The Struggle

I’d carry you if I could, my friend,

To save you burning out.

I know how hard you’re finding life

And what that’s all about.

I wish that I could make things fair

And help you get away.

It’s hard to watch you try to cope,

I don’t know what to say.

You shouldn’t have to feel like that,

It’s not what you deserve.

I don’t know why these things go on,

What purpose does it serve?

I’d hold you if I could, my friend,

I know your thoughts are black.

Perhaps, this time, you’ve gone so far

I’ll never pull you back.



Thanks for the invitation.

It’s really very kind.

But there’s this thing I have to do

I hope that you don’t mind.

Of course, I’d love to do the thing,

That’s where I’d want to be.

It’s really so unfortunate

That I just can’t be free.


Thanks for the invitation.

I wish that I could go.

It’s just that I’ll be busy

So, it’s a solid “no”.

I’ve got to hem my curtains.

I have to wash my dog.

I’m pretty sure that that’s when I’m

Upholstering a log.


Thanks for the invitation.

I’ll see what I can do.

I absolutely really want

To spend some time with you.

I’ll definitely be there

If I can find my shoes

And if there’s nothing vital

That’s breaking on the news.


Thanks for the invitation.

I wish I had the time.

The second week in August

Is when I take up mime.

But please feel free to visit,

Just text me on the day.

In case by some coincidence.

I’ve had to go away.


There’s a crow on the horizon and it’s calling for you,

Can you hear its black wings flapping as it flies the whole night through?

You know it’s going to find you and there’s nothing you can do.

Just lie awake and wait until your time.


There’s a crow heading inland and it’s calling your name.

It’s burdened with a problem and it’s giving you the blame.

And when it tracks you down your life will never be the same.

Just lie awake and wait until your time.


There’s a crow upon your pillow and it’s laughing at your pain.

Its powerful unblinking stare is driving you insane.

You really want to run but know you never will again.

Just lie awake and wait until your time.


You can tell when the weather is pleasant

By the horrible presence of knees.

And the definite lack of deodorant

In the scents that waft in on the breeze.

There’s a ban against using your hosepipe,

The heat causes rail delays.

The weather man tells us it’s scorching

And predicts it will swelter for days.

There are photos of girls in bikinis

In the newspapers and on TV.

Everyone’s saying it’s hotter

Than the mainland of Spain’s going to be.

You can tell when the weather is warmer

‘Cause the shops have all run out of Coke,

And the neighbours are out in the garden

And you’re smelling their sausagey smoke.

You can tell when the Brits have a heatwave

As they’re telling you how they can’t sleep.

How the air in their room isn’t moving

It’s enough to make anyone weep.

It’s not that it’s much of a problem,

At least, not one that’s likely to stay,

Since glorious weather in Britain

Rarely lasts past the end of the day.


I don’t believe that I will ever see

The world that I had hoped would come to pass.

As long as people let the bigots be

Then all their bitter thoughts will just amass.

While any look down on their fellow men

Then how can we expect a real peace?

The world will tear itself apart again.

Perhaps this time the killing will not cease.

Until such time as none are left alive

Or only those with means enough to hide

Beneath the battered soil where none shall thrive.

Which of us would be on the losing side?

The ones who strike the hardest in the fight?

Or those who try to do whatever’s right?

Silent Song

She sings in silence,

Note by note.

Mute melodics,

Soaring free.

In time, perhaps

She’ll find her voice

And sing her song to me.


She can’t remember

Her own voice.

Perhaps she hears it

In her head.

In time, perhaps

She’ll find a way

To bring it out instead.


She sings in silence,

Lacking words.

Her music playing

With no rest.

In time, perhaps

She’ll end the song;

It may be for the best.

The Mystery

From the edge of the park I see

The railway bridge and the Georgian row.

The rugby posts catch the setting sun

In a wooden frame.

The people walking by

Don’t see me where I stand,

Melting into the worn brick.

That suits me fine.

Sounds fly in from every side,

Even above, from the birds and planes

And swishing leaves paint a wash

Over the harsh clatter.

There used to be swings here

A lifetime and a half ago.

Tarmac and swings and laughter and fear

On the Mystery.