Lonesome Waddle

I’ll take a lonesome waddle then

Down the red bricks of commerce way

Through the paving stones in my mind

To refresh the reverence reverberating

In the  office’s acrid air

Contaminating my liberty of thought

Dampening down my inner explorer

Ill waddle wild and wistful

Perhaps even skip a little

Sing a little song out loud

Dof my cap to a stranger and great them with a smile

Cartwheel, curtsy  or hopscotch

Let out a primal scream

Where the ducks do there admin

Trapped in our commercial concrete Elysium

Quacking a little with them

To crease a smile and buried giggle

My compatriots are here in spirit

But today,

I’ll take a lonesome waddle

Turning Two (For My Son Max 30/10/2015)


Two auburn orange leaves fly

twisting and turning in the sky

Two jet planes thunder by

trailing lines way up yonder high

Two tiny terrapins wriggle

flapping frantically, I giggle

Two tigers for tea

The book daddy reads to me

Two more tales to tell

so silence and sleep is well

Two parents pleasing me

There journey unveils within we

Two babies bouncing

Babyccinos keep on flouncing

Two buildings bound

Our lives like city sounds

Two church doves dive

Their rural bee hives

Two helping hands

Your tender life unplanned

Two loved ones at your throne

Together no harm at home

So now your longer in the milk tooth son

And yet your life has just begun

We love you like the summer rain

Winter hugs and spring regain

We love you like the autumn fall

My pride in being you dad is all…

Happy Birthday Max

Friday Ferocity Beckons


Fertile is Friday

With the hum-drum and the rat-a-tat

Keyboards compete for cellular airwaves

Rat-a-tatter tracks

Urban grime and underground time

Trapped in the space between his eyebrow and hers

Other commuters curse

Gentle giants subside

To sounds of corn curdles peeling

The plough has met his plight

The barrow boy fought his fight

The seeds hear no sowing

Knighting needles natter

Yardies on busses chatter

In the gents a welcome whistle

Wondering warblers, whisper wearily

Friday’s ferocity beckons


Blackberry Pic. By RT (Reupix)

Gleaming Aura

Migrant Morbidity 

Father holds boy in centre of image, surrounded by refugee camp

A Syrian refugee holds a baby in a refug…A Syrian refugee holds a baby in a refugee camp set in the town of Harmanli, south-east of Sofia on November 12, 2013. Bulgaria’s asylum centres are severely overcrowded after the arrival of almost 10,000 refugees this year, half of them Syrian. The influx has fuelled anti-immigrant sentiment in a country already struggling with dire poverty. AFP PHOTO / NIKOLAY DOYCHINOVNIKOLAY DOYCHINOV/AFP/Getty Images

Surrounded by the safety of city

There they wait by the border breathless

Barely breathing by the burning brakes

Another cargo curtailing carelessly

Car loads of children piling perilously

Politicians sit so piously

Self centred so righteously

So sanctimoniously sat in sanctuary

Settle now to a harmony

You cannot repent

This end and just is bent

Find a little amnesty

In the perils of your pleasantries

Life in luscious latte’s

Lingering like lovers lost

Well stop to take a still frame

For the press picture that pains

The boy that just died in vein

Takes a thousand other souls to claim

In moronic might they flee

Treading tarmac, earth, endlessly

Left behind their native land

Mothers tongue coils

Gripping axels, risking life for liberty

These people beat a heart like you an me

Let not another pile of bodies rise

We must find our common unity

Leave just a little sanctuary

Freedom should not be fought

Only found…

Click on any of the links below if this poem has affected you…

Save The Children



Oxfam Emergency Appeal

Prevail against the beastly brutality

Embrace a global strategy

Find solace in solidarity…

Hotel Du Vin Part I

Image of Hotel Du Vin Wimbledon with abstract teapot fountain in foreground

Hotel Du Vin, Wimbledon

Beamed pools of light

Flood the cornices of our lives

Triangular floods of joy

Rounded on muted beige

Sealed elegantly

She prepares her hair for dinner

Each stroke of the eyelash

A hurried masterpiece

We absorb the shallow light

The bubble bath

The green that stretches

Far and wide surround

The portal of our global view

We seep into the luxury of life

Re-united with a distant dream

Replenished in the warmth of wine

Renewed and ready

For Hotel Du Vin

Enriches our unified souls

In serenity

We smile

Shalom (רכות) / Mabrouk (מזל טוב)

