poised and pointed skywards

Long time standing

Alive within the earth’s


Numbered with the angels


Gods join in

For actions with intent

Open to the seasons

Rising meanings

Calling on the strength of

Heaven lent

Answers on the winds

Nearest companions

Grateful for the 

Energy that’s sent



Prayers needed for a child.

Experimental Fiction

A friend on mine has a three year old son. He had recently been diagnosed with a rare form of leukemia. This, obviously, is terribly sad news.
He asked me if I wouldn’t mind trying to write a poem for him. Not as a eulogy, but as a call to arms, or a song of hope and of not giving up. I was honoured to do so. This is what I came up with. I hesitated to share it, but then I thought… Why not? I hope you like it. And I hope you all send your best wishes, in your own ways, to my son’s friend. Thank you.

Such courage seen in
Frame so small, 
Against the dark 
We will not fall. 
Not bent nor bowed
‘neath coming fight, 
We rail against 
Encroaching night.

With love our shield, 
As hope abounds, 
We’ll form as one and 
Stand our ground. 

View original post 72 more words

Code Crackers

pristine cuffs caressed wrists’ tendon motions

while fingertips rejoiced in plans afoot  

whorls beat out their selfish contemplation  

agreeing all objections would be moot

tanned of hands, sun-kissed hairs outstanding

anticipation rising flexed his pores

today would be the day to crush all opposition

imminent announcement to the fore

endorsement first from others, silk-tied brothers

consanguinity defined in common threads

some hours more to prove, if points need proving

coded status quo they would embed

a wieldy operation worth its planning

his webbed deceit, survival for his kind

sublimate the conscious, fake retrieval

adorn the visors, mystify the blind

padding paused, an outstretched hand, one button

just one finger to the tide, reverse the trend, then wait

a king of sorts, authority unchallenged

identity unknown, disguised, he sits in state

master of the universe by doxa

decencies decreed by points of view

habitus dependent, reinforcing

indemnity, by power, to be and do

little knows he, dark within new brainstorms

blinkered by his surety and bluff

maelstrom in the minds of fissured fusion

it’s time, he says, and millions cry, in unity, enough

Please watch this video.

Fit to govern?

The poor side of life

My friends at DPAC have made a new video. It shows the reality of this governments evil attacks on the ill, disabled and poor. It is upsetting, but its meant to be.

This is the reason why we continue to campaign outside Ashton Under Lyne Jobcentre. We don’t get any support from those that should support us. Those that do support our campaign we, and the claimants at Ashton Under Lyne Jobcentre are very grateful.

Remember we are there to support those victimised by this evil government.

Many thanks DPAC.

Please watch and share.


View original post

His To Protect

the cost to him of holding the key close…..matched the threat he felt…..for her…at letting it go…..fine though it was…..for them… speak of leaving this place…..he could find no room… his imaginings… vacate his present reality… does one…..he thought… the protection he had bestowed on her…..there was no case to answer…..if he maintained mute madness…..he had considered all the options….and hit on the only possibility he could live with…..for however long he may have left…..locked within cloistered range….. of her equally guilty silence


Written for at The Sunday Whirl