When Your Number Is Up

'There was a merchant in Baghdad who sent his servant to market to buy provisions and in a little while the servant came back, white and trembling, and said, Master, just now when I was in the marketplace I was jostled by a woman in the crowd and when I turned I saw it was Death that jostled me. She looked at me and made a threatening gesture; now, lend me your Horse, and I will ride away from this city and avoid my fate. I will go to Samarra and there Death will not find me. The merchant lent him his Horse, and the servant mounted it, and he dug his spurs in it's flanks and as fast as the Horse could gallop he went. Then the merchant went down to the market-place and he saw me standing in the crowd and he came to me and said, Why did you make a threatening gesture to my servant when you saw him this morning? That was not a threatening gesture, I said, it was only a start of suprise. I was astonished to see him in Baghdad, for I had an appointment with him tonight in Samarra.' (A speech from a play by W. Somerset Maugham, which in turn is a retelling of a classic Iraqi tale)

My Latest Poem

'A Livelier Fur' People are offended at the sight of you, even defensive behind peepholes but blame lays elsewhere. Yell 'ow' but I can't hear a sound! Mellow out and you could make a frown. Hung over a couple of shoulders that feel like a million bucks. It must be a pleasure to be of service! Bowled over by a single rolling boulder that gathers moss.

My Newest Poem

'Satan Recipe' I would never eat my pet Canaries. It's better they panic less neccesarily, with flashbacks of that airspace-net. I head out picking berries, to throw at hippy-picnics, as a cynic who's not hip to the pips. Venerate the cesarean-pit of Pidgeons after weddings and leave the peasant rice alone for me to take, deranged and swift, to place it's name in the diary underneath my bedding on my burgeoning list.

Fashion Corner

Metallica Ties

A Poem I Like (From 'The Hunger Games' Part 3 Book 'Mockingjay')

'The Hanging Tree' Are you, are you Coming to the tree Where thet strung up a man they say murdered three. Strange things did happen here No stranger would it be If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree. Are you, are you Coming to the tree Where the dead man called out for his love to flee Strange things did happen here No stranger would it be If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree. Are you, are you Coming to the tree Where I told you to run, so we'd both be free. Strange things did happen here No stranger would it be If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree. Are you, are you Coming to the tree Wear a necklace of rope, side by side with me. Strange things did happen here No stranger would it be If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree.

My Latest Poem

'Third-Leg District' Bulldogs observe Mice play without strict ID and curiosity do everything it can to kill. Mad stream Drool flows into the canal and will never meet coral but would be more than cordial if it did They easily spot the tiptoe-rust on the high-heel strut below tip-top shape. and whimper over the mess that's made.

Mr. Kavanagh knew the scoop!

'Memory of my Father' Every old man I see Reminds me of my father When he had fallen in love with death One time when sheaves were gathered. That man I saw in Gardner Street Stumbled on the kerb was one, He stared at me half-eyed, I might have been his son. And I remember the musician Faltering over his fiddle In Bayswater, London, He too set me the riddle. Every old man I see In October-coloured weather Seems to say to me: "I was once your father." (Patrick Kavanagh)