The sacred art of barbecuing

I place on the altar slabs of bloody red meat,
that I hunted down as the sun rose.
tearing apart with my teeth, the packet from Lidl.

I move the sacrifice into the sacred pattern,
determined by the casting of runes it lies on
the metal grill that bears the holy sigil, ASDA shopping basket.

I start to ignite the purifying flames repeating
the chant I learnt by heart from my father.
Sparking the magic fire stick, I chant, “light you bastard.”

Slowly the sacrifice blackens, but the gods are impatient,
I apply the blessed lighter fuel, then my hands and feet
move in the revered pattern, putting the fire on my trousers out.

Finally the holy smoke snakes heavenward
joining the black clouds that have started to gather.
I erect the consecrated brolly and stay put.

The skies reject my burnt offering and the rain falls
I anoint myself with the blessed four cans of Banks’ mild,
wondering if I had done a rain dance by accident.

Summer Smile

summer sun

You smiled at me in the summer,
I remember the warmth of your look.
Passion it seemed was in bloom,
As my heart you took.

You smiled at me in the autumn,
A look that blew me away.
Part of me seemed to wither,
My heart started to decay.

You smiled at me in the winter,
A harsh look that wouldn’t yield.
Your cold snap seized me,
My heart with ice was filled.

You smiled at me in the spring,
A fresh look blossoming on your face.
Our cycle begins again,
My heart refreshed awakes.



Big Fat Drops of Rain

Walsall Floods

Big fat drops of rain,
Falling on my brolly again.
Then dripping on to my head,
Before trickling down my legs.

Big fat drops of rain,
Flowing quickly, blocking drains.
Drowning the underpass,
Causing floods in a flash.

Big fat drops of rain,
Signal summer’s here again.
Downpours today and yesterday,
It seems the rain is here to stay.

Summer’s Here


In suntan lotion please cake me,
As unexpected sunshine bakes me.
While sunburnt it’s making me,
I just hope Summer isn’t faking me.


Long may the good weather in the UK continue!

The Wasp Blues.

I woke up this morning,
Summer was here.
Heard a strange buzzing,
Meant wasps were near.

Little yellow bastards,
Coming thru the cracks.
Aint useful like bees,
Make no honey or wax.

So I woke up my woman,
Said, ” get out of bed.
Go get my paper.
Wasps gonna be dead.”

So I rolled up the paper,
Then with a roar.
I stormed at the wasps.
And declared war.

Well Doc now you see,
Why I need your pills.
Got me a thousand wasp stings,
Makin me ill.

They stung my head,
As I hid in the hall.
They stung me all over,
Bastards stung my balls.

I know now to leave,
Wasps well alone.
And I send you a warnin,
In my Blues style poem.



I hopefully saw my last wasp of the summer today which reminded me of this blues type poem I wrote a few years ago about the pesky little things.

Ode to the Imminent Arrival of British Summertime.

Don Sunglasses
Tres Cool.
See Reflection
Tres Fool.
Summer Shorts
Cool breeze.
But reveal
Pale knees.
White shirt
Shows up
Sweat patch.
Cool clothes
But beware
Summer Shower.