Poetry – All My Books

All My Books


All my books are out there.

There are things I should not have written!

Things I could have done better!

And books I should not have released!

But I have no regrets.

I gave birth to them all.

They are of me.

They are the living flesh

Peeled off my bones.

They throb.

They pulsate.

They live.

They will live long after me.

They are not perfect

But they reflect me perfectly.


Opher – 4.1.2020



I am constantly told that I am doing myself no favours by producing so many books. That people will not take me seriously. That publishers and potential readers will be put off when confronted with such a large number of books.

‘Better to focus on one or two and perfect them,’ I am told.

But no. The ideas come. The ideas flow. The enthusiasm builds and a new book is born.

The idea of wasting time marketing, promoting and touting is repugnant.

Yes I do want an audience and to be recognised. But I do like to write.

These books contain my essence.

Poetry – The Answer – a protest at war and violence – conformity and intolerance.

Poetry – The Answer – a protest at war and violence – conformity and intolerance.

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

The Answer

There are rare occasions where war is the only answer – when an evil is too great to ignore. But those times are few and far between.

Wouldn’t it be better if people talked about their dreams and beliefs, argued their case and, no matter how strongly they felt, were able to accept and get along with those whose views are different?

Yet this seems not to be the case.

Politics and religion stir up division and hatred and unleash war and violence. People are forced to comply.

War is a terrible thing. It invariably stirs up more hatred. It makes matters worse.

It is not necessary that all people agree or believe in the same thing. How many religions, professing love, peace and harmony, seek war or strictly enforced customs, to enforce their views on anyone who doubts their validity? How many countries seek to increase their power or gain wealth through war and stoke up racism, division, fear, hatred and nationalism as an excuse?


The Answer

Answering grievances with bombs –

Settling scores.

Defending beliefs with guns –

Instead of love.

Proving points with power,

Threats and murder.

Dividing and demeaning,

Fighting and hating,

Despising and killing,

Controlling and enforcing,

Instead of arguing our case

And allowing others to weigh it up

For themselves –

Demanding, destroying and subjugating –

In a merry-go-round

Of politics,




And economic greed

Where war is always the answer.


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..

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Nick Harper and the Wilderness Boys – Sheffield

Nick Harper & the Wilderness Boys – Sheffield

Well I’ve finally gotten around to posting this. It has been a turmoil of a house move that I’m still drowning in. The Nick Harper gig was a couple of weeks ago!

It was great to see Nick with a band of young musicians. They were all excellent and it was so good to hear the way that they had adapted the songs. Nick is great on electric guitar and it was good to see him enjoying himself so much. This was a totally new perspective on the music. They rocked.

Here’s a few photos:

Poetry – Salvation



The salvation of nature

Must surely be our priority.

The mesmerising spectacle

Is too precious,

Too rare,

And unique

To squander –

Yet delicate, and



With our pesticides

And chainsaws

We leave


Of destruction.


With our guns,

Our knives,

Hooks and nets

We destroy

Their flesh,

Impoverish populations;

Imperil the web

On which

We all depend.

We are endangering

Our own future.


Opher – 4.1.2020



Life on this planet has evolved over millions of years into a complex interconnecting web. We are all so interdependent. Yet, we come crashing through with our big boots, crushing and impaling, mindlessly destroying the very thing that gives us life.

Put aside the pain and suffering: is it worth selling the future for trinkets?

Poetry – Our Light – an ode to the sun.

Poetry – Our Light – an ode to the sun.

Our Light


I wanted to produce a poem for our sun – sol – the giver of life.

It was marvelled at by the ancients and worshipped as a god. For they recognised that all the light and heat it gave was all that sustained us. As they saw it slowly rise, crawl across the sky and sink they sank to their knees and gave thanks. For we have need to produce ritual and seek answers. Our imagination is mighty.

Within its heart it fuses simple hydrogen and helium to create the full range of elements. It spews forth the complex atoms from which we are formed. Our carbon and oxygen were forged within that cauldron of unimaginable heat and pressure.

The planet we stand on is of its essence.

It pours forth light, heat and matter in a constant storm as we live within its atmosphere. It will do so for billions of years – as if an eternity. Then it will turn destroyer and expand to wrap us in its fiery cape and dissolve every artefact of our existence.

Once more we will rest within its mantle.

It is only a small star –

Nothing more. 


