Tag Archives: crime

Shanks in Shoes

“Yo. What ends you from?”

a voice cracks from the dark

I quicken my pace

moving further into the park                                                                                             

the voice cracks once again;

“Yo. You think you can ignore me?”

I look into his face

there’s enough hate to floor me                                                                                          

pedals and chains

and rubber on tarmac

bandanas and hoods

and eyes full of pain                                                                                                             

completely surrounded

my eyes scan the pack

no more words forthcoming

I feel the knife in my back                                                                                                    

I drop down to my knees

the air leaves my lung

small hands through my pockets

with the speed of the young                                                                                                

back on to their wheels

they laugh as they go

I get up on my feet

to where, I don’t know                                                                                               

my mobile stolen

I shout to a stranger

he enters the park

and sees I’m in danger                                                                                                        

an ambulance called

I lay down on the grass

my shirt is so wet

this calmness can’t last.


Lonely Murder


First blamed for her life,

her private discontent,

then blamed for her death

now a public event

her dried blood on the floor

a grim indication

pointing up at her wounds,

her pain, isolation

the light of the day

brings along its suspicion

it’s judgement, it’s fear,

it’s misplaced superstition

the guilt for us all,

we know who we are

reaching out not a hand

as she fell oh so far

as we sweep her away

wrapped tightly in sheet,

look into your souls

not down to your feet,

the heavy stench lingers,

a haunting reminder,

a sickly sweet malice

for those who may find her.

A spoken word version is available here-http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gpeRZz2Eg_A&feature=context&context=G2716825AUAAAAAAABAA

Being Down

Play without ego. Relax and focus. When I start telling myself to relax I know I am beyond help. Well, beyond any help that my brain can provide at that specific moment. Short of someone walking in to the club, physically carrying me out and locking the door behind me I am fairly helpless. Glasses guy in the small blind has three bet my open from the button for the fifth orbit in a row. I folded the first two times. I have four bet him twice, I took it down once and folded once to his five bet. In my mind it has ceased to be about the cards we are holding. In fact I do not even remember him looking at his hand. Did he even look at his cards this time? The tight passive moustache guy in the big blind folds. I four bet to £400. Glasses guy thinks for about a minute then five bet shoves all in. His last five bet was to £950. He is weak this time. He is trying to get me off my hand. Effective stacks are £2000. £1540 to call. I have pocket 9s. I know I’m a 70/30 favourite against a random hand. I know he could have any two cards. I know I’m calling. I call.

“On their backs, gentleman,” the dealer says, pulling the chips into the middle of the table. The pot stands at just over £4000. Well over a months wages for me. I flip over my nines. He flips over his kings. My heart sinks to my knees, pounding all the way down. I know I’m an 80/20 dog before the flop. On the rainbow flop of four, seven, jack I know I’m a 90/10 dog. My face is red and flushed. It is difficult to breathe and I can not feel or hear anything other than my heart pounding. The turn brings a queen, leaving me a 4% chance of hitting a nine on the river. I shakily stand up as another jack hits the felt. “Nice hand,” I say, pushing my chair back and heading for the bar…

From a novel I am currently writing, set to be published sometime in the next decade or so..


Soon to be available for a minimal fee on Amazon, a story of murder, mayhem and fun in the beautiful English countryside. Turning forty proved a little too daunting for Simon Tompkins but at least his friends were there to help him through it..

Did you pick up the body paint for me today, Simon?,” Rebecca shouted as I shut the front door behind me and walked up the narrow hallway. I have more than my fair share of pet hates but the simple unwillingness to say ‘hello’, or ‘hi’, when I come home ranks fairly high among them. Just a little annoyance but these things can build up occasionally.

“Hello, my dear,” I said, as I came up behind her and kissed the top of her head. “Yes, I did. It’s in the boot of the car.” She was sitting at her dressing table in front of the mirror using a lip pencil. As I looked down at my hand on her shoulder I noticed a large smudge of gold paint between my thumb and forefinger.

“Well, would you bring it in please? I want to try it against my new dress,” her eyes met mine in the mirror as she said this. She raised her eyebrows slightly and paused the pencil on her lip while waiting for my response.