Category Archives: Sad

Let’s Grow Old Together

Let's Grow Old Together.jpg

I’m unsure as to what I should say about this. People worry a lot about getting old. They shouldn’t.

Let’s Grow Old Together

On his last day of life, his old wife had been tinkling
But hurried out crying, on spying an inkling
That shortly she’d wither and blither and crinkle
A sign of senescence, in essence… a wrinkle

Her husband awoke and he spoke to her sweetly
In mirrors he sneaked his own peek quite discreetly
And cried in dismay at the grey on his head
I too regret I am better off dead

They rushed to embrace and to face the cruel fact
They took off their gloves then, in love, made a pact
She cried This is it, we must quit! then, all told
They died where they stood, as you should when you’re old


This rabbit is looking a bit long in the tooth


As The Sun Dies

As The Sun Dies.png


This is a bit of a cynical poem to be honest. A while back, I went for a super fancy afternoon tea type thing in a posh restaurant with my girlfriend. It was pretty expensive so not the kind of thing we do very often. As we ate, drank, and chatted, I couldn’t help but notice other couples around us. In particular, I couldn’t help but notice their behaviour.

They weren’t talking to each other.

Several other couples had evidently paid a large amount of money for the same experience but, upon arriving, took out their phones and ignored each other. I was horrified by it. The view from the restaurant window (very high up, looking out over Birmingham) was stunning, the food was delicious, and the company was wonderful. Why would I want to be on my phone? But this is pretty typical these days. This poem is about people who have lost interest in real life and prefer to live through social media, texting, twoots, chapsnats, facebogs etc. It’s all part of a general turn inwards and obsession with self-advancement. Cheery stuff eh?

Also, it was written to be performed so maybe try to imagine it being said out loud. One day, I’ll get round to making some videos of my poems.

As The Sun Dies

There they sit
On the 27th floor outdoor balcony restaurant
For sandwiches and drinks
She thinks she’s picking up good vibrations

But it’s just his phone
Drrr Drrr Beep
Another text requesting he ask his date to


While he lets his friend know how it’s going

It’s good to see you she says
I know that work keeps us busy
And it’s silly to expect you
To give all your time to me
But it’s
It’s good to talk

Mmm he replies
Instagramming a ham sandwich
Minutes pass in silence


Drrr Drrr Beep


Until at last he speaks

You look beautiful
She smiles
And while he can he snaps a picture
Niftily sifts out her blemishes
And tweets it

Fact to phone
He screens her out again
Too busy painting data of the date
To live it

But she remembers the time before
The man she married
Before in sickness and in health
Became in signal and for wealth
And love took second prize
To pride and picture perfect appearances

In desperation she takes out her phone
And finds the photo he recently posted of their food
Hashtag lunch with my gorgeous girl
She comments Happy Anniversary

His phone quakes once more
Drrr Drrr Beep

His eyes flicker up momentarily
Then up again and longer now
He looks at her
As if seeing her for the first time
His gaze falls back to the phone

Hers lights up now
Oliver likes this
And as he poses for a selfie
As the sun dies on the silver skyline
He doesn’t even register her leaving the table
It’s erased by his filter




The Bluekelele

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Last year, I started teaching myself to play the ukulele. I bought a cheap, blue ukulele off my friend and named it the Bluekelele. This poem is not a true telling of my time with the Bluekelele. I just liked the word so I wanted to use it!

The Bluekelele

A ukulele player brought
His instrument around
Bright blue, of wood and plastic wrought
It made a tinny sound
My Bluekelele’s singing
Do you hear the words it’s saying?
Do you hear the chords I’m Playing?
Do you feel the joy it’s bringing?

‘Bluekelelist,’ I replied,
‘Get gone, get lost, get packing
Aught in which you should take pride
Your instrument is lacking’
My Bluekelele’s crying
Do you see the tears it’s shedding?
Do you sense the dark it’s dreading?
Do you see the death it’s dying?

‘Enough of that,’ I swiftly snapped,
‘No need for melodrama!’
Upon the instrument I rapped
‘My words  aren’t gonna harm ‘er’
My Bluekelele’s grieving
Do you hear the noise it’s making?
Do you feel the heart that’s breaking?
Do you see that we are leaving?

And just like that, the man was gone
The Bluekelele too
And yet, as he was walking on
I thought I heard it coo
By all you hold above you
Don’t you know what you’re declining?
Don’t you care that I’m resigning?
Don’t you know how much I love you?

