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Calculating Cat

Fat Alice

Drop-in Centre

Survivor Guilt

Prime Ministerís Question Time

Lessons from Viet Nam

The Airborne Museum, Hartenstein, March 2023

Early Morning Walk


Communication ii

Sock Drawer Poets

Diplomatic Dancing

Old Bill And Me

Debits And Credits

Organic Farming

Whiskey The Cat

Fettling The Garden


Those Washday Dreams

In Povertyís Hell

By Steam Train

Road Hog Blues


Yorkshire Red

This New New Year

Priory Woods 2022



Two Thousand And Twenty Two

Ginger Whinger



More Poetry >>


Swords are piled high ready
Edges sharpened and whet
For with the coming day
A battle will be met.

The women are gathered
Each sewing a shroud,
Most of them dry eyed
But some sob out aloud.
At the camp perimeter
Each sentry stands in place
For incursions or desertions
From the forward war base;
Around the camp fires
Nervous talk and prattle
But none of it concerns
The near coming battle.
Just bravado and brag
To push the fear down deep,
Each man knowing there'll be
Very little untroubled sleep.

As the sun sets,
At the last rays of light,
A cur whines and howls
Into the sudden dark night.




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