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A comprehensive piece discusses the mercenaries known as the "Dogs of War" who engage in conflict for financial gain across the globe. Africa has long struggled with the presence of such militants, and even today, they continue to sow chaos worldwide, including in regions like Israel, Palestine, Russia, and Ukraine. These "Dogs of War" are hired by numerous superpowers, and their growing numbers have started to turn against those who once trained and supported them – including countries such as America, Russia, Iran, and Saudi Arabia, among others. In fact, all major powers have played a sinister role in funding these private armies to carry out their covert operations. The unfortunate consequence is that these mercenaries consistently choose Africa as their battleground.

From Bonaparte to Lionheart from the mayflower to the superpower all Nations have produce refugees at one time or another we're all to blame for this ever increasing burden of shame

Legend has that the Robin gained his red breast from pulling the thorns out of the crown of Jesus at his crucifixion to ease his suffering

A short song I wrote about the monster munch crisps as a love song I did it whilst riding aboard a train the 11.34 from Bicester to London Marylebone station 12.38 recorded in two takes outside McDonald's in double quick time.

A song for a love honey we called Ann Summers due to her working there, she asked me for a birthday card poem and caused me a writer's block which when I tried to explain she cursed me a look of pure disdain , so I wrote this along the lines of a frigid flustering fool that she'd doubtless be serving at the Ann summers shop. Katie looks at all men with indifference and always takes fun from them , Bravo darling it's all we deserve.

A poem written for a sibling son whose quest for frolic and fun wedge hatred in-between his brothers love by what he'd gone and done , it's difficult to understand the parable of the prodigal son especially if you're looking through the eyes of the other hard working one who through restraint and strive hath managed with diligent life toiled and tilled the farm in order to fill empty bellies and winter barn now back without a crumb returns the squandering sibling pun doubtless to take the family fortune for yet another hit an run better remember this of the prodigal son who fritted away everything from dad and mum let him now work to the rise and fall of a burning sun whilst you yourself seek out some frolic an fun

A eulogy I wrote for a dear friend of mine who to me will always be the last bohemian . He was an artist for more than 65 years a prolific painter who sold his selling his work into the top galleries of London. A very impressive figure who change my life forever with his mindful mentoring I became a much better person through knowing him . The work pictured is a self portrait of himself he was just as colourful in real life , Godbless you Rob and I'll see you on the other side.

Every night I ask the women at my local shop what has been happening I usually get same boring response from a middle class mind full of meandering mediocrity then I tell her she can lie to save us both the boring reply.

A musing about Lord Kitchener who's Sabre rattling speeches come sermons raised rampant applause back in Whitehall and Westminster whilst unfortunately his young Virgin soldiers were dying by 6000 a day , he had printed into their guide books for war , "avoid wine and women" meaning french prostitutes , with a life expectancy of 17 hours catching a little pox would have been the least of their worries .

Thinking back to my parents fate, it's hard to see how they once passed romantically through Eden's Gate into the land of milk and money where they fell hopelessly in love and felt the urge to passionately procreate. After doing so they then wore a miserable mortgage mask , that twenty-five-year servile task, eventually paying back the bank manager's seven percent overdraft. They scrimped and scraped in a steel city strife, and then this beleaguered husband and wife decided to search for a big world party and a brand-new life. They both sat before a monk-faced magistrate who annulled their vows of matrimony, awarding one spouse the house and the other a monthly allowance of alimony. Friends and family tried to console and commiserate, all in vain and far too late, as both parties now had hearts made of suede leather and heads full of hate.

A song I wrote for Nina in lock down with covid and the kids a little soft swing Whilst you do your thing hell what else do you do whilst in Morrisons café.

A musing about my father's experience aboard a super cruise liner where he and most of the old Badgers contracted some terrible infection that almost killed them and this was before the Covid Cruise Lines came along, interestingly you can see how you could end up with a Marie Celeste .

