If America stopped trying to be the world’s policeman how many lives could be saved?

If Britain stopped running with Obama how many British soldiers would not have died?

If we all refused to go to work on Monday how long before our coalition crashed and burned?

How much is the life of an Egyptian worth to the people that sold their military arms?

Is interference of the powerful rich on the lives of the world’s poor making them more revengeful?

Is Britain propping up an interfering administration that has a yen for world domination?

Is austerity a ploy being used to dismantle all the services we worked to provide by craven vandals?

How much longer are we going to take our sword from its sheath to achieve world peace?

We can’t go on telling ourselves we live in a civilised society when all around us is chaos!

We can’t go on supporting by default regimes that clearly don’t believe humans have human rights.

We can’t go on trying to create the rest of the world in our own image.

How much better would life be if the east and west stopped threatening one another with retribution or mas destruction?

In amongst the reeds and marshes

A concert hall rises above the horizon

For a weekend it’s a foodie’s heaven

All sorts of bread some of it unleavened!

The pears Briton hall is worth a visit even if you only need the toilet

Parking in a short cropped field, cheerful attendants direct you to your allotted sod

Motor cyclists looking like power rangers park where they like

They pay no eight quid, why? Because they stagger in in creaking leather

There’s pickled eggs and herrings

Smoked goat cheese and some with chillies added why?

Some things don’t need added extras

Eight quid to see the Thomas Moore’s a fair price

Go down the road and you can see a Barbara Hepworth for free

I was born not far from here I feel the landscape belongs to me and vice versa

The entrance fee helps to keep this facility open

I want to go again to the poetry festival at least that’s what I’m hoping

There’s a hunter’s moon tonight my mate said why don’t we go out and get some pheasants.

You’re on I said the money would be useful. At midnight we walked out into the gloom like two poaching peasants. For me a chance to make an extra couple of pounds for my mate a bit of extra cash to buy another round. A skeleton four ten that was folding is the weapon we were holdingit was the classic poacher’s gun.

If we were caught we would be so done unregistered and therefore unlawful a custodial sentence for us would be just awful. We plodded of across the field to where we  knew the game were roosting a shot was fired a pheasant dead. Lookout to see if we were seen or heard pick up the bird move on.

Cross the road where no lights were visible. A long stretch of open field before us’ oh shit a car headlights’ that could shine upon us. Face down in the mud heart racing body not moving get up and run with mud caked boots. Another shot a a bird goes down not dead! But making a noise enough to wake them, a grab of its head a twist and pull to stop the noise a pheasant in two parts almost.

The night goes on with fatigue and stress it could go horribly wrong and then what a mess. The route was run now get home without being caught with the gun. Over the garden fence our nights adventure was done.

A nights sleep and ready to sell the fruits of our crime. A game dealer who didn’t ask  any questions some of the time. The rewards were meagre no compensation for our labours.

Its true crime doesn’t pay.

Walking through the damp mist of winter.

 I come upon an eerie seen of holly and yew.

Suspended in an atmosphere of gloom.

The boughs hanging with no obvious means of support.

I stepped into a circle of pagan myth and legend.

In a time to celebrate the returning of the Sun.

The ancients would celebrate this moment as one.

The hardship and the trials of winter now the lightening has begun.

As the days grow longer hope returns.

Survival seems possible plans for a future return.

Memories of hunger and the ague fade.

Memories of the spring glade and laughter pervade.

Children playing in the sun’ seeds sown springs work done.

Birthing in the autumn before the harshness of winters cold.

Food to be stored and preserved to see them through the dark bleakness of winter.

Optimism of crops and a summer of bountiful plenty

Monday morning getting ready for work 

Gathering together the things I might need 

The wide eyed six year old looks on with a sad face 

Don’t go is the expression on his sweet countenance 

He likes to have the family all in one place 

He follows from room to room 

Hates being on the wrong side of a closed door 

Some things you have to accept when you’re a dog 

I don’t see you as older lady, but the desirable dancer that I met

Your flowing hair and ball gown was a vision I could not forget

I went back hoping you would be there

I felt joy at seeing you again I still feel the same

We don’t dance so much anymore

When we do I can’t help but smile

Laughing would be going that extra mile

Laughing is not in my nature so please be happy with a smile

The years have moved along sometimes I get it wrong

Every day I try to make it more than getting along

The passion is still within me I just need to draw it out

Being me isn’t easy sometimes I want to shout just to let you know I am here

Life is more than passion or the looks of fashion

Sometimes we just need to get back to dancing

The basics of having fun is more than just two ones

With age comes wisdom we should know what needs to be done

For me you are still the one

I’m sure that somewhere there’s a place for me.

A place without pressure and work shit where I can just be.

When all the world is getting on my tits a place where I can flee.

Shut out the noise of the stupid words that people say to me.

I have become intolerant of the rubbish I have to listen to.

This is the curse of the modern world you think I want to hear your opinion.

Politicians droning on about what a good job they’ve done.

Loud voiced people on mobile phones shouting in the street.

They all seem to have blended into one sounding like a sheep bleat.

I like social media but does it have to be so mediocre.

I carefully choose who I follow but am so often disappointed.

Please let there be someone out there with something to say.

Eternal peace and silence perhaps I envy the dead.

So many words spoken or written so little said.

Bugger it’s a hard life, to live it to the full

It’s not easy to enjoy it all when you struggle all the time

It’s easier to end it all than fight for every hour

The polypropylene rope around the neck, the step, the drop! That leaves you dangling.

Four minutes is all it needs

Goodbye to all that hurts

It’s gone and so are you

Farewell 

No dread of endless ailments

No worries about the future

No credit crunch

No pension crisis

Just so long it’s been good to know you

The atrocities in Myanmar are being reported but not talked about enough

How can the world stand by and let the generals take over a democracy

A country of over fifty four million ruled by a group of thugs who have the army to back them up

They now have access to a country with a GDP of over seventy six billion dollars should we wonder how much of that they will extract

They have imprisoned Aung san suu kyi have they not punished her enough she was under house arrest for years

Put in prison for trumped up crimes that are ridiculous and serve to make them look stupid

The population having to deal with a pandemic now being killed by those that should protect them

We should all be talking about this

Its seven minutes past midnight and the lights are shining bright.

Proof if it was needed that Tendring district council couldn’t organise a piss up in a brewery.

Here we sat blinds open waiting for the big event.

The lights were due to go out at midnight.

Oh how many minutes I have wasted waiting for this monumental none event.

There were half a dozen burglars in masks and stripy jumpers.

Two dozen hoodies wearing trainers with vandalism on their minds.

Why am I not surprised that the councillors cannot tell the time.

Maybe they are working on Neanderthal time.

I will send them an email in the morning and complain about the waste of my time.

Now its twenty two minutes past midnight.

The witches are queuing up with the burglars and the hoodies.

They are standing around the streets of Brightlingsea sharing fags and saying what the hell is going on.

They claim their housing benefits and council tax rebates.

What the hell is going on cant a burglar earn a dishonest living anymore.

Does the vandal have to run the risk of being apprehended what’s more?

What has civilisation come to when we have to stumble along the broken pavements you ignore.

We assume that someone voted you into power but your electorate you ignore.

What will you do with the money that you save if you ever find the switch to turn off the power?

Why don’t you hold up your hands and admit you’re a useless bloody shower.

0100 lights still on?