Showing posts from July, 2021


Ray slapped the remnants of a Dairy Milk on his grandfather clock.
He grasped the contraption firmly.
Twirled the hands backwise.
Watched the Dairy Milk closely.
Kept twirling.
Wished harder.


Frank noticed his horse had a very long neck.
There's been a clerical error!
Someone has given him a giraffe for the race!
His ride craned over the horses.
It munched on overhanging trees.
The jockey made attempts to take back control.
He was shimmying up the beast's vast neck.
Swinging his arms wildly at the reins.

The only jockey anyone has ever heard of (excluding Jock(e)y Wilson, of course), Frankie Dettori, has been on my mind. I'm not sure how he got there, but there he is, hopping from thought to thought. I looked the man up on Wikipedia because I know nothing about him other than the fact that he's a jockey. It turns out his first name is Lanfranco. Additional facts include being in a plane crash and supporting Arsenal Football Club. None of this comes up in the poem. You're better off going to the page yourself if you'd like to know more. I think some of the information might be outdated.


James Bond called up the women in his phone book.
He learned they got together and made a pact to refuse his advances.
Even Gaggin Furcochalot was rejecting him.
He couldn't believe it!
He went back to the bar and ordered another Vodka Martini.
Then tried to get it on with his Aston Martin.
Phoned Q and insisted the car needed a few more modifications.


Two fat ladies, 88.
The bingo caller puffed on an unlit cigarette.
He reminisced about the good old days.
Numbers tumbled from his machine.
He refused to read them.
Now just looped through a selection of favourites.
The old women waited for him to offer something unique.
They were dropping like flies.
Reception had medical services on speed dial.
This competition was never-ending.


Jeff loaded his pistol.
Had a pop at a werewolf.
He'd skipped werewolf training.
Didn't know the first thing about taking one down.
The creature starting howling into the night.
Jeff could hear the others howling in response.
And now there was one gnawing on his legs too.


Gene penned a letter to the weatherman.
His arms began melting into the paper.
Much of the content turned illegible.
He scrawled in larger, bolder fonts.
Insisted the weatherman turn down the temperature.
Gene sourced an address for the BBC and shipped out his demands.
He included a stamped addressed envelope in case they still appreciated that sort of thing. 

Man Seeks Friends

One, two, three, four.
Five, six, seven.
Eight, nine.
Coming, ready or not!
Cobbles scoured his house for friends.
Still none.
He sat down and planned to give it another shot later.


Randall Cashman called Liz into his office.
He lounged behind a big wooden desk.
Lions carved into its extremities.
Questions machine-gunned in Liz's direction.
She didn't give her responses too much.
Liz had lost interest long ago.
It just didn't seem like an appropriate meeting point for a date.

There's a page where you can learn all about me now. That's why I wrote this poem, because the page has questions on it, and I wanted an opportunity to post a link. There it is! It's a very entertaining read, I recommend it to anyone.

The Celebrations

A new task force was deployed.
They went around popping doors of hinges and dragging families from their homes.
People were forced to dance and wave flags and put their masks on backwards.
Boris Johnson erected a pair of thumbs and gurned through the window of his isolation chamber.


James spooned Mel.
He wished she was soup.
Cream of chicken.
Oh yes.
That would be nice.

Thoughts and Poems on Highbury Fields

I've written an article and collected the poems from my recent excursion to Highbury Fields. Find it here if that sounds like your sort of thing, and even if it doesn't, please. Thanks.


Montgomery taped rockets to his walking sticks.
Screwed wheels into his slippers.
Blasted through the hallways of the retirement home.
Staff began placing traps as they struggled to chase him down.


Sir Duncan ventured down to the dungeon.
A red glow glistened off his freshly polished armour.
He sliced.
He diced.
Freed men from their shackles.
After bisecting a third woman clad in leather and wielding a whip he realised he might have got the wrong idea.
He clomped back up stairs and tried to get away before anyone had a chance to call the police.


Chris pulled on his running shorts.
And his running vest.
Freedom day at last!
He sprinted to Soho.
Breathed in all of the people.
Coughed into their soups.


Time to wheel out the big guns.
Scott flipped through the dictionary.
Picked out 'perpendicular'.
Everything was perpendicular to him these days.
He'd comment on perpendicularity of objects as strangers wandered by.
Give them a little wink.


It rained again.
Umbrellas popped open as people took each other's eyes out.
The slick streets reddened as fluids mixed.
Everyone was screaming.
Everyone was getting even wetter.

Through the Amazon

John wandered aimlessly.
Heart beating heavily.
Panic contorted his face.
Amazon Prime had been cancelled.
Where would the Mini Cheddars come from now?


Matthew held a microphone to footballs.
Asked where they were from.
The footballs remained unresponsive throughout.
He snooped.
Scoured them for information.
Learned they were all from India or China or Malaysia or somewhere like that probably.
He became very confused and began work on a new batch of questions.


Chuckles' prop exploded.
Bits flew everywhere.
Children ran crying to their parents.


David rambled on for hours.
Suddenly he realised he was talking to himself.
He wasn't feeling great about it to be honest.
He hated the guy.

London Bridge

Yakov McNulty held Penny Bolton's hand.
They watched as Tower Bridge swung open.
'It's majestic'
'Why don't you look as beautiful when you spread for me?'
Yokov's hand emptied.
Penny Bolton was off to Borough Market.


Stringy bought all the string.
He sold the string to others.
They asked him for the length they wanted.
He made friends with people who bought his string.

Poem From Regent's Park

Abdul rammed his conk deep into Queen Mary's flowerbed.
Snorted up her rose juices.

Poems From Highbury Fields 4

Umbrella man looks smug.
He checked the weather.
I bellow at him.
Throw out harsh words such as 'nerd' and the like.
Anything to throw the twerp off his game.

Poems From Highbury Fields 3

Highbury Fields.
Rain slathers the freshly cut grass.
I've constructed a makeshift tent.
Stole coats off passers-by.

Poems From Highbury Fields 2

Colin sprinted past the joggers.
Full pelt through the park.
He imagined the shame they felt.
As he hid behind a tree.