A poem I wrote for the everso beautiful Lindsay who is leaving after 11 years she brought her LGBT spirit and colour into our drab fifty souls of grey community bombing us daily with vivid wondrous paintings she takes with her an extraordinary feng shui losing her is like the loss of a perpetual summer's day , artist are the community take them away and you kill it's soul you're left with empty plastic people with tarmac tongues and concrete craniums.

Le poeme en francais the language of love. Forgive my French it's been twenty-five years since I was there. A poem about love and women should always be in the feminine form hence why I use La poeme instead of Le masculine ,it sounds and lends it's self much more to L'amour which of course can be masculine in the singular or feminine in the plural. Entree L"androgyne et l"ambiguite'

The macabre story about a great grandmother who's ashes were made into a bone china plate by her broken hearted lover the practice of using powdered human bone in pottery still continues to this day with artists such as Crow and Kraft who call it crafting Cremains .

Covid 19 as seen through the eyes of a squirrel watching them  fighting for scraps from the dustbins whilst under lock down they appear so confident and carefree without us I think possibly the only thing they've missed about our absence is the leftover Ben and Jerry's ice cream .

As you get older looking for love is similar to rummaging through a scrap yard come jumble sale you sift an shake through the worn torn fragile and fail usually to no avail things are stretched out of shape almost befitting the proverbial grey whale instead of the once sleek male or female then suddenly there it is the right one for you the little bunny rabbits bob tail an together you dovetail perfectly as you'd been handmade by thomas chippendale .

This is a song i wrote about the catastrophic creations cause through having too much cosmetic surgery leaving so many a patient in the perpetual state of a reconstructive purgatory the surgeons are called the picasso's of the plastique, well they certainly end up with a foot an mouth or a tongue-in-cheek , they sculpture and scalpel at something that once started out as the face of the fantastic but by the final phase come cut you're left with a gargoyle freak. All rights reserved.

This is a poem about the complacency of people and their attitudes towards the temperature rise of two degrees you'd think that the powers that be were waffling about a couple of cream teas or the price of peas, some have the audacity to blame the up and coming new economies such as the Chinese after we have been pumping out the smoke and sleaze since the early 1750's others think that it's just a temperature tease and come the next year we'll all be back to the big freeze I don't know what it's going to take to move the world's most powerful trustees maybe when it begins to back flush the drains up around everyone's knees .

A poem about emperors pope's and kings who believe themselves to be the devine demagoguery even as children they  had whipping boys  to take away their punishment and guilt, sacred scapegoats for them to stripe and slaughter ; If a devine deity did arrive on planet earth these mobsters and megalomaniacs would soon see them quickly murdered .

This poem is about our fixation with fear, which I must add is definitely here. We're all living like mendicant monks; our decadent café latte lifestyles are all but defunct. This virus hangs about us like the prophecy of Macbeth, creating constant hysteria as though it were a new strain of black death.

The building blocks of life are made from nucleic acids , Lysergic acid has also been around since the dawn of time doubtless it would have been eaten by our early primate mammalian species in the form of magic mushrooms so increasing hallucinogenic and conscious brain capability hence where the homo sapiens may have got their synaptic kick start from.

Walking into a very expensive veggie vegan boutique i listened to the sermon of a spiritual salesman it felt as if you we're about to sign papers of adoption the high priest of the Celtic druids absolutely worshipped his wild woodland produce , I got the uneasy feeling that my blood was going to be sacrificed under the oak tree called Zeus after i touched a sacred sprig of his mistletoe obviously a crime punishable by death .

A poem I wrote about the sixty three year love affair between a member of the royal family and one her dutiful long standing servants known as G M for short the old Queen mums cool companion.

