Just because you don’t want it to happen, never meant that it won’t. And when it happens, there’s the heart wrenching pain of realising why you never wanted it to happen. That’s as much as I can say about losing a parent.

My mother tugs me through the snow

Her strides are long and I’m just slow

Her hurried pace she’s hard to hold

But her words are warm despite the cold

Once indoors she gets the heater glowing

And sits by the window to see my father coming

On the carpet I’ll run my toy truck

But soon I’ll have to wake up

From seeing myself by her feet

To be weeping in my sleep



As of late 2017, I embarked into a world I’ve not known before. A world without my parents. My dad was the last to leave. It was only harder because with his demise, now they’re both gone.

Gloves and mittens through the night streets of London

There’s glitter on the pavement, I thought they were diamonds

Puddles splashed by a double-decker bus

I saw dim-lit faces looking down on us

They would have seen a little man and child

I like to think that someone did smile

As I smile to myself how I must have felt then

Holding for company, my father’s big hands

Yes I Am One

Yes I am the weekend warrior 

Mangy stratcat, ad hoc jammer

Ripped jeans and a Stratocaster

In the lights I’m a mutharocker 

All week long I’ll earn my wages

Reports and meetings and hefty ledgers

Passions later. Make a living first

A shave and tie and I’m all business

But I am the weekend warrior

Mangy stratcat, ready jammer

Call me up if you need a number

I fill the bits you can’t remember

I’m polite in all the right circles

Nice and clean to all the right girls

Until I plug into a stack of Marshalls

I am a transient through different worlds

Yes I am the weekend warrior 

Mangy stratcat, tireless jammer

Plug the jack, cue the monitor 

Shut your face I’m all you’ll hear

I’ll be a friend. I’ll be a dear 

If there’s a problem I’ll lend an ear

But Thank God Friday I’m outta here

You can’t hold down a weekend warrior

It’s In The Scriptures

Every time I think I’d like to listen to a discourse or a debate between the atheist and the apologist, I can’t help but be despaired by the apologists’ arguments. The denials. The confirmation biases. The cherry-picking. Quote mining. Projectioning. Tu quoque. And other fanciful flights of fallacy. So I thought I’d just call it out for what it truly is.

Men make up truths by what they see

Stars beneath a dome holding up a sea

Terra firma spreads like a prayer mat

You can only face one way ‘cos their earth is flat

The sun shines the day. There’s a glow in the night

The moon they say is the smaller ball of light

Never mind that shadows cast on its face

Just remember their shapes to count out the days

Reading out from books in languages lost

Changes brings benefits but they make up their cost

They may have mirages but they’ve never seen frost

They only have one source for every cause

These are truths from ignorant times

Run by narratives of primitive minds

Because some insist they still hold true

Planes fly through buildings. There’s a bomb in a shoe

14 To 59

This painting sums up three things that’s stayed with me since I was 14. The Rolling Stones. The Stratocaster. And my fascination with art. As to why 14? Well. I discovered rock n’ roll prior to. But at 14 I felt like I “got” The Stones.

No. I do not have a Micawber-like Telecaster. And I’ve painted in 6-strings instead of just 5.

I’d wake up to Brown Sugar

Lazy boned but full of swagger

See Keith Richards in the corner

Wearing a pair of blacken mirror

Take my attitude for the day 

Not a rat’s ass to what they say

Just five strings and I’m ready to play

Turn the screws to open A

Jumping Jack Flash is a way I feel

Through crossfire hurricane thunders peel

But I see my feet and I know its real

But it’s alright, cos it’s Jagger’s will

Don’t know a world without the Stones

A restless comfort I’ve always known

Like an e-string left to drone

Paint it black to the bone