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Two poems that i wrote a very long time ago unconvincingly disguised as letters to and from 'the country'.

A butterfly filled a buttercup With mead for the bee she was buttering up "Marry me Bee?" She said with glee As he bumbled about his toa..

A haiku derived from a photograph of 'the girl' smelling a flower.

A poem I wrote about the police service/force(?) and amended/added to following the murder of Ian Tomlinson during the G20 april fools day protests.

Inspired by the work of Naomi Klein

A short play written for Easter 2009

Truth Lies... ...somewhere between Zionist plots And homicidal holocausts ...somewhere between tyrant dictators And freedom fighting liberator..

What am I?

Do we follow the path of another's story? Or will we find the courage to write our own?

Heaven or Hell? The choice is ours.