The Poetry Pirate.

I was thinking this morning (for reasons undisclosed I have a lot of time for thinking at present) about what role, if any, I serve in this strange digital space that we all share.

I have thus been forced to acknowledge that much of my time sailing upon the high seas of WordPress is in the search for hidden treasure to pilfer and deface. I am a poetry pirate. When the poetry of others comes into my view I tend to leap aboard before stealing all the good ideas and escorting the original owners off the gangplank and undertaking a shameless defacing of their vessel and then setting it adrift as an unrecognisable piece of wreckage.

There have been lots of victims. You know who you are.

Sorry about that.

My latest victim was Ivor, who you may know as a fellow countryman of mine and published poet of some renown (any brief investigation will reveal that I have not published a word myself, and am a multiple university dropout). I want to publicly thank Ivor for accepting the invasion in the spirit that it was intended.

Ivor was relating, via his poetry, his passing thoughts whilst lying in his hospital bed. Recalling all the wonderful drugs that they hand out freely in hospital as a source of inspiration, I immediately leapt into bed with Ivor and set about my work.

Here is what he had to say ….


And I decided to walk

To the south side of the moon

Taking my own spoon

I heard there’s a cheese-cake tasting

A sweet crumbly base

Topped with blueberries and cream

Life’s not about lying in bed

I’ll meet you for a kiss

After school

Down by the old pool


…..and here is my response


Lying on the pillow

Feeling kind of evangelic

The drugs that they are feeding me

Must be sort of psychedelic

Eclipses out my window

Though that may just be the curtain

‘Cause the nature of the universe

Is suddenly uncertain

Got to hold onto my sanity

So they’ll let me out of here

So in moments of lucidity

I dream of you, my dear

In hope beyond futility

That we will reunite at last

As I revisit treasured moments

And go dredging through our past

Searching through the memories

Recalling special bits

Like the day you met me by the pool

And let me feel your tits


So you have all been warned. I take no prisoners.

An illusion of beauty

With little other than negative thoughts in my mind this morning I decided to take a gentle poke at Kate who wrote a poem about a painting, (an illusion of an illusion). I just wrote a third layer with a hint that only through the act of tearing through the words and the canvas might you find reality, but that you might not like what you see.

I discovered that the artist originally in question was the late Fay Collins who was, without a doubt, a rare talent with brush in hand, as can be further seen (scene) here and I certainly meant no offence to her.

…… I was just fooling around


A painting’s such a cruel deceit

No ocean there to wash your feet

No blue sky to sit beneath

No Eiffel Tower, no Scottish Heath

No sun to warm your naked skin

No gentle breeze to sooth within

No wine to taste, no rose to smell

The colours are all chemical

There’s nothing three-dimensional

A magic trick. A lie to sell

Ms Collins! Stand aside, my dear

We’ll fall for no such magic here

Your charming, calming circus acts

Are hiding all the horrid facts


And just to give you a further idea of my current state of mind (I don’t produce it as an excuse, because I fear that it may be permanent) I wrote something else yesterday …. it was part of an imaginary conversation between two people. One of those people may have been me.

The scene could be anywhere, but certainly somewhere poorly lit. It’s probably a dingy bar that smells of beer and disappointment. At least one of the participants is smoking a cigarette and watching it slowly rise and disperse itself over the low ceiling. There is a bored female singer in the background, painfully forcing out the last song of the night.


“Micheal. Life is shit and then you die. We all know that, of course, though some of you delusionists would like to pretend otherwise. Everything is fake and even those fake things gets recycled into more fake things. The perfect apple in the fruit bowl is made of plastic. Every colour in the world is cheaply produced in some horrid sweatshop factory by virtual slave labourers who struggle to keep their own children fed, let alone happy, just so that the whole thing can go on and on and on. And if you look at it all from a certain angle you can see right through the cheap veneer and you realise that there’s nothing on the other side. Everything is just a cover up. Life is some sort of surrealist painting hastily slapped on canvas to hide the void. But from the moment you first catch a glimpse through the fading brush strokes you can see it forever. And are forever after tempted to jump.”

His colleague watches the last of the smoke gather around the flickering light above him before crushing the cigarette stub beneath his heel and into the carpet.

“I can see that you’re beginning to cheer up, at last,” he murmurs.

It will be forever winter

I read something here that was very good and followed some rules that I didn’t understand, so I wrote something that’s not very good and doesn’t follow any rules in particular. Because I’m done with rules. I’m done with most things, actually.


Might I lay in slumber

Might I rot. Might I decay

Might I find this night

To be not followed by a day

To stop this haunting vision

You are gone. I know not where

Be it hell or be it heaven

I ask the Lord to take me there

That I might sleep through winter

Beneath these trees that splinter. Leaves that fall

And from a dream of summer memories

Never wake at all


Red Pyjamas

Another one for Sammi

For reasons which I would rather not explain I am incapable of words right now, and possibly forever. 38 are as many as I can muster. More than I can muster well.

What’s that ahead?

A girl in red pyjamas

Eyes of green

Thoughts within my shorts

Stumble clumsily obscene

Be black and white

Be mine tonight

Tomorrow start anew

Vacate my bed

Redress in red

Forever leave me blue