Laying on my perfumed pillow thinking about the art of Scandinavia Watching an Urban Artist from a vandalised bus shelter Walking into the bathroom naked and quite sleepy and finding that your brother is taking a piss He says that I look like a boy I accept this as a compliment Visiting a pencil factory…

He said to me that he did not expect to return And entrusted me with his battered black Bible He was right as he and his unit did not return After the war had ended I married my Winnie And returned to teaching mathematics at Grey Towers About a year later I discovered his Bible…

I knew him for just a single night He was the most gentle of lovers Tender compassionate and quiet Later I saw him off at the railway station All I can remember of him was his eyes His deep green and incredibly sad eyes

I can remember him well A strange chap who always Carried a Bible in his hand He called himself a pacifist But he was the most brutal soldier That I have ever served with

I fish frequently But never catch a fish Because I do not own a rod

They die without controversy Not expecting the Zen moment Until it arrives All fish have predatory instincts Otherwise they would not survive Until that final moment of Zen

It is only when we forget All that we have learnt That we begin to know What it is like to be a fish

Of all wars civil wars are the most ridiculous Brother against brother father against father I have fought in many of these wars Some dating back to the sixteenth century I have been wounded killed or listed as missing During many of these insane conflicts But I have always written poetry The poetry of these…

Dogs with distemper Pitiful Die aggressively In the streets I said to my German friend On our last night in Porto

I was collecting sea glass in Margate My time had been very well spent As I found many pieces amongst the shells The day was cold crisp and bright But it was not totally clear as clouds Had obscured the declining sun It was as I was leaving Margate That I noticed a fog bank…