Category Archives: Poems

Friday Poem #49

Good evening, and welcome to this week’s Friday Poem.

Not much to say about this week’s offering – except it was one of those occasions where it just came to me, and I went with it.

I just like what it says.

I hope you do too.


Replace hate with love,
Swap bad for good.
Don’t do what you have to do,
Do what you should.
Don’t walk away –
Do take a stand.
Don’t make a fist,
Reach out your hand.
Put yourself second,
Say ‘after you’.
Be less what you say
And more what you do.

Be the example that you seek:
Be grateful, humble, respectful, meek.
Spread love, not hate;
Don’t give in to fear.
Use much less mouth, and much more ear.
Be honest, loyal, open, true
Don’t follow the crowd; be different – be you.

Shine your light wherever there is dark
Don’t blend in – make your mark.
Ask questions; challenge what you are told
Be brave, inspiring, radical, bold.

Be him.
Be her.
Be us
Be them.
Be all combined as one – and then
Be who you hoped you thought you’d be:
Be soaring, weightless, flying free.

Don’t exist,



Good Evening, and welcome to this week’s Friday Poem – which guarantees to bring a tear  to  your eye!

Although hollywood and the media would have us believe that the secret to true love lies in physical attraction, in truth we love those we love for who they are and what they do – not what they look like.

This poem tells the tale of why my good lady loves me.

And why I’ll never sing baritone again……



The Rib-Tickling Roller-Disco Restriction



It’s the little things they say, make the difference;

And friends I’m here to tell you that’s true.

When a loved one is sad, we don’t want them to feel bad

So there is nothing that we wouldn’t do.


Now we all have our own tricks and methods

To get our loved ones to laugh and/or smile.

It’s each to their own, in the privacy of your home,

After all – none of us are on trial.


Herein lies a tale of devotion

A tale of just what yours truly will do.

Of how the woman I cherish, almost saw parts of me perish

In my attempts to stop her feeling blue.


Now romance I can do by the hat full,

With plenty of comedy to boot

If my girl’s feeling down, to un-wrinkle her frown

I find a dance in my pants often suits.


I’ll admit that I’m not a great dancer –

I can’t do all those new fancy moves.

But I shuffle about, with the occasional pout

To show her I’m into the groove.


Our story begins late last winter

When the dark, dreary days bring you down.

The one I adored, looked so sad and so bored

And all she could do was frown.


So, one day we were out at a craft fair

Selling my lady’s bespoke, hand-made clothes.

It was one of those times, when the stars are aligned

And in my head I felt inspiration explode.


My lady was not feeling too cheery;

Stress at work, and exhaustion the cause.

She needed to grin, and I knew just the thing

To get her happiness back on course.


Across the hall, there happened to be a vendor,

Selling fabulous roller-disco hot-pants.

But not being a fool, I stayed nice and cool

Until the time came to take my chance.


My lady went to see to her ablutions;

At the far end of the hall were the loos.

As she went out of sight, I said to myself ‘right’

And I nipped across to have a peruse.


Well I must say, I was not disappointed

When the range of designs met my eyes.

I stood there agape, at the patterns and shapes

But I couldn’t make out any size.


And alas! There was no time for enquiry,

As I saw my lady start on her way back.

So quick as a flash, I parted with cash

And snatched a pair from the closest stack.


I got back to our table just in time

And resumed the façade of Mr cool.

My good lady said zip, but much later did quip

That she really is nobody’s fool.


Back home from the fair, we were tired;

We were happy, but dead on our feet.

I’d some energy reserved, because tonight she deserved

A tip-top hot-pant dancing treat!


Soon enough, bedtime was upon us

My lady settled herself in our bed.

So I grabbed the hot pants, and without backward glance

I diverted to the bathroom instead.


For the first time, I could see what I’d purchased;

They were festooned like the United States Flag.

There was red, blue and white, and the old stars and stripes

And I was proud of the choice I had grabbed.


In a flash, I had discarded half my clothing

A moment later, I wore nothing at all.

