where art collides philosoperontap

Classic FM on the radio provides a relaxing background to streaky bacon with one egg, over easy, and steaming black cawfee.

Sunlight streams through the slats in the blind in the kitchen window.

There is no pressure and I sit quietly on the pew, in the corner, uninterrupted. No jobslist, no hassle. I feel my shoulders loosen up and relax.

Times were when I loved nothing more

than the ‘1812’.  Its cannons’ roar,

its church-bells’ ringing

used to make my pulse-rate soar.

But now what sets my heart a-winging

is Carol singing.

(more…)

There are trees in Northumberland Avenue
They were not cut down during the war
To provide spars for spitfire wings
To prevent them being a fire hazard during the blitz
Or to stop spies from hiding in their branches
And listening in on conversations

Hawaii
Australia
New Zealand
Central America
Pacific Islands
Isle of Man

The sun set

an hour ago,

yet

through the kitchen window

I see clear to the bottom of the garden.

There, in the sumach,

singing still

and undeterred

(more…)

With a million single mothers all sponging off the state
The need for right wing government simply cannot wait.
Our streets are crammed with buggies, it really is a bore
the way it spoils our school-run in our Audi four-by-four.

The little bastards’ parents if daddy can be caught,
Should be forced to marry or encouraged to abort.
If not, then stop their benefits, it simply could not fail.
Well, that’s what Richard Kay said in last week’s Daily Mail.

(more…)

I have a somewhat homely face,

my nose is wrong, I’m told,

and my body never would have graced a Playgirl centrefold.

But though I’m no Lothario,

I own  a natural charm,

I’ve always had a woman on my arm.

But the supply’s run dry.

I think I know why.

My bloom of youth has faded,

my mirror tells the truth,

my joie-de-vivre is jaded,

I’m too long in the tooth.

Affairs unfold so rarely now,

sporadic, inconsistent,

the last one was so long ago,

my love-life’s nonexistent.

Since then there hasn’t been a nibble,

not a soupcon, not a trace;

no maiden, ms or errant miss

has even granted me a kiss.

The upshot’s this:

I’ve become resistible.

The morning came and I awoke

to change so swift and unforeseen,

a leap from love to enmity with nothing in between.

What caused this shift from friend to foe?

What aroused her temper so?

What made her fury grow and grow?

‘Just go,’ she said,

‘if you don’t know,

then I’m not going to tell you.’

I’ve two moons in my pocket,
I’d swap them for a rocket,
To blast into the stars,
So when as far as Mars,
Then transmit out the door,
The thing that I want more,
And if that wish comes true,
I`ll always be with you.