kiss 2

When crimson satin meets

Medallion augmented uniform

Without monetary exchange

Then you know a war is won

An armistice set in stone

A time for revelry

Wanton the survivors

Such is the hyper sexuality

Of victors coming home

And those who greet

Disinterred heroes


Another time; another place

Before the war perhaps?

Crepuscular the cat

The cat that toyed with

The fluttering butterfly

She who stuck around too late

A twilight chilling of her wings

Abated her flight

As circumstance left her

Upon his domain

She was his for a little while

He, hers


In both instances

Determined satyr couples

Willing maenad

Panmixia their curse and

Gratification their

Mutual pleasure

Always set to end in tears

Such is the nature of coition


In latter times

Those halcyon days of caducity

Nostalgic deliberation

That the young

One day will come to know

She thumbs through her

Decrepit diaries

Smirks as the flood gates open

And a tide of memories

Are discharged


She mulls over her past

Concludes she would not

Change a single thing

If she could live it all again


That he had once tried to

Clip her wings

Tarnished the

Dazzling masochism

Of his present

Wallowing in fresh

Solitary sorrow

Born of remembrance

He knows it is too late

To grieve what might have been

Far too late of course

The passage of time

Has seen to that


A little seasoning perhaps

A pinch of devotion permitted

In the recipe for love

Maybe things would have turned out


For better or worse

He will never now know



Warner Brother’s Studio, 1964: During the production of the iconic movie ‘My Fair Lady’ based upon George Bernard Shaw’s Pygmalion, leading male actor Rex Harrison pops along to his opposite number Audrey Hepburn’s dressing room for a quick chat before filming starts for the day only to discover poor Audrey is a bit under the weather.

“Well that’s knocked any chance of doing a bit of ballet dancing on the head then.”

“What has luv?”

“The old gout’s come back Rex…… hope of a swift pirouette I’m thinking here……don’t half hurt I can tell you.”

“I should imagine it does Audrey poops…….still how many times have I told you to lay off the vintage port…….do you listen?…….do you fuck!  Your uric acid levels must have gone through the ceiling again girl.  Just count your blessings you don’t have to do the old ballerina stuff these days. I guessing a swift deboulé is out of the question?”

“Too bloody true Rex…….look at the state of me big toe…….more Belisha beacon than appendage……I bloody hate it….you know…….when me old metatarsal-phalangeal joint flares up like this.  I suppose I can park me arse in a chair and do a bit of acting sat down today……you know ‘The rain in Spain gets on me tits when I’ve paid good money for me hols’ or whatever that common tart Eliza Doolittle I’m playing says.”

“Yeah, can’t see the director having a problem with that luv.  Mind, best you leave off the booze and the black pudding and dripping sandwiches for that matter for a while if you ask me.”

“Well I didn’t ask you did I………bollocks I’m going round the quacks and asking him to cut me toe off the pain is so bad.”

“Audrey luv don’t even go there……..I mean we’ll have to change the title of the film to ‘My Fair Cripple’ if you do…….hardly a fucking marketing hook.”

“I shall have to think of something to do to take me mind off it………thinks………stuff me I can’t think of anything it hurts so much……worse than childbirth this is.”

“What say we practice some of the songs for the movie…….that might divert your attention away from whinging on and on about your gout don’t you think?  What about your solo number ‘I Could Have Danced all Night’ yeah I like that one I do’s.”

“Hardly Rex……I do the acting…….that pushy little cow Marni got the singing gig……God knows why….all I get to do is move me mouth like I’m belting out a number……not fair in my book.”

“Sorry I completely overlooked the fact that your singing voice resembles that of a fog horn on a cross-channel ferry.”

“Fucking cheek of it…..I sing like an angel as it happens.”

“Well you could practice a bit of miming then so as you’re ready for when young Marni gives it her all on the melodic front on set.  Here try out ‘With a Little Bit of Luck’.”

“A little bit of luck is hardly an appropriate song for one riddled with gout is it!…….besides it’s not one of mine……Stan’s doing that one.”

“I Could Have Danced All Night’s one of yours isn’t it……..that’ll cheer you up.”

“Could have danced all night……..fucking Ada are you taking the piss or what……I can barely move let alone think about dancing.”

“Tell you what then I’ll sing you one of my songs……my favourite out of the whole musical as it so happens…….wanna give it a listen?”

“Go on then if you must.”

“Right then girl here we go……….. ‘I’ve grown accustomed to her big toe; It’s still glowing when the day begins; I’ve grown accustomed to its throb that; She whinges on about night and noon; Her uric acid, her love of port; Her pain, her gloom; Are second nature to me now; And it’s frankly getting on me tits…….”

“Fuck off Rex.”






Another early post from when I started blogging and had just the 10 people following the blog!

