Philosophic Driver


In their desperation to retain the few bus conductors they had managed to recruit, the East Thanet Bus Company found accommodation for those who required it, with landladies in the immediate vicinity. They, of course, were of the xenophobic, nagging, take-it-or-leave-it type and, difficult as it may be to believe, we found it genuinely preferable to work as long hours as possible, in order to avoid their company. And their soggy dinners. 

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Wooden Chalices


You might suspect

that the following

epigram was

recently written. 

Not so.

It’s from the

17th century!

Gold priests, wooden chalices

In Ireland of Patrick’s time

Golden chalices, wooden priests

As the wretched world stands now!

Clarity in the Dark


It is evening …

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Going to my Hometown


Parading a musty clop along the mall;

Redbrick and granite should glimmer in their boast.

Razing a glint in bier-garten toast,

I’m jealous – their sip, lip-locked – I’m enthralled.

 The chivalrous sweat in musical droves,

Saluting the weather with world-weary wink.

The steeples, serene, without rain to drink:

A clan wry, a-flowing – a city of mauve.


Borderline bubble I love you so well.

I source you for boredom, ’tis true, ’tis true,

For dryness can seem here the hottest of hells

But I would be dead if ’twas not for you –

A cynic. A liar. A lover. A son –

A soul wracked to bone mass from valley-sought glue.