A short poem about how AI artificial intelligence is now learning from other Ai algorithms using the deep learning techniques then competing against each other in the AGi' tournament what with all the different i's ranging from sci-fi ,WiFi ,hi-fi , to the secret service abbreviations of SI FBI CIA MI5 MI6 let's hope the deep learning machines know the difference between so many different i's an don't the biblical vindictive lexicon of taking "An eye for an (i) The poem is written in' haiku 5 7 5 syllable continuous which is probably more to an Ai's algorithmic programmed personality.

It's very difficult to understand the parable of the prodigal son but remember what you're dealing with is someone just above a bowery bum who will squander everything and leave you in distress and destitution then he will move on to find more money to squander into piss powder and prostitution .

William marwood's long drop solution, brought about a revolution in the British Empires approach for delivering and dispatching a more humane method of execution .

A musing about the Boer war ,whilst tens of thousands were dying of disease and starvation because of lord kitchener's scorched earth policy he was heartbroken about losing his pet starling thank heavens he's not here to sort out the coronavirus .

Our fixation with fear is definitely here we're living like mendicant monk our decadent cafe latte lifestyles are all defunct , this virus hangs about us like the prophecy of Macbeth a new strain of black death this damnable covid-19 has killed what was once a hedonistic dream . Project fear is all we hear bombarded constantly into our ear, we've become farmed fish the human hen all crushed together into purgatory pen pellet fed by auntie Bettie and uncle Ben

A musing about a talkative taxi driver who would insist on talking about his part time profession as a slaughter men come taxi-dermist my frightfully far back friend and I were able to see and smell the blood by the end of our short journey .

The loss of a lion's mane is similar to that of a man's hair as it recedes they both become a little timid and tame loosing pride and prowess both these mammals are now out of the mating game .

A poem written for a crazy young woman who I fell hopelessly in love with during the summer of 1992 whilst working in the South of France aboard yachts in the port of Antibes . Together we stayed in a huge stone pile called the chateau Laval courtesy of Jack et Michelle Olga was a green-eyed goddess with olive skin and a temper that she'd borrowed from the dog cerberus , I was a dotting fool but hay to everyone who's ever suffered from the lightning strike of love at first sight or as the Italians call it "amoure a prima vista" or in the French" le coupé de foudre", all I can say is that like myself i hope that you've never recovered and never do because it's a beautiful feeling of being processed by the madness of passion.

Upon seeing a cold cadaver staring back people begin to timidly tread in fear of the dead circling round as though it be some spectral apparition of dread .

Listening to these waffling old windbags wheezing about saving our world they quaff down wine squandering ten pounds a glass and then dare to set the price of carbon capture at three pounds a ton and this to save your granddaughter or grandson ?.

Sooner than later we as a species will have to address our crazy situation of over population , due to land perishing and pollution in the final stages we may very well end up as refugees building our own blood lined barricades of revolution .

This is a poem i wrote about the catastrophic creations cause through having too much cosmetic surgery leaving so many a patient in the perpetual state of a reconstructive purgatory the surgeons are called the picasso's of the plastique, well they certainly end up with a foot an mouth or a tongue-in-cheek , they sculpture and scalpel at something that once started out as the face of the fantastic but by the final phase come cut you're left with a gargoyled freak.

When children acquire their first language they sing like a fledgling on the first day of spring with that easy natural swing which to them is a brand new play thing without any restraining ring , their simple melodic crooning needs no interference or fine tuning but unfortunately school comes along with its lexicon tongue "dislexicating " what was once a beautiful song leaving that innocent syllable swing broken as a birds wing the kids then become too frightened to fly and drag their dislocated diction around in a sling untill eventually as teenagers they at last cut loose from the apron string and once again begin to sing.

A poem written for two old Bohemians who through reckless behaviour in younger year did so destroy the fragile entity of love and are now left with just the ghost of her to haunt their empty old hearts .

The Oxfam shop or "The dead man's drop" is an essential part of our high street culture we all of us at some stage find ourselves sifting through their silt as if stroking and smelling the scents and spirits of our past relatives like some lost and found bric-a-brac burial ground we old elephants come to rummage around amongst the bones and skin of our not so long ago departed kin. Unfortunately all the objects mentioned in this musing is what I have purchased and given away to friends and family as Christmas and birthday presents including many more objects d'arts or as most of my recipient's see it , jumble sale junk.