Originally posted on mikesteeden:



The Halfway Public House, twixt Heaven & Hell; Post the Beginning of Time: Old mates Satan and St Peter are sharing a couple of pints together in order to unwind after a day’s work. They haven’t met up for yonks so they have rather a lot of catching up to do. 

Satan: “Long time no see mate. How the devil (so to speak) are you?” 

St Peter: “Oh not that bad if the truth be told. What’s your poison – I’m buying.” 

Satan: “Cheers mate, I’ll have pint of Bishop’s Finger if you don’t mind.” 

St Peter: “Not at all, I’m partial to that meself.  Bartender, two pints of the old ‘nun’s delight’ mate.” 

The barman duly serves up said beers. 

Satan: “I was talking to that Emperor Nero bloke the other day – he’s one of mine of course. He told me…

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Wave Of Apathy Sweeps Nation As Satirical Mag Announces Halloween Edition


In point of fact Arsene Wenger reads this mag whilst taking a number two! He told me himself he thinks it’s ‘quality’ – bloody shame he can’t read English really!

Originally posted on The League Of Mental Men:

soz halloween edition FP

I bet you can’t wait can you? *cocks pistol*

There was practically no reaction at all on Tuesday of this week as Soz Satire, a satirical magazine famed for it’s anonymity and risibly poor content, announced the forthcoming launch of their Halloween edition.

Editor-in-chief, Clivey Dee, 21, told an empty press conference in York Hall Bethnal Green.

“The lack of reaction has been absolutely astonishing. We haven’t been as studiously ignored as this since we launched the Bumper Xmas Edition in 2012! In fact I’d go as far as to say that the sheer apathy, combined with a kind of hurtful refusal to even acknowledge our existence, has taken our breath away.

“To be honest we can’t wait to get cracking on the November Guy Fawkes issue. The prospect of miserably  looking at the turgid viewing stats each day, and the crestfallen looks on the faces of the writers when…

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Two Parisian mime artists were they

They mimed on the street every day

Yet hard as they tried, great effort applied

They found that their act didn’t pay


And so it was that they thought

‘We’re sick of working for naught

We need something new, so the punters do queue

Then we’ll not be quite so distraught’


That’s when they decided to grow

Turn their act into a ‘variety show’

So they phoned agencies; even begged on their knees

To have them send round Marilyn Munro


Yet the boys were in for a shock

The girl they sent round was of stock

More suited to burlesque, preferably wearing a vest

Neck downwards the stumbling block


Her face they decided was fine

In truth it suited their mime

Yet from the neck down, they had cause to frown

Eric said, “This one’s yours, mate not mine!”


Editorial Note: My apologies to any ladies out there thinking this silly verse a tad sexist – it is but a stab at humour.  Young or old, large or small I believe the female of our species the loveliest beings upon the planet (true that is by the way). 

PS: This is a rejigged version of a limerick penned a year ago.


‘A STING IN THE TAIL’ – My affair with Marta Hari!


Marta Hari, quite the dancer

So nimble on your feet

Marta Hari, double agent

You didn’t need to cheat


Paris 1905

You took the place by storm

Your style was Egyptian

Though you didn’t just perform


Promiscuous, flirtatious

You rode the circus horse to fame

Captivated audiences

To you art was a game


A thousand lovers, me among them

You took to your bed

Diplomats; Ambassadors

Yet none of them you wed


Provocative young lady

Young lady chasing fame

Your reputation went before you

To you there was no shame


But oh those secrets we did gather

As spies before that Great War

I was loyal to our cause

But you always wanted more


Notoriety, so you dabbled

Playing one against the other

In the Game of Nations

One must be loyal to one’s brother


H 2 1 your code name

For operations clandestine

A double agent for the Germans

Hence treason was your crime


In the end I grassed on you

To the French you see

The reason was quite simple

You gave me an STD!

Marta Hari was executed by firing squad on the 15th. October 1917 – 97 years ago yesterday!  I posted a version of this a year ago when I first started blogging – thought a revised verse might be worthwhile now.



Coincidence has brought together

Well healed frivolous young ladies

And dullard scapegoat casualties

High society one and all

In muted auditory

They swap awkward tales


They conspire and manoeuvre

Contrive and make plots

To avenge

For revenge

The crimes of

The philanderer


He, the one who

In chronological progression

Stole their hearts

Left them desolate

Left them hollow

In soul if not always in belly

And always shunned

Heartbreak in his wake


This gaggle of gals

Are judge and jury

Trial in absentia

Sentence passed


That he has been found out

He is unaware

That he has been convicted

He will never know

Until it be too late

Until the epée severs



Herewith my Wednesday tale I have written for LOMM!

Originally posted on The League Of Mental Men:


An extract from the book ‘Tony Blair’s Peculiar Dreams’

The first rays of sun were streaming in through the brambles of my recently fashioned home within a drainage ditch aside the A23 near Gatwick. Quite a comfortable spot if the truth be told and certainly better than the disused pillar box in Rye where I had wintered previously by a long stretch – never could get a full handle on sleeping upright!