Photo: Ben Ransom

Reuben Dressed As Syrian Chef


20th of September 2005


Shallow symbol

Anglo-Wetsern eyes encroach


She shares no nuance, no reproach


His tears are guilt tainted


My roaring anger’s high

It is a picture that is unpainted


My mellow pride

Is a hypocrite in Moses dark eyes


My London life tells tales why


Your alliance is shadowed in loyalty


Her Gaelic gaieties grow gruelling


Mildly means congratulations

Let’s not us be so bold and bleary

Aurally opinionated

Silver shining reaches

On dusty urban pathways

Shepherd me back dear motherland

To hold high my chalice

In the arms of my brothers

In the weary worn eyes of sisters

The tainted footprints of my forefathers

Yield me home




Cocooned from the cacophony  

A placid white noise

Far from the far fetched fury

Filtered finely

Like arabica coffee incarnate

Our future bean

Beautifully brewed

Barely born

Yet so alive

Alert and active within

That weirdly wonderful world

Where woman weep

With terrific tears

Where men marvel at mystery

Many more before

Many, many more before

Mankind and women wise

For two peas from one pod

Make three…

Friend or Foe FB?

Friend or foe

Fiendish Facebook?

For you are so fiercely fortuitous

For Many

So seamlessly senseless

For Others

A peoples majority a social dichotomy

Friend or foe

Fiendish Facebook?

For you bellow out ballooning

Far, far fetching

Steal souls serenely

Far, far fracking

You mine like oil in the salts and soil of society

Friend or foe

Fiendish Facebook?

A Study of the Psychoanalysis of Dreams

I studied the psychoanalysis of dreams, over ten years ago now.  It was perhaps the most fascinating module that we were taught on a Photographic and Digital Arts degree at Westminster University. Being generally less tainted with a lot of the pretense that surrounds other subject maters like semiotics and the signified for example. I found artists retorts about “receding perspectives and how that affects my inner child” to be a load of creative waffle. Then I would find myself using similar language and therefore being either conditioned through good education or being converted into believing such abstract comments. I am now older and have perhaps let go of my ego and objections to such flamboyant expressions. In fact, I respect my peers in the art worlds flippant or overtly profound remarks, even find them amusing at the best of times. So you will notice that I have selected words like ‘ego’ and ‘inner child’ because these are psycho analytical terms. I am not a psychotherapist, or drug prescribing psychiatrist, I am a photographer through and through.  Now, in the present day currently working in the art industry.

But, a couple of years ago now, at breakfast a close friend of my wife and a young woman I respect and love enormously revealed a wonderful account of a recurring dream she has been experiencing.

I return to writing this little article, if you will, sometime after the aforementioned and very well esteemed young woman decided to reveal to us all her recurring dream. Her openness in itself could be termed an example of emotional IQ firing on all cylinders. Here was another human being, just like myself exposing my inner most personal secrets to random strangers as a young, loved but misguided youth. Some would say this openness is a personal quality, but it can leave you exposed. Yet, in this setting we were amongst close and trusted friends,  all between the ages of 24 and 31 and I was the eldest at the table. Oh how the psychological tables had turned in my favour. So let’s give this ‘lady’ of mystery a name shall we? For the purpose of this story she will be known from this point onwards and forever more as Grace. A virtuous name indeed.

Grace has a quiet but gripping demeanor whenever she tells her tales, she entices us and engrosses us with empathetic comments like “you know when you’re dreaming and it all seems somehow so real”. Everyone around our dinning room table is listening. But, it is I who fires responses back like “yes and they always seem so vivid don’t they?”. Grace continues…

