Full Moon

Every month the pages turn,
the horror creeping in

Time ticks by and slowly
his scary world begins

Uncontrolling voices start,
he cannot get away

The manic life he hates so much
takes over come what may

A person I don’t recognise,
a stranger no one knows

Dangerous, so scary,
life is threatened,
voices grow

Painful scars inflicted
to release the fear inside

If only I could reach him
but the demons make him hide

Tears appear from everywhere,
the lucidness returns

He cannot face reality,
fresh scars begin to burn

A frightened child is lost within
a world he cannot see

The moon retreats,
The madness fades,
Once more his mind is free


Completed today (June 21st) as part of World Writing Day

You’re going to fast.
Enjoy the finer things.

You’re missing out,
life’s passing you by,
you must seize the day!

Try meditation.
Live in the moment.

You need to make a living,
a career,
you must make the most of your live!

Stop. Hurry! Stop. Hurry! Stop. HSutrorpy…!

Hell in the Gym Hall

Completed today (June 21st) as part of World Writing Day

Girls to the left,
Boys to the right,
avoiding eye contact
with all of their might

It’s that time of year
when they’re forced
into prancing,
the dreaded,
the hated,
Mixed Social Dancing

Lecherous Bob
with his big, sweaty palms,
his desperate to squeeze
Busty Babs in his arms

Angela’s eyeing up
Geeky boy Winston
who’d rather be reading
his copy of Piston

Mousy Michelle
makes a beeline for Ricky
but is pipped at the post
by foxy faced Vicky

Freckly Fred
blushes straight to his roots
as he’s left with the teacher,
sexy Miss Boots

With a skirl of the bagpipes
they head off round the hall
trying hard not to trip
as they fumble and fall

In gym halls,
in high schools
from Orkney to Fife
all teenagers face
the worst time
of their lives!!


Going through the motions
living life
but barely living,
waiting for another world
to steal her away

Drowning in pity
for what her life
has become,
no memory of the girl
she used to be

His gaze no longer
holds her nor
makes her feel alive,
the dying embers
of their passion
and long dead

She is lifeless
until she glimpses another
and she is hooked,
drawn to the surface
by an invisible force

He invades her thoughts,
creeps in to her day,
a lighting bolt
sparking lost sensations

has renewed her

This girl is Alive

The Route

Through early morning
dawn light,
a hundred heavy hooves,
the combined might of our peasant past,
thunders past,
vocalising with heavy voices
singing loudly, chanting now,
a single loud sad roar,
filtering through the gates and pours,
flows with purpose, and more,
noise, louder in unison, in harmony,
reaching a resounding resonance,
together a deafening reverberating
engine of gentleness
as eyes, wide, dark, lashes flutter
pretty faces, confused in fear
following each in front,
steer and then stutter,
hoping home is not that far,
but knowing deep inside
this, the route to the abattoir.


Parched as I am I do not think
I’ll take a drink from you.
I’m not a fan of your saintly ways,
how the gays cause hurricanes,
in your eye,
that piercing optical orb,
able to see a written God
who happens to suit your convenient lie.

I’ll not shake your dirty hand
to rule a land I do not own.
I’ll take the huge and evil risk
to frisk and frolic in the grass
as I might,
with genders equal of each kind,
simple partnerships with a loving sign,
and work instead for what is right.

Parched as I am I do not think
I’ll take a drink with you in sight.