Our Light 

It glows,

Incandescent in the night,

Fusing elements

To create worlds.


It radiates

Without pause or thought

As it gives

Of all it has.



From afar in wonder

As it appears

To traverse the sky.



With an atmosphere

Of molten

Plasma fury.


It gives life

Without knowing

As it sacrifices

Itself eternally.


Opher 30.5.2016

Jimi Hendrix Quotes – The guitarist had a mind as well as a creative imagination.

Jimi Hendrix Quotes – The guitarist had a mind as well as a creative imagination.

When the power of love overcomes the love of power the world will know peace.
But will that ever happen?
Knowledge speaks, but wisdom listens.
Not a lot of listening going on!
You have to go on and be crazy. Craziness is like heaven.
Depends what sort of crazy.
Excuse me while I kiss the sky.
And the trees, rocks, stars and life.
Music doesn’t lie. If there is something to be changed in this world, then it can only happen through music.
There is something special about that beat that comes straight out of the dawn of time. Music is fundamental to the human condition.
I’m the one that has to die when it’s time for me to die, so let me live my life, the way I want to.
Music is a safe kind of high.
And what a high!!
The story of life is quicker then the blink of an eye, the story of love is hello, goodbye.
No sooner have you got going than it’s coming to an end.
I’ve been imitated so well I’ve heard people copy my mistakes.
I used to live in a room full of mirrors; all I could see was me. I take my spirit and I crash my mirrors, now the whole world is here for me to see.
There’s a whole universe out there!

Poetry – Solstice 2 – Our ancestors used to hold ceremonies to celebrate this. Mine’s just a little late.

Poetry – Solstice 2 – Our ancestors used to hold ceremonies to celebrate this. Mine’s just a little late.

We’re tried worshipping most things. The sun makes more sense that most. We live within its atmosphere and it gives us the light and heat that gives us life.

The Green Man and the sun gods Helios, Ra, Kehpri, Atum, Inti, Lugh, Hepa, Garuda, Huitzilopocthli, Apollo, Surya, Sol, Sol Invictus, Shemesh, Sunnya, and a host more, were all widely worshipped.

The longest and shortest days are good reasons for having a great festival and celebration. Nature is what supports us. We should respect it and celebrate its bounty.

I wrote this poem after seeing Nazca Nine on the Summer Solstice. It was a great gig. They were definitely waxing lyrical and many of the monarchs of yore were thought to be incarnations of Sun Gods.

Then there’s the Moon. It’s been a long time since we walked on it. I think some ancient cultures would have shuddered at the very thought.

Solstices are like a rebirth. I like the idea.

Solstice 2

Waxing on the lyrical

Beneath the sacred sun

Getting quite satirical

When God and Queen are one


Verging on the mystical

Beneath the sister moon

Leaning metaphysical

Hope we get there soon


Nineteen Nazca nine

Is looming from the dawn

Me and thee and thine

Are going to be reborn


Opher 31.12.98

Poetry – Jimi – A poem for might have been and still might be.

Poetry – Jimi – A poem for might have been and still might be.


After all these years all you need to write is Jimi. Everyone knows who you mean. There is only one Jimi. He was not only the epitome of a guitarist, a showman and performer but an icon of an age, a symbol of all that a generation stood for and the idealism that changed the world.

When one thinks of Jimi standing there in his outrageous costumes you knew he was not dressing up for the show, he was expressing himself as an individual. He was blowing away the cobwebs from a dull and dreary post-war existence; he was drawing a line in the sand between the establishment (and the generation who chose routine, boredom, profit and war over fun, harmony, and meaning) and a new idea, a new approach, a new attitude – that we could live in peace, equality and freedom with purpose.

When I think of Jimi I think of helicopters in Vietnam, Agent Orange and machine guns, peace riots on the streets and phalanxes of State Troopers shooting at kids. I think of that young girl running down the street and enveloped by napalm. And I think of the friendship in the parks and gigs where everyone shared what they had and laughed, black with white, male with female and all together.

I only managed to see Jimi play three times for some ridiculous reason. I think we thought that it would go on forever and he would always be there. He wasn’t and nothing ever does – not even the bad stuff. But Jimi playing was a highlight of my life and will always be right up there with the best – and not just musically. He represented something greater than music.

We tried to change the world and I think we did. But the establishment fought back and wrested it back, tightening their control. We need another bout of sixties optimism, passion and rebellion. We need another Jimi, Bob and Roy.

