The Clock Strikes Six

Why bother write your own posts when others say it so brilliantly

The Iron Tongue of Midnight


After Sonnet 66 (the angry one with lots of “and”s)

Tired of all these, for deathly rest I moan,
scratching off my days like losing scratchcards,
& travelcards are void in distant zones
& oven chips & posh shops snare our bards
& airwaves sag with karaoke waifs
& tabloids thrive on xenophobia
& masterpieces fade in tycoons’ safes
& HD screens create myopia
& youtube doggeralists reap all the clicks
& bankers spend a nurses wage in bars
& oceans froth with spillages and slicks
but I’d endure them if the fates allow
my wife and child to sleep another hour.


Shakespeare invited
death at the beginning of
his sonnet. I pass.


The sun peers back
through glinting morning haze
finally eclipsing the dead glow
of my laptop screen


A lone car crosses
paths with a man in high vis
on Waterloo Bridge



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