“Well I keep having this recurring dream, where I am driving with my brothers and granny in a rural but unspecified location. Suddenly I lose control of my car and we find ourselves hurtling off the verge and then plummeting off the side of the road until we hit a lake. The car begins to slowly sink, becoming more and more submersed by the minute. I look around the car and see that my eldest brother has already taken the quick initiative to open his door and escape. Water begins gushing in from where he leaves the car door ajar. My other brother just sits panicking a little, looking around him as if working out what to do next. Then I turn to my Nan who has a cut on her forehead and seems dazed. Instantly I release her seatbelt and reach across her to try to open her door, regretting this as soon as I have realising the more water in the car the quicker the rate it will take to sink, rendering us all potentially drowned, apart from James who is now nowhere to be seen and must have swam to safety. I realise the only way I can save her is to get out myself and swim around to her. The water seems to be pouring in quicker and so I shout to Robert who has also now opened his door – “Robert dammit help me save Nan!”. Then the oddest retort comes from him, he just smiles and plunges himself into the water swimming away from the car. Not his normal kind-hearted and generous spirited nature at all. I struggle to push my car door wide enough open against the great force of the water against it. Once I finally get out and Nan’s weight is the only body left in the car, it begins to tip downward in her direction. This means I now have very little time to rescue her. Swimming around the front of the car, I manage to get to her side, but the door has been pushed shut again by the water and so I tug with all my might to open it once more. Granny is more conscious now and clearly panicking from within the increasingly flooded car that is now steadily sinking. I figure I have about three minutes at best before the car is taken by the lake and becomes entirely submersed, then it will be too late I think to myself.”

Another friend at the table asks “so do you manage to save her?”  We are all engrossed by now.

“That’s just it”, Grace continues, “I wake up before I know what happens next, whether I can save my Nan in time or not.”

“Well that’s a cliffhanger if ever I heard one” the friend replies.

So what is clearly obvious, is this is an anxiety dream. It could also be suggested that Grace has a sub-conscious desire to hold her family together, to protect them, to be their saviour even. Perhaps there is something in the fact that her two brothers abandon her Nan, something of the sibling rivalry, or even that Robert and James are happy to let their Nan die, as she is already old and frail.  So they choose, some would say sensibly, others selfishly, to save themselves rather than endanger themselves in an attempt to rescue Nan from the sinking car. The fact is, there must be an underlying reason why we all have these vivid and sometimes disturbing dreams.  They are all created through thought processes occurring in our sub-conscious or unconscious brain.  As Freud asserted in The Interpretation of Dreams, every action or thought we have is motivated by our unconscious in some way. He, I believe rightly so, claims we all adhere to social convention and have a tendency to repress our urges.  Some people of course re more overt than others.  But it then makes complete sense that these suppressed feelings are in turn released through our dream world.

Freud categorizes aspects of the mind into three parts:

Id – centered around primal impulses, pleasures, desires, unchecked urges and wish-fulfillment. 

Ego – concerned with the conscious, the rational, the moral and the self-aware aspect of the mind. 

Superego – the censor for the id, which is also responsible for enforcing the moral codes of the ego.

Ref:  Dream Moods – Dream Theorists – Sigmund Freud –

When we cannot remember our dreams from the previous night, our superego is in play, censoring the visual and mental experiences we encountered in the dream world.  When we are awake our superego is in a similar way suppressing our impulses and desires.  In the case of Grace’s story, her ego at the table is trying to rationalise her somewhat disturbing dream.

When we dream we become our very own auteurs, we can be our very own Tarantino or Fellini.  Except we have little if no control over the film we are creating in our heads.  We cannot alter the camera angle, change the plot, or add emphasis and drama through pace or music.  Perhaps Freud would have argued otherwise, claiming that it is our sub-conscious that is in fact controlling every aspect of our dreams.  Sometimes we are left feeling affected by our dreams for days or even weeks to come after.  In turn sharing with friends or relatives our thoughts about how we have experienced the dream both whilst it was happening and afterwards can only be therapeutic.  SO the morale of this little anecdote is lets discuss our dreams more.  Let us all in fact be more in touch with our emotional IQ, be more open with those we trust, in turn we can only be reaching a more harmonious existence.

Please feel free to leave a comment on this mini-article.  I would love to hear from you…

La bonne vie dans les Frances (The Good Life In France)



La bonne vie dans les Frances (The Good Life In France)

An experiment in French/English poetry


The awesome Auvergne

An untouched idyll

An ostentatious oyster

Primed for prizing

A lush green veritable

Verdant land

The good life in France



The Chote De Rhone

Bountiful Bierre D’alsace

An affordable alcohol

Free flowing fun

A British Blighty abroad

Boozing elegantly

The good life in France


The Puy De Dome

Perfect peaks

Upon the horizon

Une belle vue

But this aint’ no Bristol

Ship shape fashion

The good life in France


The good Barbara and Tom

Those seventies survivors

With fresh eggs

Le fromage et les legumes

Chickens roaming free

Range riders ravenous

The good life in France