I chased, but of my own accord
When offered love, I’d sinned
All that remained, a fading chord
A whisper on the wind
My Bluekelele’s screaming
Do you hear it’s torn apart?
Do you see you held it’s heart?
Do you see the tears still streaming?

Months on from this, I made amends
I bought a Newkelele
I gathered all my dearest friends
And took them to a ceilidh
My Newkelele’s singing
Do you hear the words it’s saying?
Do you hear the chords I’m playing?
Do you feel the joy it’s bringing?


It’s ok. He’s a glasses half full kinda guy



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In Tesco at the moment, you can buy a real cactus dressed as Father Christmas. A photo of my Santa Cactus (Santactus) featured at the end of a poem posted earlier this week.

I named it Santactus then realised that this sounded like the name of some old Roman god. When all the other fleeting, festive frivolities have passed away, this cactus will remain. Standing tall.


Tinsel falls from trees once trim
Baubles shatter, lights grow dim
Candles lie in waxy heaps but

Santactus irrecusably remains

Green wreaths rot in glittering piles
The neon reindeer lose their smiles
Robins lie in bloodstained heaps but

Santactus irrefutably remains

Christmas jumpers now unravel
Sleighs decay, unfit for travel
Snowmen lie in melted heaps but

Santactus irreducibly remains

Wrapping paper patterns fade
Handcrafted Christmas cards degrade
Ribbons lie in tangled heaps but

Santactus irrepressibly remains


Ironically, Santactus actually died shortly after the completion of this poem. But another will rise.

Words Cut Out

Words Cut Out 001

I find having my haircut incredibly stressful. I don’t know why but the whole experience is just very miserable and awkward as far as I’m concerned. As such, I usually wait a very long time between haircuts meaning that, when the time finally does come when I have to face up to it, it takes ages… I’m an idiot really. And it really is time I had a haircut.

Words Cut Out

Seven months have come and gone
Since on that chair, I parked my bum
For some, it’s strange to see me wan
I don the robe and sit there dumb

I’ve already delayed too long
My strong disgust has given way
Today, although it feels so wrong
The song of sense has had it’s say

I give my name and current life
All strife cut out (to be polite)
The bite of words pierce like a knife
Chat’s rife and steady through the plight

My head feels incomplete by now
I bow to help him reach the end
I mend my jumper, brush my brow
Say ‘Ciao’ with 10 quid less to spend


10 quid might be a very optimistic estimate

Not On Me

Not On Me

Here is the second of November’s non-rhyming poems. This poem also features probably the most pathetic picture I’ve ever drawn. Sorry about that.

‘Not On Me’ is about a first world problem I have experienced far too many times recently.

Not On Me

I was never one to keep score
Or a record of wrongs
As though we were incapable
Of living by grace

But need breeds thrift
And a gift is not so easily declined
Or offered

A moment of serenity
The sun drips through the skylight
And trickles onto my face
Washing away the tension the wind whipped up

Cracked, the moment shatters
Broken by a voice
An innocent question

Ok Sir, a medium Belgian chocolate creamer
With whipped cream and chocolate sauce

That will be £3.20
Do you have a Costa Card?

Yes, is my reply
But not on me

And the sun is eclipsed by the moon

I'm counting the Costa of leaving this at home

I’m counting the Costa of leaving this at home

The Only Cow

The Only Cow

Some time back, we received a postcard from my brother and his wife saying that they were visiting a small island. My brother wrote (jokingly I think) that he thought there was only one cow on the island. While it was probably not true, I thought it raised interesting questions about this cow’s situation. Please note: I do not know where this island actually is but, for the sake of rhyme, I have said it is near Thailand.

The Only Cow

There was this island
Quite near Thailand
Only had a single cow
They made false beef
From the barrier reef
But never told me how

A rich young man
Came from Japan
And wanted the real thing
Please kill the cow
Prepare it now
Stop! Listen to me sing

Ha lalala Ha lalala, ooh ooh ooh
Can your love, oh can your love
Oh can your love be true?

The cow prepared
The meat was shared
The waiter sat and sighed
It’s tender yet
Tastes like regret
Then everybody cried

The people wept
The street was swept
And polished til it shone
It couldn’t hide
The pain inside
For now the cow was gone

Ha lalala Ha lalala, ooh ooh ooh
Can your love, oh can your love
Oh can your love be true?

The field, no longer needed, lies empty and untouched.

The field, no longer needed, lies empty and untouched.