Breakfast at the Holiday Inn

Illustrated Poetry, My Writing

A short curvy waitress,
whose legs open a little too casually.
Blonde hair tied in an efficient ponytail;
her true self only revealed
by the black roots at her scalp. 

Musa Calil (Dzhalil) Tatar Poet

Articles, My Writing, Travel Articles

I took this photograph of The statue of Musa Cälil, Tartar poet and resistance fighter, which stands outside the Kremlin in Kazan. There is an honour guard standing in front of the statue in the run up to Victory day (9th May  2017). Having never heard of  Musa Calil  I decided to do a little research.

Musa Calil (1906-1944)
(Also transliterated as Musa Dzhalil)

Despite being executed by the Nazis in 1944 as leader of an underground organization Musa Calil (pronounced Jalil in English) was posthumously convicted as a traitor. His literary achievements as a Tatar poet were largely forgotten and his bravery as a resistance fighter in the Great Patriotic War (World War II) unknown until the 1950s            Calil was born in the village of Mustafino in the Orenburg Oblast (province) 900 miles southwest of Moscow near the border with Kazakhstan. Post the 1919 revolution Russia was embroiled in a civil war. Orenburg was under the control of the White Movement (a loose coalition of forces opposed to Lenin’s Bolshevik form of socialism). Calil became a Bolshevik activist, rising through the ranks of the Komsomol (Communist Union of Youth). By 1925 Calil was .an instructor with the Komsomol and had published his first poems. He was nineteen.

Longing For a Full Colour Life

Illustrated Poetry, My Writing

Humorous illustrated poetry


Longing For a Full Colour Life

She stands alone before sink and bowl
And feels the ache within her soul
The hand that once caressed her there
Rests on the arm of favourite chair

White Goods

Illustrated Poetry, My Writing
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Oh my stomach’s churning.
Rather full you see.
In fact stuffed.
Gurgle, glug, hiss.
It makes the most embarrassing sounds.

It’s her fault of course.
Fed me too much again.
All sorts. Just mixed together.
No respect for my system.
Round and round it goes like a wad of wet clothes.

She laughs
and presses herself against me
as I vibrate
across the kitchen.
Trying to shake things loose.

Boxing Day

Illustrated Poetry, My Writing

Boxing Day
Frost shivers in cold misty air and drips from the trees
The sun peers round heavy grey clouds.
In their homes people lie as if dead; stuffed with turkey and booze.
We walk, my dog and I, through a suspended world.