Category Archives: pen

Words Strung Together


A poem-a-day keeps the cobwebs away
Try to remove the ‘corn’ from this production

Slice it in two and bring the two parts together:

a poem of cobwebs keeps the day away
and in a-way a cobweb of poems keeps the day

You have been granted leave to
move on now
As we take our collaged slices
to a new level
cutting it at every letter and
ransom-noting a message to
hide below the rock

It is now rock-based and steady as a rock
the letters lie in wait/weight to re-form
in a new formation
like fighter planes
arrayed across either side of the runway

Letters that say nothing until word-formed
and sentence-induced to rise into the ether

Hidden words contained in the letters
Volatile mixtures of joined-up-writing
blossoming like flowers into expressive
sights and sounds

This is the life of language up close and accessible
or far removed, distant and inaccessible to the ‘common man’

What will you have? Words for words sake?
Articulating themselves to form no meaning
or do you choose ‘simple’ – simple as:
Simple Simon who met a pie man going to the fair?

Enough now of lowbrow or high
We started with corn and finish with bread:

For example – maybe?
Go see-hear what Shakespeare said?


Here They Sit


Here they sit on the griddle
Here they stand on the launchpad
Some dribbled out
Others asserting themselves
with immediacy

But there they are
No two the same – multiple layers
or Single-sentenced-stabs
At capturing a thought
Moment or emotion

Resident on the digital desktop
Before they journey on
And typed with the same fingers
that once used a pen

Classified not
Deliberated over to some degree
Changed and re-hashed – rarely

But here they are – ready to fly
Ready to intrude into your life
or reluctantly read

They will be around
‘til time ceases
Thoughts from a mind
In language form

You will take and inwardly digest
or quickly dismiss

It’s a funny ol’ world
When it comes to
tastes and preferences
for certain types of


Writing a Song


A couple of times
He couldn’t make it rhyme
So he boogied the riff
And paused – to flick his quiff

He couldn’t make it work
So considered himself ‘a jerk’
‘Call yourself a musician?’
He mused – in recognition
Of his bad hair day
And his condition – of dismay

He thought: ‘I will try later’
Sliding from his chair like an alligator
No sooner away from the deck
and the thoughts came flooding back

Try it this way – try it that
‘C’mon man – is this all you’ve got?’
Suddenly it came to mind
As he set himself to unwind:
‘I will write the song as though
I can never have another go’

And rising to his own challenge
He at last found he could manage
A song – simple but true
It came out ‘riffy’ and blue

He smiled and marvelled at
The difference the heart’s new format
– Could make – when it came to lyrics of poetry or prose
Now – written without difficulty – I suppose?





5 Kroner’
With a hole in the middle
What to make of this?

Found on the street
It fell on a downward spiral
Into the deepness of my pocket –

Living on the street up to now
Now I imprison it
in the dark recesses of linen.

The hand went deep to
retrieve it
on returning home

Examination ensued
I’m told –
don’t necessarily
collect coins…

Catalogue: –
Worth anything?
This Danmark Kroner?

Very little.
So back into the pocket you shall go

Why have you come into my life?
You only pose questions.

And the hole in the middle?
Hi Diddle Diddle
(there’s a hole in the middle)
the cat and the Fiddle…
Cows jumping over moons –
I mean…come on?
Dogs laughing?

Dishes and spoons animated?
Running away with each other?

No – just a hole in the middle
Hang it around your neck –
liberating it from the cell
of your garment and once again
into the light of day,
no longer
to return/remain
on street
at feet
amidst the dirt and grime
but rather
exalted and exultant in
full majestic view,
joined to a handsome chain of gold enthroned on the neck
for all curious glances
made a fuss over
as the story unfolds:
‘I found it on the street…’

No longer homeless – adopted – a permanent child with a father…

Kroners with holes
I at last have seen and obtained
LG 1995 Jp with hearts and crowns

Worth little
for exposure and PR.

If only holes could speak.
If only Kroners could smile.

And yet I can sense it’s satisfaction
See it’s silver glint
All washed up – on display
an all-washed-up existence.

“Oh Kroner attached to my person swinging on a permanent swing of gold.

I know little of your life or background – I have never been to your birthplace.

But you will remain my friend, my companion, my little muse.

I might even grow fond of you”.

Dog driving



There is a dog’s head floating in my rear-view mirror
Musn’t get distracted while driving
But look again – how can an animated dog’s portrait
Find it’s way like a floating balloon?
I adjust at the traffic lights and stare more fully
Into the mirror
And then I see it is the glass in the car behind
that adds the transparent sun-kissed mirage-illusion of the body-less hound
It’s head actually stuck through the half lowered window
I try to see if there is a dog driving, according to these sun-staccato’d windows of deception.