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Washed away the stain,
On my screen for eighteen months,
Probably coffee,
I used some gin and tonic,
It was the nearest solvent.

7

Standing in the rain,
Waiting for thunder's drumbeat,
The spark of lightning,
Nature refreshed in chaos,
What time is apocalypse?

7

Enhance enjoyment,
Of my digital poems,
Via the new app,
Whatever the fuck that means,
I don't know this shit no more.

8

In hospital or,
Abducted by aliens,
That's where my Dad is.
There's no communication,
A firewall of fucktards.

7

As feral demons,
Those uncontrollable thoughts,
Come on barging in,
Bursting into conciousness,
How I wish they'd go away.

7

My Dad smashed his chest,
The odds are stacked against him,
Both love and hate him,
Waiting for the final call,
Telling Mum will be hardest.

7

The local church here,
Host concerts and recitals,
There is a bar too.
Don't do religion myself,
But this is a fount of good.

1

Warm sun in winter,
Enjoying the boneyard peace.
Something strikes the ground,
A crow up high in the trees,
Lost hold of a sausage roll.

6

I would like a home,
That has no neighbours at all,
Just desert or sea,
Maybe forest or downland.
Might need machine gun turrets.

6

Mirrors in the home,
Welcome light and openness,
Yes I do like them,
It's just that each time I look,
I see some fat old bastard.

6

Tanka poetry,
Fourteen syllables harder.
I stick with Haiku.

5

Desperate people,
They crowd the supermarket,
They are not like me,
Nothing desperate 'bout me,
Or my basket full of gin.

5

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