Thrilled at this chance, I stepped into the hot-pants

But to my horror found out they were small!


I stepped out again, and looked for a label

With which I meant to ascertain their size.

I found it – “girls age 8-10”; I checked it again

These damn things wouldn’t fit over my thighs!


I was stood there stark naked and frowning

In the bathroom with hot-pants in hand.

My brain whirled as thoughts sped, and a cold panic spread

Cos this definitely wasn’t what I had planned.


I looked down at the sequins and fake leather

And the colours of the Stars and Stripes.

With grim determination, and risking castration

I vowed I’d wear these hot-pants tonight.


My lady called out ‘you alright love?’

From my thoughts I awoke to a new dawn.

I knew this was it; these hot-pants had to fit

Though I might need to use a shoe-horn.


Steadfast, I began operations;

Up my legs the hot pants started to slide.

It was apparent very soon, that I would need much more room

So I stretched the waistband open wide.


With some effort, my thighs had been conquered

Though I was feeling a considerable pinch.

With a deep intake of breath, like facing battle or death,

The hot pants were raised inch by inch.


I heaved and I pulled to contain myself,

But I struggled to keep myself within.

Now I’m not one to boast, or claim I’ve got more than most,

But there was definitely no more room at the inn.


Determined, I was not to be beaten;

I could not fail my lady tonight.

So with clenched fists and teeth, I grabbed those star-spangled briefs

And wrenched upwards with all of my might.


For a moment, I was blinded by the agony;

semiconscious, I started to sway

As I slowly regained sight, by the bathroom mirror’s light

I saw my patriotic pelvic tourniquet.


As I swayed back and forth in discomfort

I noticed my legs had taken a purple-ish hue

Both above and below, there was no more blood flow

And my feet were also turning quite blue.


Nonetheless, I still had a job to do

I couldn’t quit now – it was too late to stop.

Plus I had to be quick, cos I was now feeling sick

And was worried about getting blood clots.


Earlier on when I thought through my performance

I imagined appearing with a strong, manly stride.

But now I could only just mince, and each move made me wince

Because I couldn’t stretch my legs very wide.


And that is how I appeared in the bedroom:

Severely constricted, and crushed in some parts.

But I forced out a grin, despite the pressure within

And I started to perform my dance.


It was not quite the spectacle I had hoped for,

And I would not earn any five-star reviews.

I still managed to pout, though I wanted to cry out

In the pain caused by my leg’s terrible bruise!


I must admit I probably did look a vision

Almost bent double, with bruised legs and blue feet.

I was sweating and pale, and on the verge of heart fail

But my woman had deserved this treat!


Well I’m pleased to say that I reached my objective,

Tears ran down my girl’s  face as she laughed.

I felt really nice, unlike my satin lined vice

In which I had almost cut myself in half.


But my crown of world’s greatest partner

Was retained – and was never in doubt.

Then much to my relief, I was spared further grief

As from my hot-pants I was finally cut-out.


My lady was ever-so grateful,

And whispered ways she could show me so nice

But I couldn’t oblige, because I’d damaged my pride

And had to spend the next three days wrapped in ice!


There is a moral to this story,

So take heed; listen well; be prepared.

Do what you must do, for those dearest to you

But mind you don’t become physically impaired!!

















Good Evening and welcome to this week’s Friday poem.

Last weekend, I went to the Midlands with my family for a Birthday party of my Fiancée’s aunt. Well, she’s not really her aunt, but we’re not here to discuss how she know my Fiancée and why we would all travel for several hours to see someone none of us are related to. You’ll just have to trust me on this one.

Anyway, a very lovely time was had by all. We stayed overnight, and returned home on the Sunday – stopping halfway for a pub meal. In the pub, I had a sneaky lose on a fruit machine – and I distinctly remember holding my wallet at the time.

Fast forward to Monday morning, and I am unable to find my wallet. Not too concerned, I head off for work, assuming that it will turn up once I return home and a more thorough search of my abode takes place.

