Gathering Grapes to drink one night.

Oh what can ail thee Lana Scan?

Alone and palely loitering?

Come and sit beside the Lake,

And listen to me sing.


“Heaven knows when I might see,

A Monkey in The Banyan Tree,

Coming down to look at me

Offering a cup of tea.


“In times gone by I used to cry

As Camel boys spat in my eye.

Now I feel with an awesome sigh,

Thank God those days have passed me by.


“Then I think upon this Great Globe,cropped-cropped-the-garden-of-earthly-delights-by-hieronymus-bosch-1

Suspended from my earlobe

Is a painful Periodontal Probe,

And a man dressed in a bloody Thobe.


“It gets me up, it gets me down,

The stairways in this cold Town.

Seventeen Baboons, a horse and a Clown,

It makes Commuters stop and Frown.


“I wonder at the sycophants gall,

Who lied his way into the Ball,

I’ll ask a Gibbon, lean and tall,

To smash his Head against the wall.


“Then came an Ass , an erstwhile Leader,

I said he’s just a fucked up Bleeder,

Duplicitous bastard – Journal Reader,

Definitely a Bottom Feeder.


“Six times a day I’m out of my class,

Gathering paper to shove up my Ass.

Those Work Generators totally Crass;

Dossers have reached a Critical Mass.


“None can touch me, Old and Wary,panda beer

Not even Fat Bum, big and hairy,

We zipped through the trees – very scary,

Some kids and us; Peter and Mary.


“And just this week the World went Moony,

Inflated egos rap till Noony.

But I don’t care because I know soony,

I’ll share some wine with a Fairy loony.”


And so sweet Lady in the Meads,

Full Beautiful – a Fairy Child.

Come buy a beer, any kind;

Lager, Bitter or even Mild.

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We sat together you and I,

Late; last night.

You, in your eternity, Breaking gently, suppurating sea sounds.oil-painting-1716127_1920

Rocks and shells and bricks and mortar,

Cascading through your daily slaughter.

Granules of death to cool my toes.

I sat, inebriated,


You will last a long time, unlike my love;

It ebbs and flows, then crashes in white foam.


You guided death from afar,

When I was a soldier, Or a Jack tar.

Along this coast Templars came,

Still fighting now amongst the hordes,

That would, from Babylon,

Descend to put my soul at rest again.


I come and go between my lives,

You sing soft breeze for me to please.

Cannon, Musket, SLR.

Swords and daggers left no scar

A watery death is the great recycler.


So in these last ephemeral years,

More roots to plant in shallow soil.

Will she still travel across your blue?

If she wants to be with you!

A portrait, in iconic fashion,

Fostering undying passion.

Not now,

Old Sir;

Not now.

Flying fish

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Heading into the weekend with some old ideas

I think this album came out in 1973 and I have loved it ever since.  I have been round the 81ztqBThOML._SL1238_world since then, raised a family, been married twice, work as a teacher, a salesman, a retailer, a farm hand, and a Nuclear Physicist. But still I come back to some of my teenage music.

Then you start thinking – what’s next?

I am currently teaching in a British school in Morocco, running two blogs and a couple of online businesses.


Then I looked ahead and found this –


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Broken Heart too.

Palpitations thrusting love in the limelight;IMG_1180

Made it hard, to sleep last night?

One demands sex; the go-to man she calls me.

One demands a kiss-a temptation easily avoided selfish woman.

One is carrying too much guilt – her crazy bundle of joy.

“I want to go to Dubai!” she cried.

She cries a lot these days,

Consumed in anger and remorse as her man departed.

“Seven years!” she told me.

“Seven years and all the time he cavorted off screen!”

She asked my why?

But I am a mere mortal man

“Because he can!

In Kazakhstan!”

She asked me to wait,

Eight years and counting down towards nuptials

At my graveside.

“Why did I wait?” she implores. “Eight years without love!

Loneliness imposed by my lack of trust!”

Wait not my sweet thing.

Seize the Carp! Every day!

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Love – by Rumi and Otway.

rumiLazy Sunday Afternoon;

Waiting! Waiting for You!

Another girl, Another City, Another delay.

“I fought with my sister – sorry darling.”

Patient man, paying penance perhaps prolonging painful parting.

Yet she comes, walking in glowing delight;

Waking my breaking heart to new –

Old feelings of love and respect and affection and two cats in the yard.

“I turned down three for you! 0329 came the last demand!”

I will come she said; I was asleep.

My broken heart no longer needs the pain, the shallow victories,

The crazies – it was fun while it lasted.

Now I look for a Gallery in the Sun,

Fields of waving corn with dreams of you in Bluey Green.bag-15841_1920

“Turquoise” she said “But I need to lose ten kilos.”

Come on home to me – I will wait for a while.

“Deep and meaningless!”

