Archive for the ‘Uncategorized’ Category

sea sky beach sand

Photo by Serkan Göktay on

You have nothing to apologise for because you are an anointed Lord of barrow boys made good.

I picture you with those resourceful cockney boys eating jellied eels and cracking jokes about Sam Fox with her tits out

Wrapping golden delicious in Linda Lusardi and Melinda Messengers tits nothing not funny or cliched about that at all, not sorry you’re a Lord and I a poet

We are far too important to be held to account for the sensitive tweeters so I knocked together a poem like a pass from a beach salesman and national footballer,

Nothing at all derogatory about a cockney eating jellied eels or a Senegalese lucky lucky man selling knocked off goods to women with their tits out and beer swigging lads from Blighty.


To defend a joke is like a Ronaldo cross into the box of a shit side where the hapless white defender scores an own goal when it deflects off his mouth just unlucky nothing offensive just very defensive.

In nineteen eighty eight on Alcudia beach a black man with yellow sunglasses sold rip off Amstrad rasta blasters and he must have been the father of the Senegal striker coz you said so Lord Sugar.

When you were knighted by the Queen in stolen Indian diamonds I bet you both had a right old laff one cockney to another and I bet you said you were just a humble barrow boy done good,

I bet the black servant of the queen ran back to the kitchen to check the score of Senegal Vs Nigeria to see how the beach salesman and footballers got on at the world cup derby.

I bet the waiter said yes boss to Prince Phillip as he suggested the electricity must have been done by a wide eyed chinaman but this is not racist at all when a royal says so but quirky.


Don’t be so serious for goodness sake that Lord Sugar is a national treasure like the counterfeit crown the queen wears as she knights barrow boys and white boys and occasionally war criminals.

Don’t be so serious  I mean this as a joke in prose and it has to be dead clever and funny because I am a poet earning zero point zero zero zero zero zero per cent of Lord Sugar

Now aint that fuckin funny when you think about it. Maybe one day I’ll fly to Alicante and hitch a ride to Marbella and hang out with Al at his posh gaff and wear Ray Bans

As the Senegal national football team sell knock off Amstrad shite to white people wanting to look as black as possible then celebrate silicon as the natural woman is booed like Argentina off the pitch.

I’m so fuckin funny but if it offends you then I’ll delete my comments like migrant children in Texas and foil.


American Stalag 24

Posted: June 19, 2018 in Uncategorized



To work out immigration learn American math.

Write prime numbers on secondary sapiens,

divide mother from half weaned babe

multiply by thousand and whatever.

I keep getting the wrong answer

= American Stalag 24.


I was told to go fuck myself by Eugene in Ohio

“We kicked your sorry English asses man”

I must confess a redcoat sang me sky

It was a Robin on Mr Sandhu’s wall

He leaves chicken wings there

All the migrant birds come

I have heard Ohio Eugene.


I was told to go fuck my mother by a mother in Tampa,

She told me “We saved your asses from Hitler”

I want to save her from herself and the babe,

Yes the babe I saw at the end of the world

This is where pilgrims vanish in chalk,

Like children of Columbine

Shooting up to forget.


I had a dream that Melania Trump prayed to a blond Jesus,

And Jesus from Mexico begged for his boy back,

Give me back my boy, give me back Jesus

I had a dream that Eugene fucked me

He was wearing a red coat singing

America the beautiful,

a crow-crake woke me






Your bones into mine

Spread out like candlelit halls

A dark vastness stilled.

Your tongue in my mouth

A wet flame engulfing me

Dark petering out.

My blood in your blood

Oil of your oil on white canvass

We wane as moon hyde.

We slept in sheepskin

Wolf inside lamb wailing

I am vast like the hall inside a cello.



Photo by Juan Pablo Arenas on

“Wisdom has built her house; she has set up its seven pillars.”                      Proverbs 9/1

At the Grenfell summit rolls London cumulus

These make do for mountains we left in Jamaica

I wear a necklace of aeroplanes and close my eyes to land.


I do not know why my wife bought net curtains and hooks

We live twenty-two floors up and only God can see us

Perhaps he can see into our bedroom, clever wife.


A fire engine shoots through roads like a street mosquito,

Blood red it drips over the snaky Thames then vanishes,

People disappear from here all the time in a puff of smoke.


Tonight, when you’re home I will listen to my son kick your ball,

Hear your water bathe his red body and if I am lucky

I will see his fingers scroll your skin like a love letter.


I am in two minds whether to change my nightshift to morning,

We need the money so I will go out to work, yes, it is done

Tonight, I will marinade chicken thighs for you wife.


At the Grenfell summit we sway in siren lights to dead man’s jazz,

I glue the spine of your grandmother’s gospel according to Ava

It is important to pray with a bible that isn’t broken in half.





greyscale photo of masks on a stick

Photo by Ghost Presenter on

If you were a masked man in my garden

The police would not recognise you as its owner

They would warn you to leave and you would laugh in their face.


If you removed your mask and my family by force from my home

my neighbours would not watch and then walk away,

police would cordon me off from my own path.


If I rebelled and threw a stone at your face for stealing my land

Would you kill my wife and children for your anger?

Imagine a police station moving to my sacred bed.


Picture an old man with numbers on his arm shuddering by burst gas pipes

I think he would see the gassing of my child and help me

I think we could be friends, press each other’s wounds.


Picture a sea of children, eyes pitted like Palestinian olives

Picture them being dragged by the legs to fists

Six numbers on arms add to nothing learnt.


If I left my house, where would I go and who would take me?

My children are walking into the sea wanting to die

This defines being young and Palestinian.




photo of guy fawkes mask with red flower on top on hand

Photo by Pixabay on

There was no white woman in Al-Ghoyari town

and no town exists in the world called Al-Ghoyari town

but if the title suggests and both exist but the woman was black

would you accept my invitation to stanza two and read what happens to her?


There was no black woman in Al-Ghoyari town

and yet towns like that exist in places like Yemen, Gaza,

a colourless woman uncovers her face when her voice is naked

it is the body of God opposing man, it is the oil that matters, sweat, blood, tears.


I have a confession to make to the Gods and the grape givers on blasphemous walls,

there is a child with an earthquake in his body from a bomb you sold,

there is a devil in a Bentley and he will die with fish eggs on his lips

earlier that day his hand unmade twenty-eight sons, daughters.


There was no white woman in Al-Ghoyari town

and for those who accepted my invitation I thank you

I was taught to read epitaphs from the beginning to the end

I chose to learn that when breath leaves the body we are not here

The deaths of Anne Boleyn

Posted: May 20, 2018 in Uncategorized
black chess chess pieces close up

Photo by George Becker on

After Ruth Stacey

I heard your bones break from the fire

your red carpet sprayed like magma

the axe wept Tudor-red for you

Oh Ann was it heavy as him

Did it burn like royal cum

Was a rose in bloom?

For France then

A slayed swan

Sails in guts

For love

For him

A lass


When a head is severed the eyes blink

Did you admire the basket weavers work?

Did you see your life was like blood and willow?

Carefully structured to hold something beyond your weight

Did he kiss a cross after straddling you like a wet devil in fire?

I read somewhere they lit Frankincense when suturing his wounds

For you a pen carved from swan beak so you can kiss a poem to sweet sister

She looked away when your breast thumped stone and slumped to ale fuelled merriment.


I heard you prayed with your eyes open

Except when he was inside you

Groaning ghost son names

He burned god for you

Shunned hag queens

Fattened the pigs

Oiled apples

It’s core