Except that it wasn’t. It wasn’t to be found anywhere. I looked in all the places it usually is, then all the places it shouldn’t be – and then all the places that it never, ever, should be – the food mixer, the bin, the toilet. I even rang the pub we had stopped at on the way home the day before to see I had dropped it there somehow and it had been handed in.

It hadn’t.

I couldn’t find it, and that was serious; it meant I had to stop all my credit cards, get a new driving license, and most upsetting of all, I had lost some personal memories of my mum and dad. With a very heavy heart, I cancelled my cards, and vowed to call the DVLA in the morning to get a new driving license. I went to bed, sad and confused.

The next morning, I had another fruitless search without success. Adrienne’s mum came over to look after the kids, and I got ready to leave. Which is when Adrienne’s mum found my wallet – under the cat blanket. The cat blanket I had moved several times whilst hunting for my wallet.

And because of that, I was inspired to write this week’s Friday Poem, which .

I hope you like it.


The Bloody Cat Stole My Wallet!
The bloody cat stole my wallet –

I bloody know he did.

He took it when I wasn’t looking

And now it’s bloody hid.
And furthermore, he sees me search

Sat primly on his rug.

Watching as I go back and forth,

His face all furry and smug.
He knows where it is – Oh yes he does!

But will he tell me? No –

It’s much more fun to watch me scour

And pace madly to and fro.
I’ve sifted through his litter tray

In desperate search of it.

But all I found was frustration

And fragrance free clumps of shit.
He thinks we’re playing hot or cold

As I hang on each miaow

I even asked him “am I close?”

But just get silence now.
I don’t know why he took it,

He has no need for money.

Perhaps he did it for a dare

Or because he thinks it’s funny.


I’ve had the thought, it might not be him;

He is, after all,  just a cat.

But then I see that smug look on his face;

The hairball vomiting twat.


Perhaps I’ll never find my wallet –

In life, other things are worse.

But if I have to replace it, I’ve promised him:

I’m making a cat skin purse…



Friday Poem #46

Good Evening, and Welcome to this week’s Friday poem.

This week’s offering is a real bargain – great value for money, and no financial outlay on your part. And, there is absolutely no chance of physical harm whilst your read it – unless you are reading this sat atop a step ladder balanced precariously at the top of some scaffolding on a really windy day.

If you do fall, remember to click “Share” on the way down.

Here is this week’s poem – I hope you like it.


Black Friday

It’s Black Friday, which means that all bets are off;

Every man, woman, and child is for themselves.

This isn’t going to be pretty, but there’s no room for pity

As we fight to grab all from the shelves.


High streets will be turned into war zones,

With bodies lying strewn on the ground.

People will go demonic, to get that 55” Panasonic

TV with built-in surround sound.


You may well come out with a bargain,

And this isn’t the place to be nice.

You don’t dare to linger, and you could lose a finger

So you don’t have the chance to think twice.


Annually, the same scene is repeated;

Like last year, things can really get nasty.

I got two broken legs in a riot in Gregg’s

‘Cos they took 70 % off their pasties.


Have you ever been gouged for a hairdryer?

Or been kicked in the groin time and again?

Is being crushed on the floor, with a broken jaw

Really worth it, for the new iPhone Ten?


In the pursuit of a bargain we go backwards

Evolution regresses a few million years

We just don’t give a damn, about our fellow-man

And would bite off each other’s ears.


So before you prepare yourself for battle

Take a moment to step back from the brink.

If you think that it’s right, to claw, scratch and bite

Then the price paid may be higher than you think.

Good Evening, and welcome to this week’s Friday Poem.

This week’s offering is again in the new style I have been experimenting with. The flow and rhythm are more structured that most of my regular poems, but I am trying to develop my style and find out what I like the best, and also what works well. You can’t develop without trying new things, so it’s all good.

As always, the thoughts of the people who read my poems is valued by myself, so if you have an opinion on what I write, please do let me know – either by commenting, or by contacting me via email at




He falls: as one, all of his limbs are splayed.

