My dear heart  Never think that  You are better than others  Listen to their sorrows  And treat them with compassion 

My Ash Hunt House  Is haunted by red ghosts  They seem so ordinary  As they pass from room2room  I do not sleep 

Joe  I read this in a newspaper  It seems that a chap torched a care home  You know the places which are full of those awful creatures   In wheelchairs who shout at people in the streets  They are normally wheeled around by their niggers or other illegals   One sees them each day especially in Henley on Thames  …

Helena and I visited Robin Hoods Bay  In the eighteenth century  It was very popular with smugglers I quickly adopted a love of its steep streets  And bleak stone cottages  Whilst Helena loved the rock strewn beach  Winter Travellers  Sharing Toast 

Time passes green  In South Brent  Mrs Smith  Southerly winds  Bring no chill  Our bell is silent 

If that politician opens  His trash mouth again  I will visit  The Hit Man and Her As I am told  That there is a 241 Christmas offer  Plus a mince pie 

She speaks to me weakly from the past Her frozen words hang in the night air  The hollow trees have lost their echo I sense ice on her blue velvet dress 

Joe is good at chess  Really  Yes  But he tells me that the game bores him  He is winding you up Sephine  Joe understands the game clearly  But one thing slows him down  That being  His ability to think in abstraction  That is what makes his poetry so special  What about ewe Josie  What about…

It was so avoidable So fucking avoidible  But nobody listened  And because if that  The world was punished  Nothing has changed  If anything the decay is deeper  Twenty Eight is a Perfect Number   Nely Elle Romy Oliver (2024)

I sleep with my eyes open  As I am terrified of my dreams