28 -The Dead Man In The Basement

Poem number 28
The Dead Man In The Basement
The Dead Man In The Basement
Should be out of sight and mind
But The Dead Man In The Basement
Well, he’s nothing of the kind.
The Dead Man In The Basement
Smells of pork and long goodbyes,
The house is always buzzing
With his colony of flies.
The Dead Man In The Basement
Left his mark upon my wall,
A vivid scarlet bloodstain
From the night he took his fall.
The Dead Man In The Basement
Hasn’t gone, he’s always there
In the creaking of my floorboards
And the cobwebs in my hair.
The Dead Man In The Basement
Lies in waiting for the day
When he rises from the basement
With a grin, and makes me pay.


72 – The Death Of Mrs Byrne

Poem number 72
The Death Of Mrs Byrne
She died on Sunday morning, Andrew Marr upon the telly
They found her three weeks later when she’d got a trifle smelly
They buried her soon after, in a box beneath the ground
Then covered her with flowers that the local folk had found,
And that’s a fair summation of the death of Edna Byrne:
Marr smell box ground flowers. No return.

84 – Contractual Obligations

Poem number 84
Contractual Obligations
I kill, therefore I am perhaps
Caedes ergo sum
Murder thus personified
A bogeyman, to some.
I kill, but it’s not personal
A job and nothing more
My sleep is deep and dreamless
There’s no lock upon my door
I kill, therefore I’m coming
To your house this very day
There’s little point in running
Or in trying to get away
I kill, have killed and will kill
And you’re next upon my list
I kill, and I am coming
By tonight, you won’t exist.

88 – High Wired

Poem number 88
High Wired
He glided across the High Wire. Tiny confident step after tiny confident step
Tunic gleaming in the spots, tight trousers, gloves of white
Sculpted body and the face of Johnny Depp
The audience loved him. Eyes sparkling they sat in silent delight
Until someone sneezed. A small wobble. His concentration wrecked.
A bigger wobbling step. Another. Desperate arms flung to the side
And a plunge. Down. Down. To an end he could hardly expect
As the net broke. His head hit the floor. He died
In a flash, a baby bird fallen forever from its tree
And shattered. Never to return to the skies above.
The audience inhaled. Screamed in terror, or was it glee
At the end of one for whom they’d declared their love?
For what is the High Wire but an invitation to the feast?
The promise of tragedy. An opportunity. The slightest chance
To witness disaster, or misfortune at least
For the demigod. Up there on a wire and paid to dance.
So the women screamed. Peeking through loosely woven fingers
At the blood. The bone. The end
Of it all. And for them the memory lingers
Through taxi rides home and stiff gins before they embark on a night they will spend
In bed. With a lover. Re-enacting the plunge in their mind
As they succumb to ecstasy. Sex is death is sex once more
And in all the world what else could they find
But the High Wire, to sate them. And endure.

95 – A Summer Parting

Poem number 95
A Summer Parting
I was born in sight of Christmas
On November’s dying breath
With the lunchtime rain forgotten.
Time has passed.
When I die it will be summer
With the sky a cobalt blue
And the butterflies alighting
On the grass.
My eyes will fade through blues and greens
To settle on your gentle gaze
And then close in the warmth of our sun
Your tears like glass.

123 – OnOffOnOffGone

Poem number 123
I switched the light switch on again
The Devil was still there
I switched the light switch off again
Could smell his cordite hair
I switched the light switch on again
He flashed his pointy teeth
He switched the light switch off again
And dragged me down beneath.

136 -A Temporary Parting

Poem number 136
A Temporary Parting
See you then, it’s time to go
My body’s had enough
Time goes fast but pain goes slow
I’m feeling pretty rough,
Farewell, so long and toodle-pip
I’m going on ahead
But when your breathing days are through
I’ll see you when we’re dead.

137 – No Rolo Just Polo

Poem number 137
No Rolo Just Polo
I gave my wife a Rolo
On the day that we got wed
She choked upon that Rolo
Sadly, now my wife is dead.
The thing about a Rolo
Is it’s solid, like a mole
Whilst other sweets, like Polos
Are designed to be a hole.
Don’t give your wife a Rolo
Or her face will go all blue
Offer her a Polo
Which will let the air flow through.

150 -DebtPigeon

Poem number 150
Pigeon in a puddle
Little feet all wet
Head is in a muddle
Pigeon’s in a lot of debt
Foxy was the lender
Interest rates sky high
Pigeon meat is tender
Foxy likes a Pigeon Pie
Pigeon puts his head beneath
And drowns there on the street
Foxy comes with grinning teeth
Take Pigeon home to eat.