Poetry – Today I wear Black

Today I wear Black


Today I shall wear black

In recognition

Of our lessening power and influence.

I shall wear black

In recognition

Of our weakening economy.

I shall wear black.


I shall wear black

In protest

At our jingoistic nationalism.


I shall wear black

For our loss.

For the loss of cooperation,

For the loss of my grandchildren’s dreams.

I shall wear black.


I will wear black

For the Eton boys and bankers

Who conned us

With their fear-ridden vision

From which they will profit greatly

I shall wear black.


I wear black for the victims of the next war

Born of isolation and arrogance.


I shall wear black

For the nostalgia

For a time that never was

For the Dunkirk spirit and terror of the Blitz

For rationing and poverty

As if these were wonderful.

And I shall wear black

For the things that we must now endure

The inequality and lies

The privilege and ignorant masses

I shall wear black.

For if we really understood

We should all wear black.


Opher – 31.1.2020

As we came out of the EU, burdening ourselves with more red tape and removing opportunities from our kids, it is a time of loss and sadness.

Wearing black is appropriate at such times.

Poetry – Every Step a Praise – A secular poem to the wonder of life.

Poetry – Every Step a Praise – A secular poem to the wonder of life.


Every Step a Praise

This is another of my secular poems to the beauty of nature and the incredible wonder of life.

We have woken from eternity to behold the most majestic place in the whole of infinity. A place of splendour, wonders and mystery. And the biggest wonder of all is that we have the consciousness and senses with which to appreciate it.

There is nothing more satisfying than to appreciate the glory of nature. We should acknowledge that with all our being. The world, the heavens, green plants and creatures are all part of a marvellous panoply of extraordinary spectacle beyond our capacity to comprehend. Mankind creates religions in order to capture its magnitude yet always falls far short. Nature is the most stupendous reality of all and we are part of it. To be in harmony with it is all that we could ever wish for.


Every Step a Praise

Let every step be a praise of wonder,

Every breath a gasp of pleasure,

Every blink a new awakening

And may every journey lead to one more splendour.


For we live in the midst

Of a glorious spectacle

In which all is mystery

And the pleasure

Is in the discovery.


So let every touch be one of love,

Every sound an orchestra,

Every flavour a banquet

And every moment

A fragment of eternity.


Opher 6.10.2016

Poetry – Greed – The killer – a poem for the death of profit

Poetry – Greed – The killer – a poem for the death of profit


This modern world is not a pleasant place to have sweet thoughts – not while there are people around.

Everything is an opportunity for profit.

There are 8 billion people to exploit.

They would (and are) selling the planet.

To distract us from this game, they use religion, TV, sport and alcohol.

Greed, escalation, progress and profit. It is killing us. It is killing everything.

Greed is the killer.



Greed is the killer –

Divvying it up

For profit.


Religion the sop –

Faces in the shit

For prophet.


Sport the distraction –

Trying it on

For pro-fit.


Nature the loser –

No longer



Opher 18.9.2016

61U89AzgoAL__AA160_ Vice and Verse cover Prose Cons and poetry cover Rituals, Odes & Mystic anxieties 51K9Up4uCYL__SX331_BO1,204,203,200_

If you wish to buy one of my poetry books you can purchase them here:


Poetry – This is a Hit Song – A poem about the lowest common denominator

Poetry – This is a Hit Song – A poem about the lowest common denominator


This is a hit song


I am always amazed by the tendency of human beings to shut themselves off from reality and live in a nice little bubble. They fill the bubble with froth in a shallow, unchallenging mindlessness. They do not want to involve themselves with the real issues. They would rather live in a world of gossip and celebrity.

Pop music is created for the mass market. It takes care to not make any waves. It is sanitised and vacuous.

If you want to sell lots of ‘unit’ you take care not to upset anyone.

It’s a background nothing. It is pointless consumerism.

I want something that involves my brain and feelings.

Pop music doesn’t have to be drivel. It can be art. It can have substance.


This is a hit song


This is a hit song –

Two and a half minutes long;

Radio friendly,

Nothing contentious ,

Totally trendy.


This is a hit song

Won’t offend anyone;

Says nothing,

In a sharp way,

On nothing.


This is a hit song;

Set for I-tunes.

Sweet melody

To tweek the ears

So easily.


Racing up the charts

Straight to number one

Charging into I-pods

Selling a million and one.


This is a hit song.


Opher 15.3.2016

John Cooper Clarke – Twat – an hilarious poem put to music.

John Cooper Clarke – Twat – an hilarious poem put to music.

John Cooper Clarke is hilarious. He’s more of a stand up comic than a poet – though his words are special.

This poem is probably the funniest thing I’ve ever heard put to music. His delivery is perfect.

