Poetry, Real Toads


to coney-catch an

ambodexter needs a

swipe both sides

of that nikum’s face


gotta appeal twice right?


rouker talk outta do it

make him think he’s a

percher of some sort


ruff it up and step back


before he knows it all turns

swerk and we teen him proper

now he’ll pay ear rent all year


This submission is for my prompt over at  Real Toads which encourages the penning of a poem using words from a list of ‘older, once common language.’ The full list, uncovered by The University of York, is available over at The Imaginary Garden. Why not pop over and write one yourself?

Notes: for my piece I used the following words from the list.

Ambodexter: One who takes bribes from both sides. Coney-catch: To swindle, cheat, to trick, dup, deceive. Nickum:  A cheating or dishonest person. Rouker: A person who whipers or murmurs, who spreads tales or rumours. Percher: A person who aspires to a higher rank or status; an ambitious or self-assertive person. Ruff: To swagger, bluster, domineer. To ruff it out/ to brag or boast of a thing. Swerk: To be or become dark; in Old English often, to become gloomy, troubled or sad. Teen: To vex, irritate, annoy, anger, enrage/ To inflict suffering upon; to afflict, harass; to injure, harm. Ear-rent: The figurative cost to a person of listening to trivial or incessant talk

Poem also submitted to OLN at dVerse

dVerse, Paul's Rhythm Journey, Poetry

keep the faith


Here we dance upon our leaf tossed floor

Northern beech

full of soul

no chalk required here

twisting our bodies to the rhythms of the Earth

on green moss covered creepers

flailing curly dreadlocks in our wake

ancient gnarly faces lit with full wide grins

we are up and at it in the early hours

love for the music of life flows

indeed it does


submission for Kim’s Autumnal Poetics prompt at dVerse

notes: the movement in the image brought to mind the Northern Soul scene, a particular song, and memories of the dancefloor craze that swept across Northern England in the 1970’s.

Here’s the song by Frank Wilson referenced in the poem’s closing line and a video of the kind of dancing you might see at Wigan casino in it’s pomp.


Poetry, Real Toads

hope falls

no morning sun

rose in me this day

no birdsong

lifted my spirits


they were present

as always

but hope was not


not for the wanting though

i want to hope

i hope to hope again

i want to see a way

i want to break

from this grip of dark

but it holds fast


instead another voice

calls clear and true

and insistent


words I do not wish

to honor

but must


‘feel this pain

fully’ it says

‘feel it to the depths of no hope

for then you might surrender


for it is only when we truly give up hope

that a path can open for us


despair does not come in half measures

nor would it move you if it did


let hope fall from the cliff to which it clings

and crash onto the ground below


let it break open

so that the light

can pierce the darkness


we must crack

before we can really hope’

dVerse, Haibun

after the deluge

I sat in the grove of this October beech cathedral, my heart bursting with autumnal spirit-song. Sometimes nature just does that too me. Around me stood those giants, old, gentle and wise. They had seen it all and yet even they were in awe of the river. Millions of tiny droplets leaping from stone to stone in a game of flow, fueled by a recent deluge.

Clean crisp air, with a whisper of Winter notes, brought to my senses the smell of earth. The smell of the river, whose journey reflects the nature of things. Every moment I stare into it’s movement is new and fresh. The only constant is change. What appears to be there is not. I am still. The beech too. The river is flowing.

journey unfolds us

destination springs from this~

winter will follow




Moon Art from Pinterest


Thirteen moons were murdered

swept away on the tides


four were cut to ribbons

carved up cheese


four were hung

dripping from the stars


four were burned alive

staked on that profane land


and one was drowned

deepest blue liquid grave


with no moons left to cycle

we descended into hell

where we remain still


submission for Hedgewitch’s Flash 55

dVerse, Poetry


nobody’s eyes fell here on this text, so nobody knew deep inside

that this poem was all about nobody, till somebody probably did

somebody knew about everything, till nobody knew that he died

so was it somebody or nobody, that lay under coffin’s dark lid

the question it seems that is out there, is who here remains who is hid

everyone’s someone or no one, i think that in time you will see

that everyone answers the call of their number, and so in time ceases to be

submission to dVerse for the Rhyme Royal. This has a diddly-diddly meter 😉