This perhaps is how the Fairy Tale SHOULD have been told –

Once upon a time in a land far away…a beautiful, independent, self-assured princess happened upon a frog as she sat contemplating ecological issues on the shores of an unpolluted pond in a verdant meadow near her castle.

The frog hoped onto her lap and said:

“Elegant Lady, I was once a handsome prince, until an evil witch cast a spell on me…One kiss from you however, and I will turn back into the dapper young prince that I am! And then my sweet we can marry! Oh, and then we can set up housekeeping in your castle…with my mother…and you can prepare my meals, clean my clothes…warm my bed at night…bear my many children! And forever feel happy and grateful to do so!”

That night –

As the princess dined sumptuously on lightly sautéed FROGS LEGS seasoned in fine white wine, garlic and onion cream sauce, she chuckled and thought to herself:

“I don’t fuckin’ think so!”


June 25, 2010

Blunt stones

half hearted
in elements of water
yet are something of it

as the river runs them over
sulks and dribbles
along the curled
lip of the bank

leaves smell dank
and brood in places
the sun never sees
here, moss is the shades
sodden carpet

the stones are dormant now
later they chatter in flood
whisper old stories of the mountains
have prophecies and forebodings of the ocean

and just as the lift of the
butterfly’s wing on the tip
of a boulder can whip up
wind to a storm out at sea

so too do the stones
overcome water and
make the boundaries
of the sea

Black Art…

June 22, 2010

I had forgotten the river runs near.
Your estrangement sends out all your black presences.
If I open the window a notch,
the walls when I come are hung with spiders.
My shoe is soon covered with their corpses, my sole.
The light attracts moths, the melancholy
of butterflies. They agitate the shade and where they settle
squash too amenably, fleshing the walls.
Sick to death, I lie
but am summoned by the fluttering of wings.
I jump up, switch on the light, lift up my hands
in horror against the bat, screaming
round and round me, the paranoia
of a lark. I fly to window, crouching, its squeamish
wings vulva against my face, I throw it wide open
and it is gone. I shut the window.
I will wake by lady migraine, if I sleep or not.

It is worse.
Somewhere you have flooded a zoo,
or released an aquarium.
My years without you
are wreathed with pythons, running with invisible tarantulas.
Look, there is black powder on the stair.
Somewhere you are making up your face.
A bottle breaks leering across my throat.
Somewhere your scent is putting on evening.
Look, there is a lithe black garter-
snake sidling across the floor.
Somewhere your thighs are fascinating, held.
I cut off its head; it does not bleed.
A leopard roars.
Somewhere your voice caresses, claws.
My neck and back are eaten with army ants.
Somewhere you are kissing another’s nape.
Feel, I am burning with fever.
Somewhere your tears are falling coldly.

There is no amulet for this spell
you have not put upon me.
Everything in this room you have touched.

D. M. Thomas

Hi, I’m home and recovering slowly… Blog will be back in action soonest.


I’m gone again…

June 11, 2010

Back in hospital today for another eye operation…

Lion at the door…

June 11, 2010

Oh dear…which one is the endangered species?

Have you ever wondered why all the fastest women at the Olympics, Commonwealth Games, in fact most sports you can think of, are African?

I think I might have found the reason…

Run, girl, run!

Climate Change….

June 7, 2010


June 7, 2010

I was depressed last night so I called the Samaritans.


Got a freakin’ call centre in Afghanistan .

I told them I was suicidal.

They got all excited and asked if I could drive a truck.