@corner 31 march 2026

i was an absurdly anxious child, and i suppose i must have known it wasn’t normal to be so anxious, yet i spent most of my life in extreme denial about it. then i was on a weird trip for work to a sort of cult gathering and i guess it made me think about historic childhood excursions and related feelings. i’m calling this

thinking about my history as a ferocious blusher on the weird work week road trip

storm away with amy
on the weird work week
road trip
yet wherever i go
i’m always me
and find myself adverse to
reverse columbo,
so i hold my tongue
pathologically, i realise,
in the hotel power shower
my beetroot trauma
my painful blushing
the loss of limb control
the shame and the denial
too scared to ask
for the haircut i wanted
until i was almost middle aged
nobody ever explains
the comb numbers
it’s not taught in school
barbershops remain
somewhat mysterious to me

i maintain that all my poetry is just one long poem and is to some extent a linear diary of the sort of things i do and think. i just write little things down as they occur to me, then work out what to do with it later. but sometimes, i write so much poetry in a day that it ends up just naturally telling a little story.

write poetry before the ball

drop the pen on the latest line
i’ve finally found my voice
then i read some early stuff
ah man i’ve lost it
may as well just do puns
so i moan about michelle mone
she pulled herself up
by the brastraps
filled her cups and ran
eventually manage
to tie my bow tie
go to the ball
it’s too loud
wish i had earplugs
go to the loo
do the thing where i
hover my hands under the
paper towel dispenser
expecting hot air
i suppose i’ll go home
and write poetry

i studied philosophy and politics and i’m autistic so i’m never sure how much other people know about philosophy so just to explain the reference, john locke was a philosopher who used the term ‘social contract’. it is a sort of philosophy that seeks to examine the circumstances in which people would and should submit to government. this philosophy was extremely influential on the drafters of the us constitution. for locke, private property was very important. so much so, that everyone must have, ‘as much and as good.’

life under actually existing capitalism iii

as much and as good,
john locke said
the social contract’s been
frustrated i pled
everything’s owned
there’s no land left
if they could meter it
they’d charge for breath

the tech is quite useful
although it surveils us
we pray the welfare state
won’t further fail us
for nearly two decades
crises have availed us
imposed by the rich
to distract and curtail us

and finally, isn’t this just the worst timeline. where are we headed? the nun murderer and pop singer katy perry hasn’t had a hit in years and yet bezos not only rocketed her into space, he also returned her safely. what a pointless technology.

we have to stop katy perry and her gang of space villains

i should prepare
for social stress,
but foolishly
don’t push myself
so katy perry’s
in her spaceship
i’m burnt out
and need a facelift
she killed a nun,
i liked it not
oligarchic turn
make it stop

@poet’s corner 18 march 2026

less what breaks through. but more, what i wish i could break through, to other people. this is called

the futile push

i decry the wasted effort
of nationalism
if you look for
a thing that isn’t there
finding it
will take forever
but we keep looking
for sovereignty
as if it could keep us warm
or fill our bellies
when we have for long
lived in an age of empires
we bear the fasces epochal
as the colonial ceasefire breaches
yet more racist murders
sanctioned.
victory is hollow.
temporary.
achievement too
the only things
of meaning
are the gentle process
of making
of caring
of loving

nationalism is an addictive mixture of complacency, historical delusions, perverse grudges, jingoism, racism, fairy tales and holy violence. the struggle of one is the struggle of all people, of all lands. so i now want to offer everyone a positive vision for the future.

the 13th month

the bell chimed,
it’s time
to introduce the thirteenth month
rationalise the calendar
with months of 28 days
plus an extra day,
a global holiday
for all workers
during which the bourgeois financiers
shall man the (beer) pumps
and another one the same each leap year
and the extra month should be a holiday too
slide it in
between july and august
call it hedonia,
for a free summer of bliss

so, i was buzzing for my new society, with its new, quite lazy calendar. i started developing a utopian framework of government. but, ultimately, power corrupts, so i decided i would do my fellow citizens a favour by seizing it all for myself as a sort of sacrificial benevolent dictator, with questionable priorities.

why i support scottish independence but only if i get to be in charge

i long to modernise scotland
to the revue of my imagination
to restrict actors to a single role
depiction in our nation
and making them legally change their name
to the one they portray in fiction
punishable by death
and claiming global jurisdiction
then i will reduce the toothbrushing time
from two minutes to 90 seconds
and thus sanction my cohort
to luxuriate over breakfast
then i will retire to
the camper-van i’ll embezzle
proud of my augmentation of
our cultural endeavour

thank you, remember to vote on the 7th of may

bonus material (all untitled)

how many times
must i scan my tesco club card
at the railway turnstile
before they put me
in a care home
as i fear i may have
already gone over

remember library tickets
little card folders
watch the librarian
slip the ticket
into the folder
file it in the wide drawer
slide it closed
hand me my book
giving me gentle
asmr tingles

i once threw a ball
and simultaneously
caught an identical ball
i chucked the ball
i saw it fly out of my hand
felt it ping my grasp
yet there it still was
within my fingers
for a brief moment
the laws of physics
time, space,
cause and effect
were all up for grabs
i’d sliced into the warp hole
then a saner hypothesis
occurred to me
though i note
it was not proven