All Medieval religions outlawed usury as a sin , profit of any kind wasn't allowed it still stands as a judgement against you today the road to perdition is going to be littered with alot of Gods righteous as well as the Devil's detritus.

a musing about an artist girlfriend and her crazy cultural crew, their works of art or gestation periods of genius seem to take as long as those of a real pregnancy .

Every experience through the innocent eyes of a child can be quite terrifying now as an adult even death is placed into a casual calm context your maker might as well be your baker.

It's about time the human realised that a tree is flesh and blood not just timber or a price of wood , these beautiful living entities give us shelter shade and our lifesaving breath ,without them we are condemning our selves to a curtain death

Another eccentric sketch delving into the life of Thornton Harding Jr., an aristocrat with an intense passion for his pets. He bestows upon them the most peculiar names, like his dog, Greyfriars Warton Benson. It's worth noting that this canine companion is permitted to engage in all manner of activities, including lounging on his master's lap and taking the wheel of his car.

A musing written for lily age 9 and her cat Sean who's got terribly fat due to been neutered, he's put on a lot of weight I've narrated it in a yorkshire accent due to Sean being born and raised in Harrogate .

We lived our lives like nocturnal belfry bats fuelled by drink our cranial crashes and darkness of depression were common place the only way to fight against them was with serotonin smarties and a daily dose of humour .

A poem about the rain cycle's continual celestial cleansing this perpetual purification of precipitation shows no discrimination of skin treating us all to the same asperging sanctification from sin .

Blue bloods are quite simply mad !! , they treat normal reality as an inconvenient triviality rules to them don't exist  and the rest of mortality are kept around as fluffers for their pansexuality.

A poem about men and their midwife crisis as a matter course men feel the need to try out a new horse so they get a divorce and set off in search of adventure usually riding a Harley-Davidson towards the sun and what they think will be some all new sexual fun .

The COVID-19 crisis has caused our fast-spinning world to slow to a halt. Even after trillions of dollars of quantitative easing, it still feels like the whole world has been hit by some dreadful physical freezing. Now, everybody waits with bated breath for the Chancellor of the Exchequer to begin his terrible squeezing. Just when the pandemic feels over, winter arrives, and people start coughing and sneezing, gasping and wheezing.

The only true miracle that we mortal beings are likely to see comes in the form of our genetic immortality that gene transfer continuum better known to you and me as a baby, Throughout the humans brief biological history it has believed in many a different sherman deity an Divinity ranging from Greek gods to our present day Corpus Christi, But when it comes to the real miracle making capability then it's the female of our species that is graced with the life giving fertility. This poem is written for a close friend of mine who described the birth of his baby daughter as quite devine he said she resembled a blue Budda of death an then suddenly gasped and bloomed into life by taking her first extrauterine breath .

A poem about falling into destitution especially soldiers and sailors who you find in the beggars brigade of most British towns. How easy it be to cast contempt , lest we forget our debt.

The old post office Harrogate is located about a century behind Greenwich mean time, the pensioners there are disciplinarians by design if you slip out of sync or cross the red line then these old soldiers would quickly bark you back into the align.

Musing about Lord Kitchener, whose saber-rattling speeches turned into sermons that garnered rapturous applause in Whitehall and Westminster. Unfortunately, his young, inexperienced soldiers were dying at a rate of 6,000 a day. He had "avoid wine and women" printed into their guidebooks for war, referring to French prostitutes. With a life expectancy of only 17 hours, contracting a little pox would have been the least of their worries.

A poem for the king of rock and roll he was born into extreme poverty raised in a shotgun shack but managed not only to break out of that but also to attack the apartheid of America he was one of the first to start singing the black man's blues , he went from busking as a bum on Beale Street to having the world worshipping at his feet .

