Weighing Up

High Class

Shall I go?
There more reasons against than for.
There’s a thunderstorm happening
That seems to have set in.

I’ll never get a parking spot near the venue.
I’ve left it too late for that
So I’ll be drenched on entry.
My best suit too.

Then there are the guests.
Women with cheap perfume
And men with berets.
They’re not my type

But it’s a goood opportunity
To promote my latest book.
Is it worth thhe bothher at this late hour?
Me thinks not.

I think I’ll write a poem instead.

Overly Familiar


I met a chap at the supermarket a couple of years ago & got chatting to him at the checkout. It turned out we were about the same ages, both of us were musicians with a similar taste in music, Namely The Rolling Stones,  we were both divorced & both saw our children every second weekend. His children were younger than mine. It also turned out that  he didn’t live too far away from me. We exchanged phone numbers.

About a week later he rang me & invited me up for a coffee. I found  his house  easily.

These phone calls began to increase in frequency & I have  trouble saying “No.” Always have. I can’t not answer the phone in case it’s my kids who need me.

I then got to meet his children one Friday. By the time I was up there (after he called me) I couldn’t believe that they were the same kids. They were rude,, badly behaved & demanding. “Dad can we do this?” Dad can we do that?” Dad can we go there?” No discipline whatsoever, The term ‘loved to death’ is the understatement of the decade. The way that he was with them was nauseating. It was fake.

Then, as time progressed, he began to randomly turn up at my house. Is it just me or does courtesy dictate that you call to see if a visit would be convenient. His visits increased, sometimes 2-3 times a day. I can’t pretend to not be home as my car is visible under a carport.

He then began talking pompously & quite aggressively about world politics totally unresearched & obviously his own homespun theories….& if I hear another homespun theory I’ll punch him. He also tells you the same stories over & over again.

His latest trick is to take my cigarettes. I don’t mind him having a cigarette here & there but ‘forgetting’ to bring his own every time? Give me break.

As if this isn’t enough, I’m an author. I can’t just switch on & off like he does. He’s usually ‘on.’ He’s manic & jumps from one made-up  subject to another. His  rude & erratic behaviour doesn’t get me down. It winds me up. I sit writing with my ears & half my mind focusing on his  car speeding down my driveway. He’s down the driveway, out of his car & on my doorstep before I can  get my backside out of my chair. I have to  take Valium while he’s there as he generally stays a while.

I can see the day coming soon, for thee sake of my nerves, that I’m going to be just downright rude to him & point out a few things.

He won’t like it & will take it badly. I also have a gut feeling it will only last for a short time.  At least it will give some peace & quiet & lower Valium intake.

The Irritant

There’s something in my eye.
It’s annoying.
I don’t know what it is
But it won’t go away.

I’ve tried flushing it
With no success.
I’ve tried eye drops
To get rid of this irritant.

It’s keeping me awake
& ruining my day.
Oh! What a surprise.
It’s you!


In his eyes
The world owed him a favour.
Goodness knows why he thought this
As he contributed nothing to the world.

He thinks he’s doing you a favour
By visiting at random hours.
All he does is pinch cigarettes
And start blabbing about the world.

Well, I should say
Blabbing about his version of the world
Which is bastardised
To make himelf seem superior.

He can keep his opinions
If you can call them that
And save his random visits
For his ever-dwindling friends.

Perfectly Hiding


Not enough time has gone by
Since you treated me badly.
But I can’t write a breakup poem
For it would bore you.

I have met nobody else
Nor am I looking.
Perhaps if somebody knocked on my door
I might consider a friendship.

Innocence is gone.
Lack of resposibility went with it.
I am no longer living somebody elses life
I am living my own.

All of a sudden I woke up an adult.
It totally sideswiped me
But do I have to take it seriously?
That is totally my decision.

Who was I once?
Why & what am I holding back?
I guess the laughter in love went away.
Maybe I’m still heartbroken. I doubt it.

The more successful you become
The smaller your life becomes.
How can people enjoy me
If I’m living a small, mad life?

Having said this
I would rather be around people
Who will say “No” to me.
Rather than mindlessly agree with me.

When the pressure is on
There’s further to fall.
Where have I gone?
I am perfectly hiding.

So Far Away


I knew it wouldn’t be for long
But she’s so far away.
She’ll be back soon.
Not soon enough.

It has made me incredibly sad.
I can’t see her.
Hear her.
Even read her.

My only solace
Is knowing that
She is enjoying herself
& is in good company

It has only been a few days
But the nights have been long.
I miss our daily chats
More than I think she is aware.

Burning Toast


Talking walls.
There was a fine thing.
When they started talking
An all in brawl ensued.

I was straight out the talking door
Only to remember I left the toaster on.
I tried to get back in
But the doorknob broke.

I was trapped!
“Trapped!” I yelled to nobody.
Hang on. How could I be trapped
When I was outside?

I barged my way inside to rescue my toast
The housse was ablaze
How could it be?
The talking walls were made of brick

But the talking walls were cunning.
They rubbed themselves together around the toaster
To set it ablaze.
This in turn set the curtains & ceiling on fire.

I rescued my toast with barely a crumb to spare.
I rushed back outside with my toast and ate it.
“Well done, toast,” I said
Because it was indeed well done.

My Wandering Mind

Bob 50th

My father woke me up one morning
At 3am
He said, “I’ve never shot a tiger
And had to tell someone.”

The very next morning at 3am
My neighbour knocked on my door.
He was naked and asked,
“Do you know where there’s a good tailor?”

What would a small child rather hear?
A boring truth or an exciting lie?
Where does the darkness go
When you switch the light on?

I carry 3 pens in my jacket pocket.
People ask me if it’s excessive.
I agree with them.
“I’d like to buy 3 excessive pens please.”

I get ignored by my own echo.
What’s around the corner except more corners?
My sister has an extra-century perception.
Ask a stupid question, you’ll get a stupid answer.

I’m not particularly literate.
I come from a working class family.
Perhaps I should get to the bottom of this.
It appears that I have got to the bottom of this.

The Day Chuck Berry Died

Chuck Berry

I remember the day that Chuck Berry died.
It was a in March.
I was writing at the time
But was jolted back to reality

By the news that Chuck Berry had died.
I didn’t cry. I was too numb.
It didn’t seem real that he could be dead.
He was 90 years old and recording a new album.

Chuck bought rock & roll to the white man.

And with it he bought his cheeky showmanship.
He was one of the first musicians
To be inducted into the Rock & Roll Hall of fame

And rightly so.

His hits are too many to mention here
But we all know them.
It still hasnt registered that he’s gone
One day it will sink in

Chuck may be gone but his music will always be around.

The Secret Affair


I never believed in first sight
Until I saw her.
I was floored
And had to really try not to stare.

Within 3 days
We knew everything about each other.
Little did I know
That she thought the same about me.

The inevitable happened.
We had an affair.
It continues to this day
Under the guise of ‘shopping.’

She visits me for hours
Sometimes twice a week.
We laugh and love
For hours on end.

We know that it has to end some time

But not now.