@poet’s corner 4 march 2026

hello. i am thrilled by the recent evidence of sunshine. the theme took me back to a weekend last summer. i was in london with my girlfriend to run a 10k and visit friends and family. on two occasions that weekend i sat on a sofa in a garden by blooming apple trees, shading myself from the hot sun. and this is what i wrote at the time:

backpack to london
for the downtown fun run
ladybirds, butterflies,
apple trees
and sofas in the sun
through the field of wheat
like a young theresa may
teal dragonfly perched
on a vibrant green
leaf above a rust bed stream
we wade with baggy minnows
by the weeping willow
clock two foxes,
attempt avuncular football
scorched between the bridges
peddle assisted
to the bucket hat photobomb
goosebumps on
the cold carriage home

that made me think of holiday poetry more generally. i always try and record my holidays in poetry. i don’t know why i don’t just take photos like everyone else. this was a trip to wales with my girlfriend’s family, including multiple young nieces and nephews.

we pick brambles by nebo
up the lane from nazareth
hold a toddler up a boulder
you know slow is not
intrinsically good or bad
park the motor
don’t feed the metre
tempo of doms
get a parking fine
waitrose cafe
avocado experiment
free tuna baguette
for the crash test dummy
swings, roundabouts
humming a christmas song
i guess i feel like i’m one of the uncles
from home alone
all our kisses are stolen
kids voices climb the stairs
white hairs in my moustache
catch the light in the morning mirror
visit the folly hotel of port merienion
lily pads and various trees
a beach that doesn’t reach the sea
sleep in and miss the hike
overdosed on the house party life
read a book to ariana
mostly seems to bore her
well she asked me to
then the last supper
aubergine, cheese and garlic
you drive me home
i’m a good passenger you say
i’m infinitely patient
and never complain
but pray silently as we speed towards the
slowing car ahead
drop the car off at the airport
and run back to town
both bridges are out
so i take the subway home
as do you
in the other direction

and finally this isn’t on theme but almost worked with last week’s theme of chips. this next bit is written from the perspective of a tender stem broccoli and hence all opinions contained within it are not necessarily my own.

the last antipasti

broccoli can’t be a prize,
everyone says,
or would say
if inquired of.
but my stem’s tender
as a lover’s thighs,
crunchy with salt,
drenched in rendered
fat, yum
pair me with focaccia
and dipstick me
in extra virgin
verging on
extravagant…
a celebrity
of humble bent

mind the time
you overordered carbohydrates
a panicked salad reprobate
arancini, croquettes and chips,
you had a need that i could sate
pumped with protein
and polyphenols
light and taut
and a little bit special

trust me,
flake almonds upon me,
indulge in fulgent greens
i answer your troubles
with charm and sheen
there is no knowledge
but sensation
so slide on in
to my dm’s
the merlot refill
unexpectedly chilled,
effervescent on your tongue
makes you cry yum, yum

confidence is recklessness incarnate
so crunch my fibrous branches so delicate
are you here for sublime?
or did you get lost looking for
the beige light district?
over by the camp
but closeted quarter?
oh yeah have another breadstick,
fill up on brie
i know you’ll be back for me

perhaps i can attract
one of your more stylish companions
i grew in the alluvial soils of campania,
learned english from hollywood movies,
reared on volcanic aqua minerale
and the sun’s patterns
you, with the specs,
you don’t wanna eat yet?
i can feel i’m cold.
was it yesterday? really yesterday?
bathing in the sunshine
when yanked,
quite jolted,
held tight in a gauntlet
flung in a crate,
i’ve been in the shade,
a day, who knows
they seared me!
and i’m here,
with the almonds,
but the plate’s cold.
all the sundried tomatoes are gone
the salami too
even the mortadella

oh, love may be king
in napoli
but fortune favours
brocolli
yes someone will
come back for me

i remember
when i was young sprout
thinking that if i was the first human
it would never have occurred to me
to eat food
or make love
that was an absurd thought
for a cruciferous vegetable, i know
but come on and eat me,
end this limbo
let me go
my whole life
flashes before my florets
i’m sliding off the plate
into the wastebasket
into the bin
a cardinal sin
and you know
i don’t see any chips in here,
you philistines.
i am a prize!
how did this happen to me?
am i weird looking,
or weird being?
you reach the top
you’re hot
and then you’re not
just one shot
then you’re compost.
it’ll happen to you too
one day.
memento mori.
i regret nothing.