Some Unpublished Poems


I am a man, 
I have been told,
A simple soul 
With heart of gold. 
I'm also called a tart and pest 
And rarely welcome
As a guest.
The role in life
I like the mostess
Is to satisfy my hostess,
But often when
I think I've caught her,
I'm tempted by
Her gorgeous daughter
And, I really ought to mention,
This causes quite a lot of tension.


One more pill to dull the pain,
Just one more pill
And then,
An hour, or maybe two,
Before it all starts up anew.

Someone said, ‘No pain. No gain.’
I fail to see the gain
In pain.
Perhaps if they removed my brain,
I could agree, ‘No brain. No pain.’
But here’s the rub,
The very nub,
The question to be answered.
Can a man who has no brain,
Who never suffers any pain,
Still feel life's blood course through his vein?

'No pain. No gain?'
Perhaps it’s true.
Cruel Fate united pain and pleasure
In random integrated measure
Which thinking man just keeps the score on,
Unlike the brain-dead, pain-free moron.
The deal, I think, must run like this.
'Joy, do you take Pain
To be your lawful wedded spouse
For better or for worse,
Till Death do you part?’

But Joy, sweet Joy, buys gain o’er dear
For pleasure is by nature coy,
So Pain will triumph over Joy.

But pity too that brainless soul.
The one who’s never up
Nor down.
Who knows no smile
Nor wears a frown.
For he can never know the gain
From sharing life with Mr Pain.

O God, this thinking makes me ill.
It's time to take another pill.


Good King Minos played for Knossos
Of which team he was the bossos
But he never won the tossos
And that made the whole team crossos.
In the game against Parnassos
Minos never got a passos.
And when jumping for the ballos
Found that he was far too smallos.
So he shouted out to Nickos
'Pass the ball and gie's a kickos.
'Get stuck in with both your feetos.
'Or this lot are going to beat us.'
Nickos tackled really hardos
But his tackles all were tardos
And Parnassos all gave howlos,
At his dirty rotten foulos.
When the ref said penaltickos.
Nickos was completely sickos.
So he called the ref 'an assos',
And his judgement, 'utter crassos',
Which is not the way to speak
To a referee that's Greek.
Then, without another lookos,
Nickos' name went in the bookos,
And was ordered off the parkos
For persisting with his narkos.
When the penalty was tookos,
Minos hardly dared to lookos
But the ball came off the baros,
- An escapos very narros!
Minos cried out, 'Jesos Christos,
Paulo Gazos gone and misstos.'
Then, to the roar of 'brilliant goalos',
Up the field he ran to scoros
But the referee decidos
That his goal had been offside-os.
Which, although they had been quiet,
Caused the local fans to riot.
And like bunch of utter clownos,
Off they went to wreck the townos,
Which explains the devastation
Of this once quite cultured nation.

(Knossos,  in Crete,  was the capital of the ancient Minoan civilisation led by King Minos.  It was mysteriously destroyed circa 1600 BC.)


The flat, black screen of a dead television surveys my bed.
The cleaners arrive with buckets, mops, and disinfecticide.
They have a job to do:
Slip, slop, and chatter
But they’re in my space
And that’s the matter.

Now they’ve gone.
‘Farewell cleaning ladies - no MRSA today.’
I’m in a germ free zone.
‘Thank you for keeping the bugs away.’

Housework all my life,
And at the end,
Someone else to clean my room.


My love was like a red, red rose
Her voice was deep and mellow,
But when I checked below the belt,
I found she was a fellow.

Oh, how on earth did she do that?
I haven't got a clue.
My love is just another bloke.
Alas my bird has flew.