A short time ago a Harris Hawk escaped from an aviary near us. We found out about this when we went to walk Stiggy round the garden. A couple of neighbours were leaning out of their windows and called out to warn us. They said there was a Harris Hawk in the garden. It had killed a seagull and was under a tree by the fence. They pointed, we looked. There it was. A large Hawk sitting astride it’s kill, surrounded by feathers, about twelve feet from where we were standing. Stiggy is a Parsons’ Jack Russell terrier. Not very big. We turned and went the other way around the apartment building. The neighbours had already called the RSPCA. When we returned from the walk the RSPCA man was in the garden. He’d not been able to capture the hawk and it had escaped. When I got indoors I got on Twitter and told the local radio & TV stations, along with local social sites, about the escaped bird. There’s a large park next door to and behind my place, where lots of people walk their dogs off the lead. It was a worrying couple of days until the hawk was recaptured. A reminder to live in the present because life is short.


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In a distant
Ethereal place
I sailed
On pure thought-waves
Of intricate lace
Of movement
Absence of pace
Through infinite space.

Time –
An idea
An expression of haste
Love –
No time to waste.


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It seemed

Like a good idea,

A new life

For you

And your child.

You didn’t count

The cost.


The dream

At first,


A nightmare,


The nightmare





There is

No way




Wasn’t short

For Margaret.

They lied.


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Taking the day off,

Staying in bed,

Sitting up, not getting up,

Clear in my head;

Thinking of rhymes

While Stig’s in the hall,

I’m jotting down lines

While throwing his ball.

Dean’s in the kitchen

Making some tea,

Life’s gettin’ bitchin,

Feeling home free;

Financial affairs

Now taken in hand,

Things normalising.

Ideas for the brand.

Plans for the future,

Pain in the past,

Broken parts mended.

Whole people at last;

Everything’s rosy,

We’re doing just fine,

At home with each other

And nothing but time,

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I think one should take a political test,

Before one’s permitted to vote;

A sound understanding of the politics of the day

Is essential – not crap learned by rote.

I think we’d get better politicians this way

Because voters just wouldn’t be fooled

By grandiose gestures and empty promises;

Perhaps, then, we’d be governed not ruled!

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If I was  millionaire business woman

I’d start buying up corner shops;

I’d keep re-investing the profits

Until i had bought up the lot.

I’d staff them with ex-cops, ex-army,

Honest, hardworking folk get work too;

Ex-criminals who want to go straight – and DO mean it

Are welcome to join in our crew.

And once I’ve got all those small businesses back

The workers have the right to apply –

At no interest, an agreed price, deducted from wages –

For the business, which is theirs for to buy.

If I was a millionaire…

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He sits on the street

With his cup at his feet,

Hoping someone will help –

Give him change.

Such a very young man

Doesn’t quite understand

Why he’s homeless and lost,

It feels strange.


So he shoulders the blame,

The despair and the shame,

As he begs for his food,

For subsistence,

While the ‘good and the wise’

Swallow media-fuelled lies,

And reprimand him

 For existence.


But he once had a home,

Didn’t live all alone,

He had family and friends,

Just like you;

But that all fell apart,

And its broken his heart,

He’s lost everything good

That he knew.


And there’s thousands like him.

Cast aside on a whim,

Ignored and abused –

On insruction;

They are hungry and cold,

 Their whole future’s been sold

By a government bent

On destruction.

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A soft, surface skin of serene sophistication

Hides well the berserker behind the facade

Of politeness and manners and other things gentle,

Things needed to keep the sword back in the yard.


When needed we fight full of blood, guts and courage,

Celtic and Viking blood – volatile mix;

We fight with intelligence, cunning and guile, and

We’ll fight if our weapons are  pitchforks and sticks.


We are slow to real anger, we don’t want to fight.

We know the destruction we’re capable of,

We alter our consciousness looking for answers,

We are mystical warriors of life and of love.


But all it will take is a little more pushing,

Hot blood for cold killing runs through us all still,

We’re directly descended from Ivan the Terrible,

You’ll find Paddy, Taff, Jock, Tommy, willing to kill.

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The dinosaurs lumber in the mountains so high,

Lizard thoughts in their brains wandering turgidly by.

“Things are this way, always have been, and they always will.”

But beneath them are creatures, quick-witted and skilled.


That the lizards are losing, their small brains can’t grasp,

“We are too big to fail, aren’t we, immense, built to last.”

Their surroundings are constant, their powers seem unchecked,

What do they care if everyone else’s wold’s wrecked?


They don’t see their world crumbling; people turning away;

Looking more to each other; media losing its sway.

Its become common knowledge, the old order’s dead –

Just a slow death to agonise them. Shame too, and dread.

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BAD DAY (in memory of Robin Williams)

Big black cat jumping on my back
Knocking me down in a deep, dark pit
No-one sees anything, I am alone
My eyes are so empty, as here I sit.

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