Be the sunshine of my love.

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Two short poems

On learning to ride; Women.

Sylvia Pike

Had a bike,


Until she met Mike.

Then she bought a trike.


Broken Heart

I will diminish and Go West,

Wearing a string vest,

And have a good long rest

If I don’t pass the test.

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Woman with a Big Beaver

Woman with big beaver

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I remember when everyone looked like this…


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The Monk’s advice to a bunch of Fairies.

They sat in a lovely Fairy Circle, with the Monk E at one corner, confusing the dimensions of the place. The Fairies had enjoyed the tale as far as the bit about the 4th and 5th dimensions, as they really could not visualise these two concepts. They had, however, discovered that the Monk E was here to help and he seemed to have some good knowledge about Witchland.

And these facts, he was more than willing to share.

“There are even some Wizards in these parts who have turned to the bad. Not an easy place for five fine Fairies to go prattling about, waltzing to and fro like a dynamo. Even luscious battle readied Sankyu Fairies hell bent on completing a Quest, could come across beasts so awesome that their courage could fail, faces go pail, so they quickly set sail!” As he said all of this the eyes of the Monk shone bright with deep passion, enrapturing his quintet of warrior princesses.Fairy Thanthat

“And yet,” he continued; “and yet the Universal Spirit has dropped you here in the swamps and forests of Witchland just as the Mystical Monk E should happen to be passing. Somewhere out there in the great unknown a greater thinking thing has planned this meeting!”

The girls snorted in derision.

Except for Lara Llama; she snorted a massive bogey onto her arm.


Mutch scornfully surveyed the Monk, who had by now tossed back his cowl. The revelation meant all fives babes looked at him mockingly. The guy had a long face topped with a mass of grey, curly hair, which made him look like an Old English Sheepdog that had been plugged into the mains supply. The midst of his face was crowned by a nose that said ‘I love my wine; its throbbing red veins indicative of many years of over indulgence. Yet his eyes; gorgeous blue pools of happiness, deep windows into the soul of a survivor.

He appeared to be wearing some kind of outdated dispersal pattern material, better known as camouflage, a word derived from French meaning to ‘flage a camou’. He also carried with him a large backpack, apparently made of the same material.

“What’s in the bag?”  enquired Lady Stuppence.

“I haven’t got a clue,” replied the Monk. “We were all given one and told to use it when needed. All sorts of shite is stored in here. There was one time I stuck in my thumb and pulled out a plum and I heard a sound of a man shrieking in pain. On another occasion there appeared to be disco music emanating from my sack, so I looked in and saw a whole pile of fish dancing. I put my hand in to investigate and pulled a mussel. The there was the time I felt the need to eat some pork so I looked inside and pulled a hamstring. Last week I heard horses moving inside, some walking, some trotting and some going like the clappers; so I delved in and pulled a fast one.”

“Are you going to keep trying to do funny jokes?” asked Noor Kaneye. “Because you’re just not funny.”Fairy Hanny

“Funny as flu,” said Bumblefoot.

The Monk stopped talking for a while. He wondered if there was about to be a pause in the narrative.

No such luck.

“And what type of assistance could an old fart like you give to us Five Fully Armed Killers?” ridiculed Mutch.

It was the Monks turn to snort, even though he was trying to give up the habit.

“Let me ask you,” he began, “do you know how to mesmerise a Witch?”

“Cut its head off!” said Lady Stuppence.

“Or how to disorientate a rogue Warlock?”

“Cut its head off!” said Cyrena Bumblefoot.

“Or discombobulate a Vampyre?”

“Cut its head off!” said Noor Kaneye.

“Or to confuse an Estate agent?”

“Cut its head off!” said Lara Llama.

“Or pacify a rampant Zombie?”

“Cut its head off!” said Mutch.

The Monk paused, gave a wry smile. These Sankyu Fairies where a bit too single minded for dealing with all the close encounters they might encounter during this encounter. The Monk E looked to the sky, wondering if the Thesaurus had just broken down.

“Not bad; three out of five. But you’ll need to learn some more techniques when you’re dealing with Witches and Warlocks.”


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The Dark Side of Uranus

Moving on tonight with Fairy Hanny and her crowd of weird friends.

I created Lady Stuppence from an expressions used by my son Ben – it’s a bit rude…

The Monk E.


“Dear luscious Maidens,” continued the Monk. “I see outrage turning to a glow as your blood begins to flow. I am the Mystic Monk E! What more is there to say? Try it like ABC!”

“123! That’s how easy life can be!”

“And you five sexy birds have found me sitting upon my trusted steed, the three legged Donkey known as Wonky; and you ladies make me feel so unreal. But that is probably because I am,” continued the weirdo.

Mutch lifted her sword high again, a threatening gesture that would have caused a sphincter to loosen in Wayne Down.

