Working Away

when I describe my working life
of staying away all the time
some people think it’s glamorous
wishing “that life was mine”

foreign countries,
new hotels,
free food all the time
hot climes, beautiful vistas
but I wish this life wasn’t mine

hundreds of miles of tarmac each day
four in the morning starts
sharing a van with five other men
praying that nobody farts

McDonalds this
KFC that
fried breakfast every day
not to mention burger and chips
in the hotel at the end of the day

a couple of pints to wash it all down
after another fourteen hours
then off to bed in an alien place
after a quick shave and a shower



I Rise

I rise each morning at 3:45,
such is the price
of living my life.

I drive to work at 4:45,
living the dream;
the working man’s life.

Dark, motorway,
motorway, dark,
life on the road;
not much of a lark.

Road, work,
work, hotel,
spin the treadmill,
ring that bell.

Towns, cities,
continents flying by;
motorway, airport,
check-in, sky.

I rise each morning at 3:45.
If I’m really lucky
I can be home by five,
more often than not
seven or eight;
don’t wait up
I may be late.


Oh I have been foolish,
on more than one occasion.
I have thrown caution to the wind,
only to have it fly back at me
in a frigid snowstorm
of consequence.

I have put all my eggs in one basket
on more than one occasion,
and seen my life poached,
scrambled, fried
and tossed out of the pan
and into the fire.

Oh I have been foolish,
on more than one occasion.
A fool and his money are soon parted,
nothing ventured nothing gained.
it’s all the same;

I have lived.

I imagine I will continue to be foolish,
on more than one occasion.
I was foolish and bold,
now I’m foolish and old,
Steered my own ship.
Grounded it on more
than one occasion;
Still at the tiller…



I was lucky you passed me by.
I wasn’t your type.

Wasn’t the one to give
you the evil gleam in your eye.


your mind was on gentler prey.

Innocent, younger, easier;
I may have spoken out.

I talked a lot.

you crept in the dark,
the monster I knew only in daylight;
not so lucky another.

Silently, stealthily stealing
along the landing in the night.

Did she know you were missing?

A half empty bed;
white sheets reflecting
the pallid moonlight.

Shivers here,
sobs there.

The chill of the night
no match
for your cold, black heart.


An old poem from me today for Poets United Poetry Pantry #257.

For all of you blessed with great fathers, enjoy your day. 🙂