< Some Poems



She walks in the night like not
beauty exactly but what’s the word
I’m looking for? Sorry. You caught me
in the middle of making scrambled eggs
or perhaps a casserole. It’s up to you.
This war is messing with my head
and not like a barber. Honesty gets you
into all kinds of trouble, just ask
any passing literary critic and
if you can’t find one of those
grab a homeless. Usually they’re not
moving so it’s easy. How’s the soup?

Too many vegetables and not enough
meat is what my Pa used to say
when he came home from football. He lost
again. It was kind of a habit.
One day we were in a field and we saw
a hare and then the hare wasn’t there
and I knew another day I’d put that hare
in a poem where it’d be appreciated
but my Pa he just said We should be going
back now, tea’ll be ready. Who is this
that haunts us even today? Like the night
she is dark, and somewhat alluring.

Popularity ain’t to be courted like a lass
blossoming into the good years. I’m busy
wallpapering even though this is only
rented accommodation and I’m not really
supposed to, it goes against all medical
advice also the rental contract. This war
is going on for far too long but it keeps
loads of people who don’t care about
other people in business so you can see why.
I should have an early night. At my age
too much excitement can bring on delusions
of grandeur. Sometimes I think I’m alright.


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