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My ‘Castello’ Flatlet

I’m renting over the rooftops
With a swallow, momentarily, in the living room
Creepy-crawlies that hide’n’seek hop
And a lizard under the kitchen broom.

I was counting on getting forty winks
Instead of counting Sardinian sheep.
My eyes wide open, not a blink,
Crayoned in above my cotton-white, pillow-case cheeks.

Meanwhile, you make it in your summer dress
Up the backwards four-floor helter-skelter staircase.
The daft dotty bird below’s a pest
And with the landlady it’s the usual cat’n’mouse chase.

For me, there’s a clash of colours; red white’n’blue
Or green white’n’red.
Anyway, from the seagull woman’s daily point of view
Everything’s black’n’white ; get those squawky city tenants fed.


Once upon a time;
Fables told in our family album.
Sarah with her toy panda
My dad, me and mum.

Joyriding the funfair’s big wheel.
Dodgem cars, pillow fights and conkers.
The kaleidoscope I used to turn.
My bedroom bedevilled by monsters.

My memory plays truant
Becoming a lump of plasticine:
That photographic baby;that first uniformed pose
And us at Aunt Christine’s.

Recalling the sandcars, candyfloss and clowns
I can’t rewind my chocolate clock.
Wish I had a hundred lines to write;
I mustn’t daydream about being grown-up.

Hastings Pier

Loafing along the dormitory  pier

In pyjama-patterned deck chairs,

The seasonal snoozers; one of whom, an old dear

Who catnaps, having had her cod’n’chips.

                                                                   A ten pence piece spare,

I enjoy a keyhole capers carry-on

Seeing “What the Butler Saw.”

A mischievous Peeping Tom

Peeking the naughty nymph’s Victorian smalls.

Looking further along, a stand-up fat lady

And her henpecked husband, both with cut-out face,

Make a cheeky seaside snap; swapping their own for a cartoon body,

A couple of tourists pop into picture postcard place.

When, inevitably, on the beach below,

A sudden cloudburst and downpour produce panic;

While the press-ganged kids reluctantly collect the lilo,

Mum and Dad, mobilised, salvage the remnants of a ruined picnic.

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What gets my goat;

A string of jealousies tangled in my throat.

Sant’ Efisio’s bells strike two

And what the hell are you up to?

Vagabond, bottle-necked in life, before me.

What’s it like Mr Nobody?

“It’s a life of shit!”

My landlady, at the sink, spits.

Whatever happens next

I wonder am I perplexed:

Belongings bundled together on a stick;

Should I be optimistic?

A quick appraisal anchored down in rhymes.

Another one with wavy lines.

I’m sorry. No more news.

Write back. What about you?

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