“Come on Monk, out with it!”  demanded Mutch.

The Monk opened his blue eyes as wide as possible, then gave a lascivious wink.

Mutch coloured like a lobster in boiling water.

The tittering Fairies, Lady Stuppence and Cyrena Bumblefoot, had to work hard to stifle their laughter. Noor Kaneye and Lara Llama wanted to laugh too, but they were guarding the rear just in case this mad Monk had assassins trying to slip in the back way.

Mutch was much too serious.

“Do not mock Mutch, Mystic Monk E; if you aren’t careful you will lose your crown jewels!”

Mutch thrust her sword forward, causing a glint in the eye of the beholder. The other four could no longer help themselves; tittering turned to tottering turned to giggling turned to guffawing.

“Speak quickly, Monk or I will dispose of you like a punk! Go on make my day!”

“How many times must the cannon ball fly before you can call him a man?” asked the Monk.


“If tomorrow wasn’t such a long time, would we still be watching the river flow?”


“Am I on the road to know where? I need to find out how much is owed to a Greek Urn. I am desperate to find out if many a muckle makes a mickle!”

“You are feckin bonkers!” declared Mutch.

“If you insist!” laughed the Monk.

In a trice he was off his Wonky, sidestepping the angry Fairy; then with a magical flick of the wrist he disarmed her, spanked her bottom with the flat of the blade and gave her a kiss.

Dropping her sword to the floor the Monk bent low to bow.

“Ladies I am the dishonourable Monk E, at you service. Wit, storyteller, guide and soldier. The last of the Knights that went dark,” he stated.

“Monk who and what?” chorused the buxom babes.

“Monk E,” he repeated. “Not a monkey but a Mystic Monk in the land of the heathens!  A light in the dark! A walk in the park! A ‘What’ in the land of Witch! In short, a saviour in the nick of Time!”

“Does Time have a prison?” asked Noor Kaneye.

Mutch looked aggrieved; she crossed her arms and puckered her lips so tightly they could have been mistaken for a cats arse with severe ceramics.

“Meaning exactly what, old man?” asked Fairy Bumblefoot.

The clearly Mad Mystic Monk E smiled disarmingly as he returned the sword to Mutch. He was faster than intended, so apologised.

“Was that too much Mutch?”

The Wonky limped around a bit. Wonky’s do that sort of thing. When it was younger it walked with a lymph – which is a limp with a lisp.

“How does that Wonky walk?”

“He’s basically a biped with three legs,” explained the Mystic. “A sort of moving stool.”

“I stood in one of them once,” said Noor with a look of disgust. “Horrible sticky thing and it smelled really bad.”

“Witchland is a rather dreadful, gruesome place for travellers,” began the Monk. “Very dodgy for the unwary. There are many spies and servants of the Witch King; there are estate agents looking for the unwary to be duped by King Grumbleflick.”


“Grumbleflick, the winking wan King of the Witches. In one guise he goes about as an estate agent and alleged developer of the shitland which is Witchland. He gets unsuspecting tourists, keen on watching Ogres in their natural habitat, to make a financial commitment to a piece of bog land in the depths of the Witch Kings realm. He claims it will double in value every seven years. Then fecks off and leaves them penniless! Nasty piece of work,” explained the Monk.

“Would anyone ever fall for that sort of thing?” asked Cyrena. “I cant believe it Noor Kaneye.”

“Well yes we had worked that one out,” pursued the Fairy with the cat’s arse.

“Which one did you work out?  The nasty piece of work or the moving stool,” asked Lara Llama.

“It’s always good to work out the moving stool,” said Monk E. “Once you’ve got that clear you can relax and enjoy the rest of my story.”

“Are you going to tell us a story?” asked Noor Kaneye, her eyes glowing with anticipation.

The Monk sat on the ground. The Sankyu Fairies followed his lead; not Mutch.

“But there are Witches! Ogres! Vampyres! Zombies! Letting Agents! And Warlocks!”


“No let’s not do that joke; it’s seen better days,” said Mutch.

“Let me tell you about the Mystic Monks. There are five of us and we all exist in different dimensions. We were sent here to be on hand when tales start to go awry, like Dragons that can swoop in and eat the bad lad when the hero seems to be stuck in an impasse,” explained the Monk.

“What kind of hero would get himself stuck in an imps ass?” asked Lara Llama. “And what kind of story are you planning on telling us? Will it involve pixelated privates?”

Lady Stuppence chuckled at that.

“Is the author going to keep revisiting the same crap jokes?” asked Bumblefoot.

Monk E decided to continue with his tale.

“In the beginning there was nothing,” he began.

“How could there be nothing?” enquired Lara. “If there was nothing then someone must have noticed there was nothing so there must have been something just before that, otherwise nothing would mean nothing at all!”

