I used to be an artists model But gave it up When my studies Came to an end As I no longer Possessed the time However I do model For a blind artist In the 16th arrondissement Who sculpts me through His closed and silent doors

I love the silence of country lanes Especially during the darker hours But have to truthfully admit That they are actually Much louder Than the high storms

For the last few nights I have been taking Rufus for his walk Along dark country lanes My real reason Is that I want to see The Strawberry Moon But this has been inhibited By the sea clouds high

I recently purchased a box of hymn books And found a postcard in in one of them Gilbert and George FUCK 1977 Had been used as a hymn mark This brought back some happy memories As 1977 was an excellent year I currently spend some of my time in Dungeness Where I attempt to be […]

Time cures everything Or so I am told I am on a long train journey As I am trying to forget about you But it is not working As even here in the Highlands I can see your face in every stream In every tree and in every flower Time does cure But in more […]

This information has never been shared before It is highly classified But in my researches I came across a chilling story which is as real today as it was then In 1911 a girl named Florence Stephens copied a sequence of numbers into a book of nursery rhymes And then disappeared She was last seen […]

This is a strange story about tenant farmers and greedy landowners And about three nineteenth century mysteries that remain unsolved The Barnet Scarecrow could be found in the middle of Lister’s Field It was never visited by anyone as it was said to be a harbinger of ill fortune My story is also about a […]

Apart from Myself I cannot think Of anybody else To Hate This is therefore A Love Poem

Edward is by far my favourite name I always take lovers named Edward No matter their origins as I do not care Edward Hopper is my chosen artist Followed closely by Edward Ruscha Edward Elgar is my favourite composer That is why I live in the Malvern Hills I have one hundred copies of the […]

Under the simple summer sun You walk slowly down the shallow hill These are the days that you will remember But forget as your years mature