Johnny started up at the same time as Punk and his sensibilities fitted straight in. His repartee is infamous – put down to a heckler – ‘Sorry mate, I can’t hear what you’re saying – Your mouth’s too full of shit.’

I can think of a few people I’d like to play this to.


    • Like a Night Club in the morning, you’re the bitter end.


    • Like a recently disinfected shit-house, you’re clean round the bend.


    • You give me the horrors


    • too bad to be true


    • All of my tomorrow’s


    • are lousy coz of you.

You put the Shat in Shatter
Put the Pain in Spain
Your germs are splattered about
Your face is just a stain

You’re certainly no raver, commonly known as a drag.
Do us all a favour, here… wear this polythene bag.

You’re like a dose of scabies,
I’ve got you under my skin.
You make life a fairy tale… Grimm!

People mention murder, the moment you arrive.
I’d consider killing you if I thought you were alive.
You’ve got this slippery quality,
it makes me think of phlegm,
and a dual personality
I hate both of them.

Your bad breath, vamps disease, destruction, and decay.
Please, please, please, please, take yourself away.
Like a death a birthday party,
you ruin all the fun.
Like a sucked and spat our smartie,
you’re no use to anyone.
Like the shadow of the guillotine
on a dead consumptive’s face.
Speaking as an outsider,
what do you think of the human race

You went to a progressive psychiatrist.
He recommended suicide…
before scratching your bad name off his list,
and pointing the way outside.

You hear laughter breaking through, it makes you want to fart.
You’re heading for a breakdown,
better pull yourself apart.

Your dirty name gets passed about when something goes amiss.
Your attitudes are platitudes,
just make me wanna piss.

What kind of creature bore you
Was is some kind of bat
They can’t find a good word for you,
but I can…

Poetry – History



Blood, pain and games

Down the desert wastes of history;

A struggle

For wealth and power

Where the winners

Write the wrongs

And most

Just disappear.



To slay, torture and desire,

With impunity,

In a game

That has no rules;

Where compassion

Is a stranger.


Opher – 19.12.2019



History is no more than a record of the wealthy and powerful in their ridiculous games; tales of intrigue and cruelty, greed, passion and fury in which ordinary lives are of no consequence.

It is peppered with violence and ruled by the worst of human nature.

History is a record of our failure.

Poetry – Summer Dreams from Childhood – the idyll of nature

Poetry – Summer Dreams from Childhood – the idyll of nature

IMG_2124 Vice and Verse cover Prose Cons and poetry cover 51K9Up4uCYL__SX331_BO1,204,203,200_ 61U89AzgoAL__AA160_ Rituals, Odes & Mystic anxieties

Summer Dreams from Childhood

In the fifty five years that separate me from those days the world has changed immeasurably. The meadows are no longer full of colour and sound. The grass still dries in the hot sun but there are no longer the rustles of insects or drone of bees. The flowers are gone and the insects killed by pesticide. It is a silent world.

The ponds and streams are devoid of frogs, newts and sticklebacks, the countryside bereft of reptiles.

It is a sad world now. The poems of nature have been shredded by the carelessness and profit of the modern world and I cannot help thinking that we are all the less for it.

I plucked these pictures from my memory.


Summer Dreams from childhood

I walk the meadows

Alive with splashed colour –

Impressionist’s dream

Of oxtail daisy, poppy and purple vetch.

By the hedgerow

The cowparsley stood bold

Above the feather-tops of grass,

Like cocky acacia on a diminutive British savannah.

In the cool of the shade,

By the reed rimmed pond,

The frogs jumped and splashed

As I passed by,

Pond skaters danced on invisible skin

And tadpoles cruised the depths,

Nosing the weed on which newts clung,

Still as statues

Alert with beady eyes.

Caterpillars spun their silken webs

Around the nettle heads

And clumped in colonies

Of black and yellow spiny families.

The green grass baked in the dynamo of heat’s electricity.

Only a soft breeze stirred the leaves in lazy caress,

To suck the moisture free

And rob the drying plants;

To carry off the spoils

Of the seeds and scents of a million petals,

Arid blades and seared soil.

The hum of nature –

The stridulation of grasshoppers

Merged with the rustle of tiny feet

On crisp leaves;

The drone of bees

As they trundle from flower-head to nectary

Laden down with yellow pollen-swollen legs,

Drunk with the heady sweet fumes.

Above, the butterflies silently dance

In tumbling multi-coloured clouds,

Spilling on the breeze in gay gavotte.

In the streams the sticklebacks,

With red bellies like aquatic robins,

Dash for cover

And dart from weed to bank, to hide

Safe within protective caverns

Hollowed out by crystal clear water,

As the currents eat out the overhangs

To which they zig-zag in a flash.

Grass-snakes, slow-worms and lizards bask

In the hot sun

And slide into the undergrowth

At the first vibration of footfall on soil –

Lizards jumping through the

Raffia grass with loud clatter

As I delight.