The Monk looked at Lara like a Maths teacher who has just run through the proof of the quadratic formula for the eighty fifth time.

“As I was saying; in the beginning there was nothing, which was just a little something but not much,” he said glaring at Lara.

“So you weren’t there either,” she said, looking at Mutch.

“ said not ‘much’ not not ‘Mutch’” fumed the Monk.

“I still don’t get it,” said Bumblefoot. “There wasn’t anything there, not even Fairy Mutch. What kind of story is this?”

The Monk bit his bottom lip and looked to the sky.

“Do you want me to tell you about the Mystic Monk and where we come from?” he asked.

“Well so far you’ve talked about Mutch and nothing,” said Lara.

Mystic Monk E looked slowly between each of them. Were they being thick or obstreperous? Fortunately he had the patience of a saint; in some universes he was actually worshipped a s a saint, so that explains where the patience comes from.

“Once upon a Time,” he began, and noticed the Fairies sat misty eyed. Aha, he thought, I’ve started a proper Fairy story.

“In the beginning there was a vast tin of primordial soup; nobody knows what type of soup it was as the label had fallen off on the way home from the supermarket. From this soup there emerged Five Mystic Monks. Was it the heat and the electricity that caused the combination of RNA and R’n’B to form these Mystical beings?  Was it the suggestion that maybe it was actually Mulligatawny Soup and anyone who messes with that deserves all they get?

Nobody knows.

Suffice to say, out came the five Mystic Monks. Now, as it was such a long time ago and nobody had as yet opened a registrar for Births, Marriages and Deaths, then nobody had a clue about names. And so with the expedite of necessity the five were merely labelled A, B, C, D and E. And lo! The Monks went out into the dimensions to help people in need, fighting greed with the knock kneed, and eating seed to see where it might lead! They were great times!”

The Fairies remained seated, chests heaving with excitement; Monk E did his best not to ponder on the distractions of the flesh. He merely cast his mind back to the Time he sat behind two bald headed men at Wimbledon.

“Tell me more!”

“Tell me more!”

“Tell me more!”

Things were getting greasy.

“Each of us moved into different dimensions. Monk A went to the first dimension as he liked to get straight to the point and keep things in line. Monk B went out to the second dimension as he was haughty and a bit of a square. Monk C was cast into the third dimension as he was more of a rounded character. Monk D went into the fourth dimension!”

The Fairies all laughed derisively at this.

“No such thing as a fourth dimension,” snickered Mutch.

“Be careful with your snickers, they were clean on today,” tittered Lara llama.

“No such thing as a Sanity Clause either,” declared Cyrena.

“What do you mean by a fourth dimension?” aske the very sensible Noor Kaneye.

The Monk looked at them earnestly.

“Don’t let Ernest see you doing that,” said Mutch.

“Homophones,” muttered the Monk.

“And we will have none of that talk either! It’s not that kind of book!”  continued Mutch.

The Monk looked at her. He wanted to say that actually it is sort of that kind of book, what with all the females being large breasted and most of the males seemingly useless; he decided it was best to just get on with his story.

“Imagine a cube,” he said.

So each of the Sankyu Fairies sat with puckered brows as the earnestly imagined a cube. Lara puckered so much she stepped on a duck.

“Oops,” she giggled.

The Monk continued in a tone vastly affected by the fact that he was holding his nose to avoid Lara’s air biscuit.

“Imagine a cube,” he continued. “And each face of the cube is a cube. So the two dimensional face is a three dimensional space!”

“Oh I get it now,” shouted Lady Stuppence.

“Really?” enquired the Monk.

“Do I feck!” she said.

“Ok, then try this; an enclosed room full of cat’s farting. That could be the fourth dimension!” tried the Monk.

“Sort of three dimensions but with noises?” asked Bumblefoot.


The Fairies looked at each other and nodded in agreement that this description of four dimensions was good enough. Erwin and his cat would have been horrified; or maybe not.

“What about you, Monk E; where do you come from?” asked Mutch.

“I am from the fifth dimension,” he replied matter of factly.

Mutch laughed uproariously.

“Is this the dawning of the age of Aquarius or something,” she screamed.

“Are we expecting Jupiter to collide with Mars?” asked Bumblefoot.

“I think that should be ‘align’,” explained Noor.

“Collide sounds better though,” added Lara.

“Fair point.”

“And is it you who let’s the sunshine in?” asked Noor.

“Actually it is me; I am the light at the end of the tunnel. Every morning when I wake up I have to walk five hundred miles to let the Sun Shine.”

“500 hundred miles?”

“It’s part of that fifth dimension thing. Everything in fives.”

“Do you do High Fives?”


“And then are you up, up and away?”


“And you have a beautiful balloon?”

“No I just like to eat lots of cake; five slices a day is the well balanced way.”

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