Whatever, the promise of a warm spring day fairly enlivened me. What to do? It was then that the thought struck me that I hadn’t seen my old Auntie Maud for an age, wizened old boot and miserable cow that she is. I’d been waiting for her to pop her clogs for donkey’s years you see what with her being worth an enormous fortune and me being her only living relative.   Plainly the need to stay in…

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witch 1

Constant the pre dusk din

From the Corvus rookery

Come the rise of the moon

They shall settle

All will be quiet


Come the rise of the moon

She who’s pact with the

Sublunary world

Carries, legend has it

The emblem of

The diabolical mark

Rises to the hoot of the owl

Makes for the forest of reverie

Where the Shamans

Talk with the spirits

Where the pentangle altar

Her keep safe talisman

Is furrowed within the detritus


She shall drink from the chalice

And share with the harmonious

Offering a prayer of sorts

That the Goddess

Makes herself known this night


‘An harm ye none

Do what ye will’

Her incantation

The Rule of Threefold Return

Will keep her honest


In the village they gather

A horde conceived of

Perplexed vexation

Flaming torches to

Light their way


To the tune of curses

They march behind

He, the bestial deviant

Who would have them believe

In the name of his God

She means them mischief

Hostile their bias

Malevolent their firm intent


The God fearing fear

She who is peculiar

She who they do not

Envisage emblematic


Autumn yielded no harvest

The outsider quests solo

She, the one they call the witch

Must be arraigned

And for the sake of fair justice

Have the womenfolk find

The diabolical mark


In the morn she will burn

The seed of the bestial deviant

Will preserve his kind

In perpetuity



1970; Bron-Yr-Aur, Wales: In a remote cottage in Wales Led Zeppelin vocalist Robert Plant is trying to knock out a swift lyric to accompany the melody lead guitarist Jimmy Page has composed for the band’s fourth studio album.  The finished song would go on to be iconic appearing in numerous listings as one of the very best of all time.  However, things did not get off to a good start on the lyrical front!  We join Messrs Plant and Page as they sit in front of a roaring fire having a chat about how things are going.

“Got the words for me song yet Robertio old chum?”

“No mate…….if the truth be told I’m bolloxed a tad……..can’t seem to get that crucial ending to what is in effect the bloody first line……..shame really Jimbo as you have writ one belter of a melody.”

“True mate I am well chuffed with it……..anyway what have you got lyric wise so far.”

“Don’t laugh mate but this is it………. ‘There’s a lady who’s sure all that glitters is gold, and she’s buying a stairway to……?’ To fucking where…..that’s the bit that I’m stuck on.  You got any ideas to throw into the mix?”

“…. and she’s buying a stairway to…………thinks…….what about this Robertio me old mucker. Try this one on for size. ‘And she’s buying a stairway to……..the opticians’ I mean I’m guessing here that the poor girl is a tad colour blind for it’s obvious to anyone with 20/20 regular vision that all that glitters is not necessarily gold.”

“Not bad Jimbo but you know to me ‘opticians’ – good as it is mate – doesn’t have that audience ‘hook’ factor I was after.  No…..back to square one I think.”

“OK then Robertio…….I feel another ending coming about me very personage……here we go…… ‘And she’s buying a stairway to the upstairs bog’ I’m thinking here she may live in a bedsit with shared lavatory facilities… know, a bit inconvenient and unhygienic if you think about it. What’s your take on that?”  

“No mate…..I mean her landlord wouldn’t allow it… know building a fucking great stairway to a bog that has yet to be installed…..then there’s the cost factor as well…..indeed there’s also a planning permission issue to contend with.  Nice try though.”

“Stuff me……I shall have to put me thinking cap on once more I suppose……um…….see what you mean Robertio this is hellish hard…….got it…….what about this? ‘And she’s buying a stairway to the bloke upstairs flat as she fancies him something chronic and with a flight of stairs straight up to his bedroom she’ll have a better chance of getting her leg across.’ That has to be it……you know this one has the romance factor…..bit of a love song if you want to call it that.”

“Dunno really…..I mean I see where you’re coming from but it is a little heavy on the number of words……..I reckon I couldn’t sing this to your melody without cocking it up.”

“Tell you what mate why don’t we take a walk down to the village pub… know wet the old whistle with a couple of beers and have a jolly good think……it might just sort of, kinda like, sort of, know what I mean get the old creative juices going.”

“Yeah, I’m up for that.”

“Tell you what Robertio what a beautiful cloudless night sky……..look up mate and you can see ‘heaven’…….bloody handsome.”

“Handsome as it may be Jimbo all this talk of ‘heaven’ is leading me off topic so let’s just stroll in silence while I ponder the issue at hand.”