Have we over-stocked the kitchen-shelves

with food we won’t consume?

Have we stuffed the cupboards, inch by inch,

until there’s no more room

to add the bits we’re off to buy

on this week’s shopping trips,

packing goods into our bags like it’s

“The Shopping Championships”…

because consumerism’s in our blood

 – yes –

we’ve been primed to salivate…

then we will stack stuff  ’til we dump it

once it’s past its use-by date.






Did you think I wouldn’t still be wild

because I like a fricassee of lamb

or sometimes mild


 – like consomme –

to wet my lips?

A chewy, stewy, ratatouille even hits

the pleasure spot

on days when cottage pies

and canapes cannot be found


a kitchen door

where smells of cannelloni,

tandoori, kedgeree and Peking duck will

waft and lead me by my nose

to pillage and to forage

past the sleeping Labrador to chase

a mouse

inside the swinging door.


Scottish foxes favour grouse

but change their ways and won’t

approach a country house

on shooting days.



When that pot plant in your window

sprouts an extra sprig and grows

at twice the rate that you expect

then really, no-one knows

if it’s just because you water it

and feed it proper food

or that you always talk to it

and praise its pulchritude.


On the other hand, that weedy stump

that simply never thrives

whose shrunken stem and motley leaves

seem woefully deprived,

perhaps its wishy-washy ways

and ho-hum lassitude

are there because it’s picked up

on your grumpy attitude.




Sorry for the disruption to normal artistic flow, but my ‘Future Pollution Solutions’ drawing has gone walkabout and is currently wandering through a maze of Tamil script somewhere out there in the tangled network of tripwires we all inhabit.

If anyone should happen to Google an image of two Hazmat suits trolleying endlessly down a supermarket aisle, could they please redirected (mother and child) back to the security of their “econewseverse” origins so that this small universe can continue to be free, fair and fearless once more.

Thank you,



Hazmat suits

Step into your hazmat suit : it’s Twenty-thirty-nine.

It’s dark and dismal, grey and grim – although, the weather’s fine.

Stop breathing at the count of  ‘ten’, and practice changing masks.

I know it’s inconvenient, but it’s wise to hone these tasks.

Don’t let your goggles slip too far – or else your eyes will burn.

It’s tricky with these rubber gloves,  but not too hard to learn.

Now, read the Geiger-counter up and down the grocery aisles :

you can’t rely on toxin-lists that stretch for miles and miles.

And don’t forget to give the checkout girl a friendly wave.

She’s from another time and finds it strange, how we behave.

She might be covered top to toe in hazmat, just like you

but these courtesies remind us that we’re human through and through.




The future won’t be pretty

and it won’t be very smart,

but somewhere underneath the sea

is where the world will start

to mend its broken promise

and its accidental lies

and its trail of good intentions…

when the hidden monsters rise.

They will rise up from the depths

where they have so far been asleep.

So be prepared to mix it

with strange whoppers from the deep.



Let the leaves fall and tumble to the ground.

Let the leaves gather and crumble all around.

Let the leaves wither and settle in a pit.

Bring along a donkey and add a plop of s**t.

Eat a bite of apple and bury half the core.

Sprinkle on some water, and then a little more.

Wait for half~a~dozen years until you get a crop.

Come back with that donkey and cart them to the shop!


Cat and Moon

Wild cats prowl in the jungle.

Big cats prowl in the zoo.

But when pussy-cats prowl down dark alleys,

you should know a thing or two

about the nature of their hunting

– hunting rats…and mice…and birds.

To imagine they’re discerning

is – by nature – quite absurd.