A snap like bones, as twigs beneath him crush.

If fate allowed him, here he might have stayed

The consequence of capture makes him rush.


He dares not look – but they are closer now;

The sound of men and dogs tears through the dark.

He knows he must escape them – but not how:

A wounded fish, he must evade the sharks.


With every step, fatigue commands him stop;

It is sheer will that now must drive him on.

He knows he will not rise if he should drop,

So onward he must go ’til night is gone.


His mental dialogue now has slowed his speed.

Shouting; and then a bullet whistles past.

No more these thoughts: His freedom they impede,

His next mistake – could well become his last.


His hopes are slim; the woods themselves his foe

As roots and leaves reach out to snare his feet.

Slim hopes or not, onwards he must still go

To give up now, would be to call defeat.


The black of night is slowly changing hue;

A sign the dawn is not too far away.

The sky above will all too soon be blue:

No hiding place for him by light of day.


More shouts and shots – he is now clearly seen.

With hunters closing in, is it too late?

The forest ends: Before him, the ravine.

From threads of stark choice now, he hangs his fate.


He must decide; to hesitate means death

But death he risks if he decides to jump.

In desperate rasps, he struggles for his breath

His heartbeat now becomes a roaring thump.


He rues the paths that led him to this plight,

As from the woods burst dogs and guns and men.

What should he do? It must be fight or flight

The shots ring out;


He’s never seen again.



Good evening, and welcome to this week’s Friday Poem.

In many ways, this week’s poem is very similar to last week’s poem, “Shadow of the Bat”. If you haven’t yet read that poem, fear not – you will find it on the Poems page of this blog site, and it will be directly beneath this week’s.

How are these two poems similar? well, apart from both being written by me they both involve an old lady, and a degree of evil. This week’s poem came into being as a direct result of an episode that took place up in Edinburgh, at the railway station. The events that are depicted in this poem really happened as I waited with other weary travellers for the lift down to the ground level and exit. I have the witnesses to prove it – along with the deep emotional scars. I can honestly say that certain perceptions of mine have be changed forever as a result of what took place.

So, without further ado, here is this week’s Friday poem:


At Waverley Station I waited, in a queue by the lift.

I was aching and exhausted, and on to each foot I did shift.

When into view, an old woman did drift,

And said, “I have priority”.


She was scrawny and bony like a frail vulture chick,

Almost bent over double like a snapped lolly-stick.

But the look she gave me, chilled me to my wick

When she hissed, “I have priority!”


But before I could answer, she took off like a flash,

Speeding towards the lift in an octogenarian dash.

Not caring who she injured, or if she might crash

Because she had priority.


As the lift doors opened, she flew in like a shot

Settling in one corner – her pre-selected spot.

With a look on her face that said “the rest of you can rot”

“Because I have priority”.


The other travellers piled in, and we all fitted just so.

Then the old woman added, “I am disabled, you know.”

I thought, ‘disabled? – Man, you should watch yourself go’

‘When you have priority!’


I lost my respect for this nasty, old faker.

This scheming, elderly over-taker.

I wonder if, when death comes to take her,

She’ll still say, “I have priority.” ?






Hello and welcome to this week’s Friday Poem.

This week’s offering is one I submitted to an online writing group I recently joined. Each week we are given a topic to write a poem about, and each member can interpret that topic in his or her own way.

The topic of this poem is crazy……..

I hope you like it.



It’s so easy to be considered crazy;

Just talk to yourself out loud in the street.

OR go shopping without doing your hair or make-up

And take a bus ride in December with bare feet.


If you go up and say hello to a stranger

And just start to pass the time of day,

Do it with a fixed smile on your face

And then watch them edge slowly away.


You could pretend that you are hearing voices

Whilst sat in the dentist’s chair.

Or look at people eating in restaurants –

Stand outside the window and stare.


People are too ready to believe that you’re loopy;

You’ll convince them with the slightest of grins.

But the craziest thing about the world today

Is people’s desperation to fit in.