I’ve never been cool,

And I never will.

I wouldn’t even know where to start.

My clothes are not chic,

It’s often been said,

But I don’t ever take it to heart.


I don’t have that air

Of artistic style

That cooler people seem to exude.

And when they decide

Who to let in their clique.

I’m not the type that they would include.


My hobbies aren’t those

Admired by the hip.

My pastimes are decidedly tame.

There’s daytime TV

Or Radio 4,

And Scrabble is my favourite game.


Don’t want to be cool,

It wouldn’t be right.

In fact, I’d say it would be absurd.

I’d rather be me,

Transparent and drab,

But mistress of the 7-letter word.

My Cat

I bought my cat a cushion,

As soft as cotton wool.

Yet, now she’s in the laundry bag,

Despite it being full.

I fill her bowl with water

That’s clear, fresh and cool,

Then see her in the garden,

Drinking from a muddy pool.

I get the food she’s fond of,

The flavour she likes most.

But suddenly, she hates it

And prefers to lick my toast.

I built my cat a scratch post,

It’s many layers high.

Yet still she claws my furniture

With no good reason why.

I gave my cat a tickle,

She made a soothing purr.

Till suddenly, she scratched me,

Her claws a scary blur.

I give my cat affection,

I love my little mog.

But sometimes I’m so sorry

I didn’t get a dog.

Controlling the Weather

I’ve started controlling the weather.

I know that it sounds quite absurd,

But wait till you hear why I say this

And then you’ll believe every word.

Last weekend I made a decision

To work on the garden, you see,

As long as the weather was pleasant

As the forecasters said it would be.

I got out my gloves and my wellies,

My trowel, my rake and my hoe.

I dug out the key to the back door,

So, then I was ready to go.

As soon as I walked through the doorway,

I felt something land on my face.

The raindrops got bigger and colder

And rapidly picked up their pace.

I looked at the grass and the soil,

And faced a stark fact there and then;

There’d be no useful work I could do there

Until it was dry once again.

The very next day, there was sunshine.

Once more I collected my tools.

But right the way over my garden,

The rainfall had gathered in pools.

It needed a few hours longer,

Enough time to clear up and dry.

I honestly felt really hopeful

When I looked at the cloudless blue sky.

I busied myself somewhere inside

Till I felt that it must be okay,

Then picked up my bundle of goodies

To work through the rest of the day.

But as I set foot on the threshold,

I couldn’t believe what I saw.

The sky was now full of bad omens

And it soon began raining once more.

But now, I know how I can trick it

Into being the dry day I’d love.

I’m buying a brand new umbrella

And I’ll shout to the heavens above:

“Just look at my brand new umbrella.

To try it out would be so good.

It’s lucky for me that it’s raining,

So I can go out in the flood.”

I’m telling you now what will happen;

The rain will just dwindle and die,

The clouds will grow smaller, then vanish

Leaving nothing but blue in the sky.

You see, I’m controlling the weather

It’s quite an incredible knack.

So, I can get digging and mowing

And wishing the rain would come back.


One is the moon, alone, untamed,

Changeable, fluid, strong.

Two is the dance of day and night,

Moving to life’s dark song.

Three is the water, wind and air,

Rolling around the rock.

Four is the bulk of the compass,

Making the world’s great clock.

All are the Earth and the space around,

The land and the lives within.

Where each real story flows to an end

To allow even more to begin.

Fake News

I read it in the paper;

It’s definitely true.

Those guys are proper journalists,

The truth is what they do.

They’ve done extensive research;

There’s no way they can fail.

You know that you can trust the Daily Mail.


I read it in the paper;

I’m certain that it’s real.

There’s something to cause cancer

In every single meal.

They only want to keep us well

So good sense should prevail.

You know that you can trust the Daily Mail.


I read it in the paper;

I know it for a fact.

We really ought to stop it;

The government should act.

Those migrants are invading

On such a massive scale.

You know that you can trust the Daily Mail.


I read it in the paper;

It’s positively right.

Don’t say they didn’t warn you

About the country’s plight.

The left will eat your babies;

They’re quite beyond the pale.

You know that you can trust the Daily Mail.


I read it in the paper;

I can’t believe my eyes.

I have a vague suspicion

I might be reading lies.

They have a vile agenda

But they print a catchy tale.

For pity’s sake, don’t trust the Daily Mail.



My memory seems to be going.

You might even say that it’s gone.

It’s taken things that were worth knowing.

Where I left my glasses is one.

Sometimes I might go to my bedroom

Then wonder what I’m doing there.

Recollection just doesn’t have headroom.

This travesty hardly seems fair.

I look in my bag for my tissues

Instead I find packets of cheese.

You could definitely say I have issues

But dealing with them is no breeze.

My recall is quite enigmatic.

There seems little reason or rhyme.

Why my memory is so erratic,

Unrelated to passing of time.

I remember my first favourite teddy;

I remember his look and his name.

But I stand in the middle of Tesco

Trying to work out why I came.

Remembering can be a battle,

But one that I have to keep fighting.

I’ll keep doing poems, as long as

I never forget what I’m


Will I ever sleep a whole night through?

Sometimes, I don’t think I ever will.

Experts tell me what I ought to do

And yet I find myself unsleeping still.

Can I give myself up to the dreams?

Hoping that my body will obey

The orders that my mind will surely give,

To rest until the night has turned to day.

Can I still the thoughts that churn and rage?

Nudging me from on the edge of sleep.

How can I embrace the lures of rest

And melt into the folds of slumber deep?

I will never sleep a whole night through.

Nothing I can do will lead me there.

I must accept that it’s not meant to be

And steel myself until I cease to care

Sense Haiku

Look at the shadows.

See how they bend in the light,

Emphasising shape.


Hear the world whisper.

Soft sounds drift between our lives,

Forging connections.


Breathe in life’s sharp scent.

Detect its bold undertones,

Building memories.


Touch the cracked terrain.

Push its teeth into your skin,

Fading to numbness.


Taste the cool water.

Savour the imperfections

Which make it unique.


Sing me no songs of love and light,

Of laughter, friends and summers bright.

No lilting lyrics tinged with bliss,

Sing me instead a song of this:

Salah, coming down the wing,

Dodging round and letting swing,

He strikes the ball and lets it fly,

The goalie sees it whistle by.

Your “moon and June” means nought to me.

Nor tea for two and two for tea.

I have no use for songs of flowers,

Of couples lost in tender hours.

Don’t think I’ll wait while someone sings

Of wedding vows and golden rings.

If you would melt my heart of stone

Sing me “You’ll never walk alone.”

Hidden Talent

I must have a hidden talent,

Everybody’s got one.

Why would all the rest be whizz-kids

If yours truly’s not one?

Maybe I’m a secret artist,

Like a second Dali.

All attempts so far have made me

Look a proper Charlie.

It’s unlikely there’s a dancer

Bursting to get out.

Pretty sure I’d blow a gasket,

Jiggling about.

I could be a great soprano,

But for one small thing:

If I do remember rightly

They know how to sing.

Is my flair more academic?

Somewhat intellectual?

Doubtful, since my power of reasoning

Is so ineffectual.

Should I try my hand at writing?

Other people do it.

But I tried to write this poem

And I clearly blew it.