Category Archives: poetry

Stressed about stress

In the wild, marijuana is a tough number, a prime example of survival of the fittest, hence the word ‘weed’. But in fact, it is a herb.

Today widely commercialised, weed has become ‘delicate’. You start trimming it – it goes into shock. You top it – it gets stressed. In pots, it soon gets rootbound and then needs to be transplanted, another nasty jolt to give it a funny turn. So confused with this battered handling, the poor plant loses all sense of its sexuality and tries to become both male and female. And who is responsible for this abuse?

The Grower. He or she then starts to imitate the plant. He becomes indecisive, overdoes this, underdoes that, hair turns grey or falls out and his mind becomes rootbound too. He then starts to panic and makes rash decisions and becomes a ‘rusher’ : rushes to cut, to top, to trim, to harvest, to dry and to cure. And there’s no cure for this rusher…
Apart from smoking the plant.


In the Breeze


Wanton gossamer condom
Drifting in the breeze
From the land of Whoredom
Settled on my knees

A gift to be treasured
I got up from my seat
My cock needs to be tethered
When in search of meat

Lingerie is waiting out there
To be torn to shreds
Don’t mess around with me
The ace of thoroughbreds

I shall make her squirm
I shall make her flap
When I bring out The Worm
And my chastening strap


Amnesia? How could I forget!
She, the colour of burnt sienna
One of life’s beautiful maidens,
Her name was Jasmine
Also, one of life’s enigmas

We met as inmates on a seminar
She was wearing denims or jeans,
so many images, each one remains
But we had to part and I went insane,
I constantly sent her emails, my stamen arisen forever

One day, at the cinema, I upset her.
I told her I gave enemas
She didn’t mince her words
I tried to make amends, but of no avail, no aisle for us
We became aliens and I joined the marines

How’s Business?

There’s always a time turn, turn, turn, am having a funny
one for the road, baby, needs changing, places and faces East of Eden,
nasty park your bum here and Tell me that you’re never going to the pictures, every one of which tells a story Hunky Dunky sat on a Wall Mart eeny meeny miny whiny bitch in time for tea bags your uncle Tom’s cabin bruiser banana.
So how far have we Got to get you into my life, baby, needs changing again for God’s sake! I think I need to go the toilet which means I can’t get down to business whilst doing my business.
How’s yours?


Once there was a day
When I lost my way
One of quite a few
Of what I didn’t do

I didn’t understand
The message in my hand
So arriving late
Went and sealed my fate

Big boss had a fit
Told me I blew it
He gave me the sack
‘Don’t ever come back!’

So is life win or lose?
Or is it what you choose?
If I ever had a voice
Quite. Hobson’s choice

A Lost Craft

Flying over the sea on my broomstick
On account of being so lovesick
I didn’t expect to be homesick
Or an uptick in feeling so seasick

I’ve always been melancholic
You do when you know you’re a relic
Being a witch is no frolic
And now an alcoholic

My existence has been so shuttered
The chances I had have been frittered
And all the spells that I muttered
To the four winds they have scattered

I suppose you’ve made the deduction
I’ve lost the charm of seduction
I’m feeling the pangs of rejection
I’m alone, no family connection


Pardon me laughing
I’ve been hoboduffing
Easy to dismantle,
most already mentled

One I had to smother
It really stunk of meths
The maths for today?
One at home, two away

In UK, a bricas
in France, a fracas
Unfit for the skyline,
especially at sundown

No-one wants to meet
lepers of the street