Category Archives: Mumbo poems

What Spring Wants

So you’ve trudged through

the days of absent snow

Feeling close to the feeling

of closing down for good


When you chance upon

a snowdrop clump

Heads bowed in wind-blown



And you greet it as a sycophant

Over-praising its wise beauty

Egged on by your relief

the seasons might re-cycle after all


Inhale, as bluebell forests

lay down their modest promise

in hope the gnomes’ wet mouths

will moisturize the earth


In every park the chintzy blooms

(outliving the doom of staring blank into a soul that sees no flowers)

flirt into hearts

Floaty petals coasting


Brash Summer brings with Carnival

the blight of white-toothed smiles

Bright show-time lights

for the Optimist


While Spring shrinks shy

of admiration

Daffodils a pound a bunch

For the tired, Resurrection


At her patron saint Diana

she faintly winks

Her full skirts starched by

Winter’s vital misery


Boast and Brag are not her story

Just the reflected glory

of your candyfloss gratitude;

recognition of your rescue


More than crocus-focused worship

Spring’s dry desire is

The abject homily

of your blossoming









Filed under Mumbo Life, Mumbo poems











I’m in love

with an object

and I’m done for

’cause it’s not done

to lust and pine

for what’s not Divine

To put on a pedestal

what’s socially risible

historically hysterical

what’s hairy

but scarily


Whose knit one purl one

hurries the sisterhood

back to the scullery

the flowers to flow

through Cath Kidston’s

wet dreams

To adore

an angoran idol

that warms with whimsy

the Lady Grey

the catty ladies’ gossip


To journey

from the urbane

into the brain

of a Bronte

the soft scone-filled belly

of Beatrix Potter

It was a gift (this humbly-hued honey)

not required

but desired

large-scale perfection

shrunk to poke

the cynic’s ribs

I’m done for


but not done yet

with my cosy

tiny teapot




Filed under Mumbo poems, Uncategorized

Have You Known The Sea?

Dad pic










On the Sussex Coast mid-point last century

Lapping waves of single purpose

Beckoned a boy to Dartmouth and to the taste of salt.

Sub-marine the knots to learn,

Emerging as the loyal servant of a silent capsule fish.

Such tales and whales- the Dolphin Mess!

The toasts, the boasts, the wit so sharp and dry,

Its ocean provenance a mystery.


Then Mobe at home his girls he’d join

For runs ashore on Bognor beach,

In dinky boats the windmill-ed Broads to roam.

Or to the Lock-jewelled Thames

The mooring and exploring to commence,

While Windsor’s picnic cruises

In wooden pleasure craft

Were but a twinkle in the captain’s dewy eye.


The years they rolled on with the tides

As on its truest path does water flow.

The sky-high view of Worthing’s Avenue

Affording daily reassurance

That still She rages, plays and rests on the horizon;

Powerful and constant,

Never other than Herself,

An unapologetic force of nature.


Yes, you have known the sea implicitly,

And now the sea knows you.



Filed under Mumbo Life, Mumbo poems

Love and A Rocket

You and I, we could zoom to the moon
No pills, no spills, no earthly smells
Bewilderment a sparkling sea 
Of constellations

We'd leave behind the no-plan plans
Pass planets in weightless wonderment
Big questions particles of rock 
Small ones dust on matchstick men

You could move the docs in their playtime sets
Pop a nurse or two inside the loo!
Float in blissful orbit
Heady in the breezeless flow

If you tried to speak I wouldn't hear
So much better sense to make 
Bin the pinning down of thankless thoughts 
To give The Everlasting space

When can we go? you will want to say
I can't stay here, do this

We can go this instant

Love and a rocket - that's all you need to fly


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Filed under Mumbo Life, Mumbo poems


Towing the line of faithful bosses
Bishop to Archbishop to ascend
For himself the collar
Dogma as a pet

His Divinity made form 
In thrall to bells and prayers
Cross- referencing the Bible 
With behaviour

Not hard to mock his frock
Gift him the zeal of wars
At Noah's pairs a sneer 
While hurling condoms at the Pope

Be not more attached than he 
To Corinthians and liturgy
Beyond the harped-up angels 
He is wholer than thou 

His wise men Yaakov, Shakti, you
His very heart a Mecca
Living Glasto guru's Oneness 
As a given

Writing large the Yes
The Hope too often floundering in mithering
His Book a resource
Not a stick

Pulling crackers with the lonely
Mindful of our peace
Even as the brunch cutlery 
Rattles on 

Gentle acts of generation 
Freed of genuflection
Using but one box of tools
For souls to mould a meaning 

'God is Love'- for some the CV of
A bearded bogeyman
For him the richer gem that 
Love is God


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Filed under Mumbo Life, Mumbo Obsessions, Mumbo poems, Mumbojumbosheepism

That Jesus Moment


Leaking contrition, you enlist the pain of histories

for one unremarkable error:

Say sorry and mean it


There’s a right and a wrong way (funny, now that’s clear)

No drawing up the silk in seamless twists

On yourself to reflect the innocent’s sting


Yes, unravel the doom but not alone, alone is crude,

exludes an accomplice to smile as they hand you the sponge

to wipe your dirt from their person


Denies the gift of grace wrapped in dead skin

The absolving absolution

That Jesus Moment


At all costs to avoid the deep blue sea of double injury

Whereby one hurts AND laughs

and never learns


So I’ll meet your play, I’ll take a rake

to the past’s stone surface,

in stereo atonement


Its legacy to heed the ego’s violating force

Apology’s first service to shine a light Divine

on the Not Conscious.


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Filed under Mumbo Life, Mumbo Obsessions, Mumbo poems, Mumbojumbosheepism, Uncategorized

Do I Suffer?

Do I suffer?


Not pain or fools or the slow passing of time

Not the hollow knock on the bottom of promises

or the shrinking dryness of a joy expired


Nor for the future of children

or the disappointment of mice

or the shrill cheerfulness of martyrs


But in reality perceived

The happiness hanging on the tree

The grey of a Monday you can touch


For the present absent and the absent present

Attaching to forms so well

the joins don’t show


In delusion so strong it can brick me out of bliss

out of loving as a verb and into a private prison

where I bump into self-made walls


For whom do I suffer?

For me or for you?

Do I have a choice?


The answer is in life

and the choosing of it



Filed under Mumbo Life, Mumbo poems, Mumbojumbosheepism, Uncategorized