Treachery and treason never go out of season the gunpowder plot was the spy master's crowning piece of glory he'd managed to use the plot to catapult James the 1st from being a doomed king guaranteed to be assassinated into a national hero who united both Scotland and England into the union of Crowns a feat never before thought possible all by engineering a plot that was in its early stages and failing untill as an agent provocateur he coaxed it into a piece of political theatre using his mediaeval Machiavellian genius , Robert Cecil 1st earl of Salisbury was known by Elizabeth as the pygmy and by James the ist as his little beagle ,he also thwarted the Pope's attempts at a Catholic conversion .

A musing about road rage and how it affects all of us ,  simmer the sapien inside a tin can especially in a stop start traffic jam and it quickly reverts back to primitive man and that includes pacifists and your little old Gran .

Is vanity a sin or just the selfish substance we need in order to win ?.

When you turn on a virtual assistant Alexa , Siri or Cortana , for the first time even as an adult but especially as a child it feels like You've turned into a God or Goddess of wisdom children will almost certainly give up on any parental guidance and move into a cyber space or a Walt Disney crack house world .

Steve McQueen once said he came from the gutter and that he'd not done bad for an orphan boy . Every year he used to go back to the borstal where the bungalow boys beat him back into line he became head boy there then after a fifty different jobs from lumberjack, getaway driver, pimp and gunrunner etc he finally found his niche a Co star James garner called him crazy McQueen, Bruce Lee said he was the toughest son of a gun, and Robert Vaughn admitted he had what you can never train pure natural talent which a thousand years studying at RADA wouldn't give you The X factor, vulnerability and violence mixed with stunning sex appeal that gave men and women a red light late night hot sweat dreams. The photo is a mugshot taken from one of his many DWIs . Steve McQueen the semi deaf dyslexic kid from the streets he certainly was an still is an inspiration very similar to Sean Connery who also had a hard up bringing on the streets of Edinburgh it also gave him that cool confident charisma l to just be them selves and no one else on and off set or as McQueen would say the ability to "hold your mud”.

A musing for Lily's tenth birthday with leather jacket to match my own design of cause - mother not too keen I have a sneeking suspicion she'd like one too . By ten years of age kids of today are silicone valley sage a decade old an they're ready to fledge the family fold , far too cool for school they just let TiK ToK Rock and Rule !! .

Krystyna Skarbek was a Polish beauty queen, a countess, and the longest-serving spy in Churchill's SOE. With a life expectancy of six weeks, she managed to last seven years as a field agent, fighting against Nazi tyranny, only to be betrayed by her own trusted powers, the British, who, at the end of the Second World War, with a stroke of their Judas pen, turned her into a stateless refugee and also leaked her name to Stalin's newly formed KGB. On the day she was due to fly out to get married and finally set free, she was murdered - this beautiful and bravest of the brave Femme Fatale.

The femme fatale overrides all of our rationale her swan song is the sound we hear as our love boat runs aground, the final pheromone is a scent of sulphur we smell as we slowly drowned .

A short song about Buying power tools at the DIY hardware store You may as well  arm yourself with a weapon of war casualties around the world run into the hundreds of thousands the body counts are  higher than in most modern theatres of war.

A deadly sin this jade eyed Jekyll our secret  schadenfreude that hides within waiting to hatch out into its true reptilian skin .

Carrying vicarious redemption on behalf of someone else is a burdensome weight. The preacher's daughter still carries hers every moment of every day ;a beautiful, quiet soul who was given this sin substitution by her callous caretakers. Her atonement isn't due any time soon.

A poem about a very beautiful woman called Claudia who's powerful persona ricochete around us like a midnight thunder , on first meeting she would still and seduce ya with her silent stare of medusa .

