Rough Touch Ropes

I have seen many

Such as he;

Beribboned costume

(More clown than ringmaster),

Cat-of-Cheshire smile,

Loud voice that

Carries no authority.

Yet he will say,

He has borne the sword

From cold fields

To these strewn-with-paper tiles.

I am, perhaps, too used to keeping

Rough-touch ropes tight around

Memories that would otherwise

Have me vulnerable, weeping, cold.

Too used to resisting the

Smith’d-of-gold poisons;

To watching too,

Too many young people

Take their too-soon leaves.


I don’t, in all honesty,

Want you to know …

But it took all of my wind

‘n’ most of my reserves

To get this wonderful-high.

Though I don’t want to confess –

I think you should know that

I’m not sure how long I can stay

On top, calm, collected

Up here where everything

Edges ecstasy’s borders.

There are dark greys,

Overlapping distant lights

Between the there

That was us setting out

And the here that is now.

Experience, like ambition, can sting

Like a silver hornet

If you let it; euthanase all emotion;

Yet I am here again,

For the first time,

Knocking knuckles on the

High-pressure door.

Don’t make me beg …

Never Alone …

Trials and Trails: life and times of a Walsall fan

We are the terrace tribes,

Every dog has its day,

The scarves with proud, loud voices,

The twelfth man,

The few, joined together

Whose total is so much more

Than the tally:

Making the difference;

The banterers, the chanters,

The faithful following –

On our feet, on our knees,

Going on believing even when

Belief is on the proverbial ropes;

Hoping to be champions,

To not be moved

On the roads to glory;

The noisemakers, wondering (too noisily)

If the officials can see, know the rules,

Have two parents.

We are the queues at turnstiles,

At pie-counters, at toilets, at bus stops,

Always coming back, always keeping on

Sometime-touchline wits and better managers,

Insatiable consumers of statistics and programme notes,

Shirtless in January sleet:

Because we’re on our way,

Even if, for some this’n’that reason,

We’ve got to wait, again

Just one more season.

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Let’s Not Forget …

“I believe,” she whispered –

Turning, smiling, naked as love

And saints-be-tempted desirable –

“That we are all free to believe

What we want to believe,”

The words of an earlier wiser fool.

Her voice is filled with

November-smoke warmth,

Saved-summer-honey sweetness.

“But we both know, don’t we,

That when the delight-filled education-explorations

Of seduction-seduction seductions

Have passed;

When consummation’s  firework-glorious games

Are familiar as history,

That the road between winters

Will still be there – beyond the curtains and doors

We thought were finally closed –

Waiting patiently for us … so,

Just sayin’, let’s not forget

Where we left our boots eh?”


Thanks …

About to eat, go to bed, get up, climb into a car to travel to an airport and fly towards a Big Apple.

Will be away and off-line for the next two weeks because of these plans, maybe longer depending on inspiration and energies.

But wanted to say a big thanks to all who have paid any attention whatsoever to my posts and thoughts.

A journey from N.Y. via points south to Washington D.C feels like it could be great.

Hope to be back soon.

Strength and patience to your blogging muscles.

Things I Might Have Said ?


Be not afraid to sit alone and still

In moonlight (there is always company

Be had in that silver-friend place);

Seek out the edges of sky, sea and earth,

Travel the hidden paths as well as the crowded ones,

Give such respect as is due to

The latest phantom armies, but do not,

Without thought, join their marches. Continue reading

Or The Other Way Instead…


This post was inspired incidentally and coincidentally while I was looking at the blogs that I follow (my Reader) and came across this post

I was listening to an interview with Mick Box (Uriah Heep) having been to see a Heep show a week or so ago and these words just dropped through my fingers onto the screen.

I give due credit to Oloriel and gently suggest that glancing at other blogs is either the way to madness, inspiration -or both.

This building is a railyard:

South-bound, the other way instead –

Or this journey is a building –

“Third floor: nails, kettles and tickets ..” Continue reading


Great wanna-be silverback ape

tells me my ancestors must

Have been crocodile gods:

I pay no attention to

His chinless chatter-noises,

I will not argue with a fool. Continue reading