Tag: Social cleansing

Harlekan Tears


The noose was too loose; the trap door stuck.
‘Lydia Steptoe, you are, by dint of serendipity, free to roam the earth, jejune and fancy free’
The voice removed the sack. It was Mr Kipling.
‘James Hayter?’
‘None other’ said James Hayter, glowing with avuncular warmth
‘Are you pulling my leg?’ said Lydia.
‘No, dear lady. The rules are clear as almond slices. Now off you trot, and sorry for the cock-up.’
Hayter doffed his manky indigo topper and indicated the door marked ‘Exit’
The lights went orange. The cluster of onlookers began to hop on their right legs. Lydia stepped down from the rickety scaffold and scuttled toward the door. Before pushing the bar she turned
‘For what was I condemned to hang, James Hayter?’
‘Wasting court time with mediocre card tricks’
‘Seems a bit harsh’, she thought nodding mock penitence

Outside it was dark. The cathedral bell…

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A Funny Turn


Magnesium sulphate, Dear

To rouse you from the torpor?

Salt of Epsom Downs

Mined by horny-handed sons

Of merchant bankers

& dowager duchesses

On sabbatical

From badger baiting

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Novel on Toilet Paper


More Myth than Pith

read the plain yellow cover-
no author, no publisher, no nothing to go on

apart from copious words on waxy,

grey municipal toilet paper,

all held together with a giant orange paper clip.

Emma had found it on her doorstep bubble wrapped in a plain brown envelope

after responding to a gentle tap on her bathroom window

A slight smell of lavender and carbolic wafted up as she flicked pages with a numb thumb. The writing was small, sharp dark pencil.

The hand right-slanted, neat, clear, compelling.
It was the story of her life so far

just keep on going, keep on keeping on, just keep going on, one leg after the other, over and over again, running, walking, trotting, stumbling, hopping, skipping, jumping, leaping…just keep on going on and on…

—Prose-poetry! My very favourite! She trembled

…hurtling it is, hurtling past fast. & I…

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defective alternator
oh so smart technology
Quiz machines give up the ghost
Slope sullenly past joke shops
Magna carta hardly worth
This beermat it was written on
Cheap shot Modigliani
Horseface O’Hooligan
Simples McPherson, & good Queen Mob
Make up committees
Echoes drift down soggy corridors
Torched transit vans remove
Airport bereavement loungers
Fugees allover unknown world
Rumble through Hugh Grant’s bloomers…

Mistah Mulligatawny


Tobias Lundyford;

purveyor of contraband

snuff & truffles

since 1666

to the discerning hooter

denizens of Snoot & Tootsville

cognoscenti of

TheBlessed Durante


So read the swinging legend on the wall 

 Shit rained down in stair rods

that frightful April 

No worries: shit happens, they

just said indoors, just

go about your business,

merrily &  frugally

as appropriate to

presenting circumstances—

keep one aware eye out for

the main chance to flee

as luck must have it one day

when the shitrain stops…


The inner tube got calloused,

puffy pink, cheap as chastity,

spiced up since Swithin’s

cruel orange snow fell.

Do not forget the onion

soup recipe for disaster.


The long postponed reunion

with the Gruesome




but perfectly formed

encounter groups collude

Congeal, more like it…

Turn the sausages down


sense marginal jeopardy.


Eerie Syncopation vibes.

GPS was not quite what

it was cracked up to be.

There was a wasp.

Spring had sprung.

The hard work

had just




standing outside now, looking up to smile, proof reading a Reparation Tragedy, Daniel winced at the smell of posies, wretched at the stench of death, & vomited at the sight of his beloved being thrown on the fetch cart. Her wasted cadaver unsellable. Even for glue…



supply, you see, first outstripped, then,swamped demand,


the value of lush  duchesses  plummeted

ten percent on the Bourse.


Daniel formed a robust cone and dabbed the corners of his mouth    

Erasing sour crusty titbits

Experiencing, as he so often did,

A wistful euphoria

Involuntary bursts of bad breath

appease enraged blue tulips

Hope patrols the Plunderworld once more


Open an outside window

Collapsed in the street

Subcutaneous mites

Kept observers keen

To soft abstraction

News stand plastic rosebuds

Wilt in microwaves

Cute pot walloping villains

Snigger over cauldrons

Cackle and crackle,

Sticks in a fire

Hiccup and hackle 

Wafts come suddenly

Warm bread rests its

Weary gluten farls


Getting pretty for

Mistah Mulligatawny

My fave

By a country mile

Thus finally banishing

Foul Smells of dyspepsia

Back into the sod all of Om

Watching Destry Ride Again


Crossroads up ahead

Places where old roads meet new

Sunshine and shadow

Field stream dream meadow willow

Warm bag of sour scented oatmeal

Soothes as April shivers us…


Stringless vivacious

kites circle come dusk

Over swaying eucalyptus

Airwaves collude midstream

Raucous flaxen haired

Mop of strange foreboding

Scuffing up kerbless sidewalks

Licking over sick traces

Bitter lemon peel


Ginless in Mancunia

Spiceless in Utopia

Piteous hubris

Not a pot to piss in

Squatting in the street

Relief is sublime

full moon setting…

clear tomorrow here
days zip past
often primrose trite
not so for others’ kites-
crucial times like these

Here (see below)
Going on a bit just then…
Becoming beings relax
after onset lycanthropia

dormant patients protect us
via guilt & frailty
‘We do not mean you any harm’
They say
‘Stop turning your backs’

as we once shall you

who may live to regret it
on the day when

it’s your turn to sleep

Trying so-so  hard to hide excruciating pain
Not to scare the horses of hope
a miserable prospect
for those poor bastards
personally affected by issues
considered in this poem
—Goodnight & Wake Up!

Insolent Green

Life enhancement calls the old & infirm ,
the homeless amputee, the various frail sticks
the homesick summary rejects of this gruel regime,
clumsy messages lost on deaf or dormant ansaphones—
perhaps they did themselves in overnight
& were swept up in the alms of public thaumaturges,
cleverly disguised as aliens in lime reflective dayglo
Mickey Mouse onesies who compress them

into giant black bin liners and stack them aboard
green public transports and drop them off
for re-cycling as motorway bollards by
Maggot & Maggot Ltd,
Proud exploiters of anything that’s going
since shite drew its first corrupted breath
& fucking weebles wobbled but never fell down…
Alternatively they might be having
A well deserved lie-in on this soggy Sunday morning

Dreaming of spring lambkins
Gambolling tumbling spilling
leaping giant cowpats
& kissing dandelions to
drift off in four leaf clover…
or just say I’ll call back later
Or another day or never again
as I know they are
deliberately not

Most Wanton

gorgeous george


Georgie Gargoyle sneers

leers drools pours derision

raining scorn upon

the weak, sick, old, cold,


all the living and the dead

cruel salacious scabious

snooty pogrommer

In Place of Here



Fluted green fretwork

ominous picturebook snap

asylum records

abandon faith all of you who

enter here without permits


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