Today there are approximately forty million slaves ten million of which are sex slaves, as like before these poor poverty stricken women are used as weapons of war I was reading how some had been sold for as little as a packet of cigarettes . In the west girls become slaves working out suburban back bedrooms cellars or even in the case of a friend from some pantry steps using Web cams on mobile phones , they account for a third of all organised crime profits .

What was once a stamp for the tramp or cut of a criminal class its now adorning faces and physique of aristocrat royalty and even the supermodel chic .

If ever you should take a drink with a witch make sure you leave the very same night before the break of day or the dawn of light by which time you might just find yourself in a very unfortunate plight of being subjected to her JuJu cat's emasculation bite that leaves you as some sort of strangely sculptured hermaphrodite .

A poem for big Manchester Pete, the hardest looking man you'd ever meet, a face made for a trick or treat but inside his heart was softer than a boiled swede of sugar beet .

A musing about our Star Trek scientists who make it sound like our intergalactic fate is just a walk to the subway or through a nearby subatomic Stargate .

Back in the sixties heavy industry was extremely hard work the way the men eased their brutal burden was with non-stop humourous quirk today its seen as a social deride that one must hastily hide .humour has become a malignant tumor cut away by political correctness until its now all but a rumour .

Old Colonials talk of empire its quite shocking how they used to think of human beings as nothing more than chattels not just the natives but also the white workers and soldiers such as my old father now 95 years of age he told me during his time in India just after the second world War whilst protecting the British Raj who looked upon him also as their SLAVE OF EMPIRE .

A poem //song about Setting off on a world tour in the late seventies was nothing like it is today. There were no mobile phones or multimedia, just the odd phone box for calls, using your thumb and forefinger for transportation. Hitchhiking thousands of miles around the globe took years, almost a decade, to the point where many of us became wanderless with our own wanderlust. However, we did become quite skilled in the art of conversation due to spending so much time spieling with strangers. Way back when, you had the safety of being completely anonymous due to not having any mobiles or media. Now, the new-age travelers are so guarded due to the sapiens surveillance of God, Google.

To own a car in the swinging sixties was extremely rare especially for young people but if it was a jaguar then you were the nouveau rich make believe millionaires the fake faux movie stars . Members of my family and their friends were just this usually their balloons burst into bankruptcy debt and divorce, too much money in young hands its like mixing desire together with hell fire .

As you get older looking for love is similar to rummaging through a scrap yard come jumble sale you sift through the worn an torn fragile and fail usually to no avail. Things are stretched out of shape almost befitting the proverbial grey whale instead of the once chic male or sleek female then suddenly there it is the right one for you the little bunny rabbit with a bob tail, an together you dovetail perfectly as you'd been handmade by thomas chippendale .

An English king's breakfast could  consist  of swine flesh, embryos , fungi ,congealed blood , kippers, herring's, pike , roach various birds venison, cockles , pilchards .    when thinking about the Buddhist belief of  reincarnation  wouldn't it be a devine justice  if these gargantuan gluttonous  came back  as screaming red faced tomatoes in a vegan salad .

Similar to an Eskimo fishing through a hole in the ice one could easily imagine a soul catcher waiting patiently at the edge of a black hole in order to capture our very essence , then freeze drying us in the absolute zero of infinity giving him our plasma concentrate life , we'd be ready for a re-nucleation or reconstitution, and what better freeze drying facility than the perfectly vacuumed packaging plant of space .

A poem for Katy on reception who drives ever man crazy by giving them a glimpse of the promised land only then to watch gleefully as they walk towards her straight into a paradise of quicksand .

A short sketch about a friend who was constantly in and out of dry out clinics and the Shrink clink where he would telephone us to explain what his psychiatrist was doing and then in exasperated tormented tones shout "it's nothing to do with the drink!!", he called his depression Belfry the black bat. I turned it into a looney tune.

Growing up in a witches coven with all them casting spells over everything and everyone. I couldn't understand the stars then or now  , they  were always fighting for the Sorceresse's supremacy .

