Pain Hill Moor


High in heavy rain clouds edged with chrome
Spins a carousel of rooks jacks and carrion crows
Too bickeringly quarrelsome to allow their silence to condone
The robin’s melancholic evening air
Over the years the wind has blown
These beech crowns to form a shallow dome
To the top of this natural cathedral has flown
A flock of laughing Fieldfare
Stiff-masted moorland grasses sing long low
Moaning laments when the sharp wind bluster-blows
Such long whines and long wails as if the wind longs to atone
For its desire to scour the moor bare
Ragged upland sheep, all skin and bone
Shelter in the lee of a wall of grey stone
Sadly surveying their Pain Hill Moor home
 In silence, with disconsolate stares

Pain Hill Moor Bottom


In It For The Money

Money top left (2) 2Money top right (2) 2

Cutting a dash, making a splash

Inspiring as any enemies as admirers

Cream of the crop, rising to the top

Reprising Machiavelli’s designs for high-fliers

Wine bars, fine cigars

In cahoots with cohorts, conniving with cunning

Fast cars, first class

The leader of the pack, not just in the running

In tip-top condition, with top-spot ambition

Whatever it requires to deliver desires

Top-dog gets the top-job

King of all corporate thieves cheats and liars

Money bottom left (2) 2Money bottom right (2) 2



If asked, I’d reply that I always have a ninety-nine percent chance of maintaining my innocence…

I can live with that, especially as I perform my duty anonymously.

And for a million U’s a year? When everyone else is cold and hungry on way less than fifty thousand?

Literally money for nothing! Well, almost always literally…

All I have to do is syringe one drop of a randomly chosen bottle’s contents into a small glass that’s made brimming by the addition of all one hundred minims of ‘Elixir’.

Don’t worry yourself about what Elixir is exactly… just accept that it’s essentially a scentless translucent liquid… and be reassured, the ‘Recipient’ always chooses to drink it… well, once the ‘Alternative’ is explained to them, anyway. Consequently, as Our Sacred Training stresses, we of The Virtuous Panel of The One Hundred, retain exemplary records in the judgement of the Ultimate Arbiter…

I never see who drinks it… or ever know why. It could be a murderous paedophile… in which case, if asked, I’d reply that I hope my drop was loaded… but it could be a frightened old woman, informed that she must cease immediately to be a burden on The State… in which case… if asked, I’d reply that I hope I’m in the ninety-nine…

But whomsoever sips or is intravenously dripped the Elixir… they are quickly ‘Cancelled’. And my virtue remains intact.

So, if asked I’d repeat that I have a ninety-nine percent chance of maintaining my innocence…

But to be honest… I couldn’t really care less.