They disconnect
Your intellect
The tabloids
Every day
With headlines
Made to catch the eye
To stimulate
A hue and cry
With shapely girls
At play.

Footballer’s escapades
And film stars
Wearing shades
And who is
And isn’t gay.
The media can annoy,
Or brain cells
With sensations stale
Expenses fraud
Ignore the Lord
And read
The Daily Mail?

Life must be a mess
In the Express
With all its rage.
It causes stress.
Surely written
From duress
The angry front page!
‘Bonkers, perverts
Scroungers, cheats’
This verbal violence
us all in shops
Where children go!

From the papers
The language has
Done much harm
Annihilating words
Of charm.
A blight on everyone:
The paper called ‘The Sun’
Too many people want to read.
We have this need
For self righteous
To sweep away the blame
And find love
sacrificed for fame
And blight
With the language of
Another generation!



Not to be sexy
Can be attractive.
To be poised and elegant
But profoundly active.
Tall and graceful,
Not plump and curvy.
Dressed very tasteful.
Not thin and nervy.

Walking easily, talking gently.
Hair wafting breezily.
Not stepping from a Bentley.
No jewels or tattoos,
Not even discreetly.
Shoes pastel leather.
Gloves fitting neatly.

Political views controversial.
Activities strictly non-commercial.
Lovers? Just one steady.
When he calls, she’s ready.
Talented, but not conceited.
Her loving gestures
Often repeated.

In the winter stoical.
Throughout her life poetical.
Fair minded but not judgemental,
Religious, but not fundamental.
Hardworking. but loving fun.
Inside this poem,
It seems she has won!


I’m a minor poet
Though often I’m inspired.
The gas bill we still owe it.
My evening dress is hired.

I’m a minor poet.
I write poems everywhere.
My dress I will not sew it.
That’s more than I could bear.

I’m a minor poet.
To versify is great.
Each seed of thought I grow it
And dinner has to wait.

I’m a minor poet.
Words structure in my mind.
I do not always know it
Where the ideas I find.

I’m a minor poet.
Few read my words and yet
I simply cannot throw it
Away without regret.

I’m a minor poet
Who rushes on and on,
But now I must forego it
And concentrate on John!


When a cat has kittens
New games are born
Of every kind.
When a cat has kittens
A child may find
Names and natures of
Pure delight,
Watching them tumble
And playfully fight.
When they tread in a saucer of milk,
Their mother washes
Their coats of silk.
When a cat has kittens
A child can dream
Of adventures for them
And it can seem
There is nothing sweeter
Or more dear
Than the graceful cat
Who makes it clear
That cats are superior
To you and me
And with this
We should all agree!
The child will remember
All her life long
That September
When nothing went wrong
For the cat had kittens;
They were new friends
For a friendship with
pussy cats never ends.


The sun still shines in many places.
We no longer reign supreme.
Will Britain with her many faces
Change to a more loving theme?

The rain still falls on green Britain.
Homes continue to be built.
Gone the power history’s written
Time has not assuaged our guilt.

Though we walk in paths congested
Breathing fumes of London’s air,
The good food we have digested
Confirms the privilege of care.

The work ahead may seem endless.
Most refugees are still not fed.
While they often seem so friendless
And too many now are dead.

Will world leaders work together
To improve things for the poor
And not leave them wondering whether
Life’s worth living any more!


“More time! More time!”
The poet cried.
“I need more poems today
For when I’ve emptied clean my mind
I’ll find new things to say.

But let me speak
Of one with whom
My time is spent instead,
For even in an orange room
We’ll cuddle up in bed.

For poems are poems
And love is love
And both I think sublime
And definitely worthy of


Today a wall came down
Crashing in clouds of dust.
There are too many walls in life;
Too little trust.

Today sunbeams dazzled.
We asked the way.
“We don’t know” said the bankers
“Just give us the pay.”

Today the bridge broke
Over the river Lea.
If there were casualties,”
The builder said,
“Don’t blame me.”

Bridges rarely break.
This is the truth.
“We broke it ourselves,”
said some of the youth.

Today an angel flew
Over our green land.
He gave the young one jobs to do.
Some of them formed a band.

But today most people resigned
With debts in their wake.
“We don’t mind,” they said,
“We’ve eaten the cake!”