Shatterproof

Corrupting every schoolboy’s favourite quote –

that rulers were made to be broken –

I shattered it before I had

a chance to use it even once;

the see-through one I stole to measure

the many distances between us.

A Real No-Brainer

“All the Democrats needed to do was find a warm human body to beat Trump. Maybe not even that; a wardrobe or perhaps a ham sandwich could have won the race. It’s as though they’ve scoured the country in order to find the only person who might be able to lose this election.”

      - Guardian Comment is Free contributor

The President need be no more

Than Cupboard Space or Parquet Floor,

Or Garden Gate or Sparkly Wig,

Or Tutu-Wearing Dancing Pig.

The President this year could be

A Biscuit Dunked in Builder’s Tea,

A Doorstep Sandwich Filled with Ham,

A Wardrobe or the Hoover Dam.

They’ve had a Bush, they’ve had a Carter,

They could have picked a Burning Martyr,

A Smoking Gun, or Frying Pan,

To beat the Odd-haired Orange Man.

Instead they chose a Coughing Fit,

A Can of Worms, a Lying Twit,

To do their bidding on the stump –

And in so doing, gave us Trump.

I dream of rusted pipes

I dream of rusted pipes

my margin notes proclaim.

As far as I’m aware, though,

I’ve never dreamt of rusted pipes.

It isn’t much of an ambition, either,

to dream of rusted pipes.

But there it is, in grey and white:

I dream of rusted pipes.

you said you wanted timelessness i gave you a mindreading clock

carved with a tight grip

sealed with a sideways glance

tears glum faces

awkward conversations

r   a   i   n

wednesdays will be good

in the opinion of flowers

no more poetry