Pigeons coo and woo

As songbirds sought the highest perches

To sing their songs of love and fury –

Laying claim to all that they surveyed.

The world alive with scent, colour and life.

Summer sang with a song on interwoven melodies, big and small,

That set the spirit free,

In harmony

Of pleasure and peace.

Lying in the long grass,

Surrounded by bobbing flowers and creeping creatures,

In an island

Adrift from civilisation,

As the yellow sun

Gleamed down from a deep blue infinity,

Giving perspective

Through the lazy suds of clouds.

With all the time in the world.

Wanting for nothing more.

A world now locked away in the past,

In my memories,

And gone.


Opher 30.10.2016

If you would Like to purchase any of my poetry books they can be purchased in paperback or digitally from Amazon for £3 or £4..

In the UK:







In the USA:






Poetry – Deserts – A poem for nature.

Poetry – Deserts – A poem for nature.


I was travelling back from London on the train, belting past field after field of stubble. The harvest was in.

The only things moving were the odd crows and pigeons.

This was England. Where once used to stretch unbroken, dense forest, rustling to the sounds of insects, trilling to bird call, and providing food for deer, wild boar, bear and wolf, there is now a monocultural desert.

We have systematically cleared the forest to farm the land. The animals were cleared with it. We left tiny oasis of wasteland, woods, hedges and ponds in which the remnants of the rich fauna hung on – rabbits, hare, hedgehogs, newts, lizards, slow-worm, grass snake, dormouse and linnet.

Now they are being cleared. The modern farm equipment has no use for hedge or pond – the bigger the field the better.

Anything that dares to intrude into the desert we create is eliminated with pesticide, herbicide and machine. We don’t need them. They get their just deserts. 

51K9Up4uCYL__SX331_BO1,204,203,200_ Vice and Verse cover Prose Cons and poetry cover Rituals, Odes & Mystic anxieties 61U89AzgoAL__AA160_


Travelling through deserts

Filled with lifelessness –

Devoid of anything,

Even pity.


All that moves

Is the enemy

To be eradicated

With alacrity


Big or small

Feather or fin

There’s no room at the inn.


Hedge and pond

Bush and tree

Ripped out

In monocultural crime



Weed and seed,

All past their prime.


Opher 12.9.2016

If you want to check out my books –


Poetry – Age – I’ve got some of it.

Poetry – Age – I’ve got some of it.

Wow! I wrote this back in 1997 when I was still really young. I’m positively ancient now but it still is just as true. The aches are just a little bigger. I still think if we try hard enough we can create a better zeitgeist and force a few crucial decisions. Those in charge do not give anything up easily. If we want to have a better world we have to fight for it. The chimps, gorillas, elephants, rhinos and all the others are worth fighting for! Our grandchildren deserve a clean world teeming with life – not a polluted, barren, overpopulated world of misery, poverty and violence.

We can still sing!


I’ve got bones that ache and a body that won’t play

A mind that forgets and a face that looks back at yesterday

I’ve lost my faith in spirits and I don’t believe in kings

But I’ve got a heart that’s willing and a mind that still sings


I’ll still shout for freedom and dream of peace and love

With hope that people can fit together like a hand into a glove

But I’ve tempered that with realism, limits and softer vision

If we do our bit for justice perhaps we can force a decision


Opher 1.11.97

Poetry – There is a war – a poem for the planet

Poetry – There is a war – a poem for the planet

There is a war

There is a war going on. It is a war against nature. Pest and weed are being decimated. There is collateral damage.

A pest is a creature that we don’t happen to like. It wants to live. It eats our crops and lives on our land.

A weed is a plant we don’t like. It grows on our land. It takes nutrients and light from our crops. It makes our garden look untidy.

We have to eradicate anything that encroaches on ours.

We can take what we want but nothing should dare to intrude on what we have claimed as ours.

We wage war on it. With chemical poison and machine we slaughter in huge numbers. The bees, butterflies, frogs, newts, and toads are all collateral damage.

The invertebrate population has been decimated. 56% have gone. That’ll teach them! 10% of all wildernesses have been claimed by us in the last twenty years. We have laid waste to it all. It is now denuded, coffee plantation, palm oil or simply desolate.

There’s a war going on. We won’t be happy until we have beaten it all.

Vice and Verse cover Prose Cons and poetry cover Rituals, Odes & Mystic anxieties 61U89AzgoAL__AA160_ 51K9Up4uCYL__SX331_BO1,204,203,200_ IMG_2124

There is a war

There is a war raging

Using chemical and machine,

Counting the casualties

In numbers astronomically obscene,

Laying waste the land,

Hunting the helpless in fantastic amounts,

Spraying poison indiscriminately –

Where profit is the key

And the only line that counts.


Opher 13.9.2016