12 Year Old Nihilist

Canteen cafeteria, holds one hundred people or more,As fifty conversations, bounce off the walls and floor. Suddenly altogether, complete silence did ensue. Had a famous person (I thought), entered into view? I wondered was it Winston, Churchill of wartime fame?His ghost materialising, grey image just the sameas the history books record him, fat cigar and… Continue reading 12 Year Old Nihilist

Meditation Yawns

So, I'm sat in a group, meditating,The guy next to me yawns.He squeaks around in his wooden chair,Pulls his sleeves up, Rubs his arm, Yawns again.More chair squeaks. And again, a yawn - Wide, quiet, But clearly audible, To me,Like through headphones,Air rushing into those two lungs. His stomach rumbles.Then, another yawn.I'm serious, These yawns… Continue reading Meditation Yawns

Miserable Old Goat

He climbed the stairs to the cafe,Struggled free from an overcoat, Scraped chair legs across the wood floor,Ugly sounds emerged from his throat. Long-suffering spouse soon followed,Dejected, rejected, despaired.Obliged to sit opposite him,While he'd never shown if he cared. The waitress approached and did ask,Of their morning shopping in town. Three words she got "He's… Continue reading Miserable Old Goat

W’rds I Didst Not Sayeth, But Hath Felt The Urge To… (A G’rmaphobe Writes)

H're satteth tabl'd in Oxf'rd's heart, Covet'd tav'rn from yesteryear.Present to hark on what folks doth sayeth, Trap their w'rds inside mine own weir. Hoyday! Nearby, a sir did request, A bombard of brown sauce to borrow.By sight, his wrinkly, bact'ria'd fing'rs, Hath brought unto me deepened sorrow. "Withdraw!" I demanded, "Wend hence with thee!… Continue reading W’rds I Didst Not Sayeth, But Hath Felt The Urge To… (A G’rmaphobe Writes)

In The Sandwich Shop

Green eyes and brown hair she greets me.Straight-off my hunger ignites.Hot panini - goats cheese and roast veg,A combo designed to delight. "An artist?" she asks me directly,With candour remarkably free."Well, collage sometimes," words stumble-out."While lately there's been more poetry." "You know Simonov, Konstantin? His war poem lament Wait For Me?""I don't," I say, "will… Continue reading In The Sandwich Shop

Who Is This God?

Heavy rain fell throughout the night,Is still falling early morning.Cats stare out from behind the glass, Ignoring nature's calling. "Dad, can you make it stop?"My three all say to me."We can't stay inside all day,You know we have to be free!" I say "There's nothing I can do 'bout it,My furry little friends.It's God's way… Continue reading Who Is This God?


Adrift, by myself alone,In the wintery city,This alien largely remained, Cheerful, polite and witty.Carried atop the crest, Of a rapid retail crusade, Onward toward the centre, And where the profits are made. Here, the markets are bulging,With clothing, books and food.A delightful melange for the senses, One's spirit is lifted and wooed.Watch as transactions are… Continue reading Foreigner