So many years on and he is still Jimi.


With the elbow, teeth and the back of the hand

As feedback wailed by design

Over the sound of the band;

With shades of Sci-fi

And the limits of the mind

Soaring free on the wind

As it cried Mary

And my thoughts drift back

To what might be.

Along watchtowers

Chewing gum to the cracking of a machine gun,

Outrageous in costume and style,

Psycedelically free

To test the limits

Of all that could be

And might be in that castle of magic

That left us all aghast

And has never been surpassed.


Opher – 1.8.2016

Poetry – War – A poem about the futility and stupidity of war, terrorism and violence as history provides perspective.

Poetry – War – A poem about the futility and stupidity of war, terrorism and violence as history provides perspective.



There is nothing quite as stupid as humanity. History gives perspective to everything. To stand on a battlefield and look around one sees nothing but stupidity.

Culloden was a beautiful meadow full of grass, flowers and shrubs on which the birds and butterflies flitted. Back in 1746 two armies charged each other with blind hatred. They slashed with swords and hacked each other to death. They inflicted terrible injuries and horrendous agony. They were driven by patriotic passion.

Vicksburg was the battle that was a major blow to the Confederacy. Men were shot and blown to pieces. Limbs were blown off. The mud was sticky with blood.

Hiroshima melted people alive. People stumbled out of the city with their skin dragging behind them like grotesque shadows. They were half cooked alive.

Now ISIS is using medieval methods to kill slowly to inflict the greatest agony. They burn people in cages, slowly drown people, slice their heads off, bury them alive, crucify them and slowly crush them.

War. What is it for? Time robs all of these maniacs of their purpose. Today Vietnam is a tourist trap, Scotland is part of the UK, the USA is united and Japan is a friend from which we buy our cars and TVs.

Tomorrow ISIS will be a dim distant memory. They will be remembered with disbelief and disgust. All their obscene ambition will have been seen to be pointless.

All those wars; all that blood; all that agony – all pointless! There was nothing that could not have been sorted out through intelligence and humanity! Jaw jaw – not war war – as Churchill said!

There are no easy answers or quick fixes. War is the last resort!



Eating ice-cream in Vietnam,

Belgian chocolate in Ypres;

Sipping beer on the Killing Fields of Cambodia –

A damn sight better than blood and screams.


Sitting in a deserted pillbox

Surveying the beauty of the beach and sea

Through an oblong slit;

Walking through a forest of majestic unbroken trees

In the woodland at Vicksburg

Where thirty seven thousand men were killed or wounded;

Photographing butterflies and birds

On the flowers on the battlefield of Culloden

Where two thousand suffered

The agonies of wounds or death.

A damn sight better than being pierced by steel,

Slashed, smashed and shattered.


Then Hiroshima, Dresden, the London Blitz, the Crusades

And Jihad – What was it all about?

The IRA, Black Panthers, Weathermen and Baader Meinhof  –

Who won?


Shrapnel, chlorine, uranium, steel, bombs, bullets, missiles, napalm, knives, swords, machetes and indoctrinated will.



What is it for?


Enemies become friends.

Time changes everything.

Passions cool.

Nothing is gained.

Agony, blood, sacrifice and early death.

Such a waste.


Standing on the scene of such terrible carnage

One is reminded of the stupidity, tragedy and uselessness.



What is it for?


Eating ice-cream in Vietnam where Agent Orange destroyed so much, twisted thousands of lives and created nothing but misery, I was struck by the pointlessness and waste.


Opher 4.8.2016

William Burroughs Quotes.

Burroughs was a one-off Beat writer. Though quite how he came to be associated with Kerouac and Ginsberg always seems strange to me.

Opher's World

Well Burroughs was in many ways the architect of what became known as the Beat Movement. Though in reality the many facets of the culture had little in common with each other. Burroughs, Ginsberg and Kerouac were the three pillars. Who was most inspirational is debateable.
Here’s a few great quotes.
A paranoid is someone who knows a little of what’s going on.
Knowing even a little can scare the life out of you.
After one look at this planet any visitor from outer space would say ‘I want to see the manager.’
That is presupposing that someone is managing the mess.
Your mind will answer most questions if you learn to relax and wait for the answer.
So true. The subconscious is amazingly good at digging out information.
Artists to my mind are the real architects of change, and not the political legislators who implement change after the fact.

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