Poems and stuff

I have a shed – in Walthamstow. I write in my shed, experiment with words. I write poems, short stories and little bits of nonsense. Some of them I share here. Some of them I don’t.

My poem “Otis” was recently performed as part of the “Poetry in Motion: Market Walk” led by poet John Hudson and historian Peter Ashan along Walthamstow High Street.


Flesh creeps over seats
sloths on sofas.
Chubby fingers feed
stuffed mouths full of taste,
love’s satisfaction.
Comfort craves food’s fuel
affection and
fills the heart’s hungry spaces.
Fat thighs, fat arms, fat smiles.


A piss pot sits squat beneath my bed

while summer’s stubble burns beyond my window

Nylon sheets spark against restless legs

as each rumbling train rattles crocks and glasses

Pinky and Perky prance, walk on walls

watching swallows swoop beneath sheltered eaves

An empty fire grate’s no longer warm

now tis electric’s blanket brings welcome heat

Telly’s distant voice dawdles upstairs

and grown up grumbles fill the front room below

Long silent sounds seep into my dreams

yes I miss my childhood bedroom now.


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