Who am I?"- English by birth, Scouser by luck, living in South Africa by choice- Paid to cook, hypnotizes for fun and writes poems because I cant stop- Insomniac, chain smoker, sour worm addict- Bulldogs, Motorbikes and Liverpool football club- Dreamer, realist and slighty depressed
There once was an imp whose appearance was vain, his behavior was foolish, even his speech and imposing mannerisms were maimed! From those eastern cannibalistic lands afar he and his kind had once been blessed, indentured to serve the superlative
The unwed moon rowing like a swan on blue lake after making love to silence. Dignified shadows walk on black beach gathering white heels. Only lunatics will sing in shapeless lines. Who cares for a sequence? The milk of love
She’s our little-fairy-queen For whom we did pine. A wail thro’ her lips Brings us flocking to her crib. To assuage that helpless gaze, On that sweet innocent face. A smile breaks her wail On a familiar face to hail.