Saturday Sonnet #9

Derek
June 4, 2016

‘landscape’

No-one ever really sees the lonely;
They hang around in angry gangs of one
And look at passers-by aloof and ston’ly;
A cabal of the lost and the undone.
I’ve been there and return there sometimes still,
Though I’m surrounded by a world of love.
Inside, a darkness battles with my will
To let the sunshine in, and float above
The sadness that is half my nature: Though
I will no longer hold it as a friend
I can not stop it coming to my door,
But know each time the visit will soon end
A landscape made of peaks and troughs is fine
The valley’s are endured, the hilltops mine.

“Death of a Nobody,” The 2nd Danny Bird Mystery is available now.

In the UK, you can buy it here. Everywhere else, you can buy it here.

“Death of a Diva” – The 1st Danny Bird Mystery – can be purchased here

Saturday Sonnet #8

Derek
May 28, 2016

process

 

‘process’

I sit before a screen devoid of words
and wait for something smart to come along.
Ideas, skittish as a flock of birds,
are steadfastly withholding their sweet song.
This moment – now – the doubt begins to speak
Of how the things you write are value-free
Of plots that fail, of characters too weak
To make a mark that anyone can see.
And yet I type and worlds begin to come
From out of nowhere down on to the screen;
Their parts, sometimes, far greater than their sum
Their movements leaving nothing where they’ve been
If writings all that matters here tonight
What matters is the simple fact you write.

“Death of a Nobody,” The 2nd Danny Bird Mystery is available now.

In the UK, you can buy it here. Everywhere else, you can buy it here.

“Death of a Diva” – The 1st Danny Bird Mystery – can be purchased here

Saturday Sonnet #6

Derek
May 14, 2016

'taste'

‘taste’

“You can’t do Jeffrey Dahmer” says the voice

Inside my head that censors what I say

“A gag about a cannibal?” “My choice”

I counter then begin to tap away.

Til inspiration blinds me as It glints

Into a scene in Woody Allen’s head

That features several Mini-Pops With squints

Immobilised while gaffer-taped to bed

And still the voices say to even speak

Of what your psyche kicks out is a crime

That Princess Margaret face down in the beak

Is – poss – a tale to tell some other time…

You throw away the words you’ve written: Waste!

A shame that we’re all slaves, these days, to “taste”.

Saturday Sonnet #5

old-trainers-12002789

friday

In hindsight, some despair is evident,

But, hey, what else are you supposed to do

when pheromones, it seems, are heaven sent,

and order you, put bluntly, to go screw?

Whilst every single Gay in London town

Comes freshly from the Spa or from the Gym,

you squeeze into your jeans, perfect your frown,

and go into the night in search of him.

Then end amidst the throng on Compton Street

At sometime near approaching kicking out

To find a man with size eleven feet

And money left to stand for his own shout.

Though his Trainers are hotter than his form

you bed him; any old port in a storm.

Saturday Sonnet #4

Derek
April 30, 2016

Book_DOAD (1)

For Rebecca Chance, who asked for it…

Death of a DIva

My life, it seemed, had ended on one day
Until I came across a certain bar
And thought that I could turn the grim to gay
Which thus explains why we are where we are.
My star turns life’s been ended premature
And PC Plod has got me in the frame
And e’en my best friend is no longer sure
If I deserve to keep my own good name.
Add to the mix a Gangster who’s intent
On making my life hell if he’s involved
And plots galore both obvious and bent
And – for my sake – this mystery MUST be solved.
The end, now that you’ve had this little look?
Alas, you’ll have to buy the dam-ned book

My book Death of a Diva is out now from Fahrenheit Publishing.

To buy it, click here.

Saturday Sonnet #3

Derek
April 30, 2016

mouse-1

She thought that all I did was to keep house
That she could waltz right in and take my man
from me and I’d stay silent as a mouse.
That I’d fight back was never in her plan.
And yet how could I not when all I knew
was heading West with Laura and her hair
of yellow and her sparkling eyes of blue,
her scarlet nails and fashion savoir faire.
But then she learned: You cannot run in heels,
as I slid up the gear lever to “Drive.”
It took me hours to scrape her off the wheels.
Laura’s no more; this mouse is still alive.
She lies beneath the sod, and moulders now;
But then, she always was a rotten cow.

My book Death of a Diva is out now from Fahrenheit Publishing.

To buy it, click here.

Saturday Sonnet #2

Derek
April 23, 2016

princebowie

I don’t wish death on any living thing,

But find it hard to know that Bowie’s gone.

That Prince no more will dance and play and sing,

While Bashir Al Assad goes rolling on.

Yet I’ll still play “Let’s Dance,” and “Kiss” Out LOUD

Not read Mein Kampf from first page to the last

Or watch Kim Jong Rant at a frightened crowd;

These hate details all fade into the past.

For though our monsters loom and always will,

In shadows they are doomed to spend half-life.

Our heroes bask in light, and always will:

Their work – they joy they give – defeating strife.

When death comes we can not escape its pains,

The beauty that we make alone remains

My book Death of a Diva is out now from Fahrenheit Publishing.

To buy it, click here.

Saturday Sonnet #1

Derek
April 17, 2016

“There’s something wrong with Sandra,” said her mum

As Sandy Sat and hugged a Prada Bag

“She’s quiet nowadays; morose and glum

And has a tendency to lose her rag.

Since Yves, that French boy, left, she’s been this way

Cos she’s a Francophile and he was Male

But like I told her: ‘All French men are gay,

Or short and bald’; but that’s another tale.

Well, since this boy was really rather tall

And had a head of dark and wavy hair

It stood to reason he was gonna fall

For Pete and his 900 meter stare.

A man bag? Check. And cheeks made up rosy?

We’re talking more La Cage less Sarkozy.”

My book Death of a Diva is out now from Fahrenheit Publishing.

To buy it, click here.