Me and a Man in a Suit in a Room


So there’s me and a man in a suit in a room
And I’m staring past him at the window view.
He’s saying something but I’m not listening
I’m tuned out just really pretending.
Wondering what is going on in the street
Wondering if the man really understands me.
And the man in the suit in the room with me
Leans forward trying hard to look friendly.
And I just focus on his nice sharp suit and tie
Wandering how much it cost him to buy.
And who irons the nice sharp creases it has
And who holds him when he feels sad.
And I try to focus on what he wants to impart
But my attention is derailed when I start.
To focus back in on the window view
Of the flats and the people in there who.
Are quietly getting on with their lives
And don’t have to sit here and despise.
The man in a suit in a room with me
Telling me he only wants to help me.

What if I massacred a classic ?

what if

What if I just can’t keep my head when all about me
Are losing it, why can’t I just lose it too ?
What if I can’t trust myself and often have doubts
About anything I think I might be able to do ?
What if I can’t wait and I just don’t do the queue thing
And I’m always looking for an easy compromise.
What if I can hate and be hated simultaneously
And find hatred of me comes as no surprise.

What if I can’t dream as sleep doesn’t come easy
And my thoughts are made confused by tablets.
What if I meet with triumph and disaster
And get tongue-tied and just can’t speak.
What If I can’t bear to read criticism
And swear twice a day to not write again.
What if I think my life is a broken record
A scratchy story of an existence mundane.

What if I never really want to gamble
Because I just can’t beat the odds.
What if I want to be reborn and try again
But I’ve been abandoned by all the gods.
What if I can’t force my heart to change
Because it’s totally encased in ice
What if I can’t hold on anymore
And am fed up of trying to be nice.

What if I get embarrassed at my thoughts
And think my imagination is long dead.
What if anyone can accidentally hurt me
And so I never want to get out of bed.
What if no one can count on me
And I just can’t do that too.
Then mine is this splintered existence
About which there is nothing I can do.

An Observation about the Modern City Centre Public House.


The pub sign out front welcomes all to come inside
For breakfast, brunch or lunch, served anytime.
Or how about an Italian, Chinese or spicy curry
While you read the paper or watch plasma TV.
We’ve got games, books and quizzes to pass the time
Cola, milk or fruit shoots to placate your child.

We offer a generous frequent or a casual visitor discount
Use our Wi-Fi to log in and like us on our Facebook account.

Why not try a mocha, cappuccino or expresso
Or freshly brewed tea available to drink in or to go.
But there’s one thing missing from the menu
And if you ask for it the reply will go
“What’s that you want sir, oh how very weird
I’m afraid there’s never been a need for us to serve beer.”

Beard Power.


Celebrating my new facial fuzz

It was really quite itchy at first
My newly sprouting chin fuzz.
But I was quite determined
To not bother about this or fuss.

Because I’m growing a beard
Away with razors or scissors.
My beard will not be tamed
This is just really because.

I just want to let it grow wild
I just want it let it be bushy.
I want badgers to nest in it
Because it lush and cushy.

Then when it’s quite long
Coming down to my knees.
I’ll wind it round my body
As protection against the breeze.

When it reaches my feet
My beard will finally be done.
Just weave it into a shroud
For when I’m dead and gone.

Monday’s Child.


Feeling cynical so this is my medicine.

Monday’s child is always dull.
Tuesday’s child is full of Red Bull.
Wednesday’s child to school won’t go.
Thursday’s child is under an ASBO.
Friday’s child likes pasties for breakfast.
Saturday’s child is drunk on Buckfast.
While the child that is born on the Sabbath Day.
Doesn’t understand what that means anyway.

Sitting in Costa on a Rainy Day.


Sitting in Costa on a rainy day
Jacket plastered to my back,
Nursing a large mocca
And leaving damp tracks.

Waiting patiently for the sun to shine
Waiting hopefully for the rain to break,
Waiting expectantly for you my love
Waiting for my heart to cease to ache.