When the Dogs Bite

Sunday, 22 February 2026

February 22nd 2026

broken feet, mended teeth

he gathers the wounded

and loves his best

On Judith Rhead

the 'karaoke queen'

would never score a record deal

or win a TV show

but she was loved in Pembroke

choir singing and caring,

chatting over the garden wall.

her son had problems

moved in to care for her

the window open all the covid winter

"because of her asthma"

absences from church,

from the garden wall,

from her weekly karaoke nights

because she "wasn't well"

and the police had a look

her body in a state

decomposition;

mummification;

a bag tied with yellow twine

over her head.

David Morgan,

devoted son,

ran out of drugs

ran out of money

ran out of patience

and bashed her head in

with a sticky hammer.

if he can't see she's dead

she must still be alive:

she must be alive

for her pension is being cashed

and we can hear the telly on

through the open window.

Son lived with mum's body for months

https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/articles/ckg2xn6k2kyo

Saturday, 21 February 2026

21st February 2026

dinner with friends

the echoes of a resonating gong

early Floyd

His Rod and Staff

"It is God's will."

He whispers in the darkness

of a silent confessional

leaning into the voices

from the smoke-blackened statues.

His is the Word of God

and the Creator's words

filtered, interpreted,

while a CD of choirists

plays softly through the speakers

of a deserted pulpit.

◊

driving toward redemption

the Right Reverend Stephen Conway

slumbers in the House of Lords

while the three people still awake

debate "What is a woman?"

He already knows

God told him

in the darkness of his church

by His Divine Will

◊

"Let God enter you,"

He grunts in the chill of the vestry

his cassock up around his dangling breasts

heavy from the roasted quail

serves in the private restaurant

lifting his belly high

to release the Staff of Christ

and cleanse the penitent arse

splayed over the child-painted backdrop

they used for the Harvest Festival.

◊

"As God is my Witness"

A print of Mary Magdalene

washing the crucified feet

of the only man who loved her

as he thrusts,

thrusts,

the Will of God

◊

Once

Twice

Three times.

He is denied,

but in the ornate trappings

of his mortgage-free mansion

his memory readjusts,

allows him Rapture.

Only God

can be his judge

but the Lincolnshire Police

will do their fucking best.

Bishop of Lincoln arrested in sexual assault inquiry

Friday, 20 February 2026

20th February 2026

Happy birthday,

Mr. Mountbatten-Windsor.

You're nicked, me ol' son.

Three Hots and a Cot

She had a plan to help her son

to make a bit of cash and carry on.

"Just put me in a comfy chair," she said

"give all my medicine

and let me dream away the years,

while you can cash my pension

and live your lovely life."

And when she died

he had a thought

to carry on as just as before

but couldn't bear to see her dead

so put her in the freezer.

Woman's body found in freezer

Thursday, 19 February 2026

19th February 2026

heat exchange

considering convenience

doggie door

Februral Dreaming

Night's vast hollow

bleeding slowly into daylight

covering your eyes

with sweet kisses of delight,

luring you with the promise

of misremembered delight.

Succumbing to its warm embrace

you are plunged into the terrors

of an open-mouth howling;

reliving nightmares that plague

all the waking day

wound tight with sheets and ropes

of twisted memory

and there,

below the soft mantle of dawn,

under linen sodden with night's sweat

the promise of comfort

in the warm, cheesy blanket

of sleeping dog snuffles.

Wednesday, 18 February 2026

18th February 2026

in the pre-dawn

walking with the dogs

cookie's barking

Twisted Candlesticks

You ask if we have allergies

and he does; his throat will close

to the size of a needle (without the eye)

and prevent a breath from moving past.

I have no allergies

(that I am aware of)

but may I lie and tell you "yes!

I am allergic to cucumber and celery"

when in fact I don't, but dislike the taste

and would rather not force it down, but

if I just tell you it's a 'do not like'

you think I can just pick it out of the dish

whereas, like petrol on a salad,

contaminates it all.

Tuesday, 17 February 2026

17th February 2026

how bad

must the other party be, that I

agree with Sinn Féin?

Neither an Onion

No red rose do I give you;

there are plenty in the garden

where they clamber untamed

through honeysuckle and vine.

No chocolate in plastic coated saccharine

for if eternal be thy request

let it not be at the expense of the earth

and our children's children.

No rubies or shiny gemstones

you have no need for adornment

and thy wealth is measured by figures

and thy legacy in solicitor's copies.

Instead I give you art;

paint and ink and a wordsmith's choosing

for the love I bear thee is heartfelt

reflected in the eyes of strangers.

Sinn Féin will not attend White House

Monday, 16 February 2026

16th February 2026

fumbling with clay

after a forty-year break

lumpy demons

After Duffy, After Radstone

Next to my own skin, her scent,

resting against my lips, my fingers

where they ran across her skin

and pressed the soft, pale flesh around her throat.

All day long, I think of her cocooned

with her yellow room as sunshine

guilds the shutters of her nightly trysts

with Death and yet survives to greet

another dawn with beauty and with grace.

Today will see creation of a masterpiece

for by her hand she moulds both light and dark

and weaves another instance of mortality

to give the world a taste of what it is to slip

with naked flesh between the sheets of agony.

and ecstasy; that mausoleum shroud

of cotton where the blessed pearls still sleep.