A poem come prayer for a baby who died at birth and never got a chance of life ,  if ever you've been close to someone who's lost a new born then you do feel if it were possible you would gladly swap your old soul to save a new born foal .

The Westminster war of brexit has split a lot of blood onto the backbenchers but who will win the feudal few or the milky middle class crew .

The high functioning alcoholic starts his day with a liberal libation of liquid sin, beneath their Celtic cream coloured skin once beat the heart of Gunga Din .

This is a musing I wrote after listening to my father who'd been conscripted into the British army during the second world war you can quite easily see why by year twenty three most members of the military have gone completely mad with OCD its perhaps due to the cour d'esprit of the British army which has a relentless marching rhythm beating to the sweet spot tempo of 120 , from day one your heart soul body and mind are recalibrated and realined to the measured metronome of the military kind in order for you to keep in perfect tune whilst playing together in the theatre of war with the other synchronised members of your platoon .

The Harrogate Belles Angels were a group of girls who rode motorbikes wore leather , took drugs and slaked drink but most of all they were stunningly beautiful and highly educated God bless them all.

Prostitution is one of the oldest professions in the world which was here before the four angels of Samuel it's about time the government took control of this sexual slavery let's face facts  the chancellor's been selling cigarettes and booze for hundred of years they're both forms of narcotics best not allow the criminals any room manoeuvre better to take over all their operations save these poor girls any more torture legalise their ancient profession too .

A short poem for Todd's forth birthday his name means the fox although the only thing I've seen him foraging for are lollipops from the ice box.

Two haiku poems , TEAR DROP shows how a Tsunami can start from the slightest ripple. REVOLTING, a poem on how if you distact someone with something revolting it can avert a revolution ie Rome's Colosseum or today's violent multimedia , keep the sapien sedated by letting them slake on sadism .

A poem written about the suicidal tendencies of snails, that started out as jellyfish swimming freely in the wide-open sea. Now, I can understand why, bonded onto terra firma, they may suffer from depression or suicidal tendencies, throwing themselves to their deaths under our feet on every garden path or rain-wet street.

Buying power tools at the hardware store? well you truly may as well  arm yourself with a weapon of war and become yet another do it yourself casualty score , blood and gore body counts are much higher than in most modern theatres of war ! .

We used to be such bonhomie brothers in revelry now like ghosts of the good Life we haunt past each other in the street averting a guilty gaze towards one anothers feet , the spirits and spectres have long since been exorcised by the big dry of sobriety which has turned us all into rational respectable members of society ; today we don't strut so proud or shout too loud , we just shuffle past with eyes cowed and heads bowed.

The reason the train left at a minute past midnight is because in Sheffield that time all the steel factories blew their whistles for the shift change and the train guards had to wait one minute for them to cease before they blew theirs , I left that Armageddon come apocalypse of destruction behind and never looked back the kids of today may need to do the same with their own silicon industrial Revolution .

This is a poem I wrote for an innocent looking girl called Alice who when tempered up turns into a hell's angel of malice she resembles a fairytale princess fresh from a folkloric palace yet soon as she opens her mouth you think she's been drinking from the poisoned chalice with her hands in the air she stands about four feet tall but after a rise through with alcohol she turns into a native neanderthal, forget all about etiquette and protocol this little tomboy is more likely to be found scrapping on the terraces at an away game of football.

Hidden in her locked silver box were her secret letters of love from a dead American pilot who in a moment of war when passion was in fashion she fed her heart red and raw to his hungry dog of amour .

Her mother is always in a constant Spring clean dusting and polishing until everything in the house begins to gleam, then again she could be addicted to the smell of Mr sheen or has she been drinking far too much caffeine, perhaps it's something to do with the covid vaccine that's turned her into this dopamine drama queen, what about the lack of vitamin b12 is she missing the red meat protein she's never quite been the same since she read the vegan magazine, oh for heaven's sake someone please intervene and turn off this terrifying domestic terrain cleaning machine .