Biography

He’s had a full life, and a good one...

Poor Mr Miserable,
No bench to sleep upon,
No rum to warm yur belly,
No fire to warm your toes.
Poor,
Cold Mr Miserable,
No sleeping bag nor company but your chattering mind.
Poor,

legs. you have to love them, right?

For Ashley

It was said of Bix
That his Cornet spat out notes

English is a very strange language and severely taxes even native speakers. For instance, there are nine ways to pronounce the formation 'ough'.

Self explanatory :P

Just some thoughts I digged up... A bit 'beat' style. un-edited spontaneous prose.

That big moon and the sinking sun / his and hers marriage reflectors

A tribute to my mother Miss Ann Watt, 95 years young last November 13th!

Eleven years ago a stroke felled me, and with a great wife at my side, prayers pulled me through very difficult times.

In a pool
Of sweat and dark memories
A lone swimmer
Carves out lengths
On the quivering surface

Julius Caesar - what a geezer.

extract

His imagination was crushed to a pulp,
Between the pages of a GCSE maths book,
And his eyes were dug out of his face,
By lines and lines of twisting jargon,

In memory of my late mum, who took her own life.

grandad around the bookies
no beinging paid his winnings
cricket on the telly
waching englands innings
arm around the girl friend
gob stoppers to suck
back row of the pitchers

betts
ifeel like an animal
locked in a cadge
i dont lose my temper
or fly in a radge
you see im a person with feeling
when damaged needs healing
be nice to me
alibali

I feel my memories from the hood have long been forgotten
And all my success is jaded by the blood of my friends, dirt rotten

I can't write. My fingers are typing but they're not giving any creativity.