One second.

Every step on the dirt and every breath from the earth
to move the particles of life re-grow and let go.

wishing and whooshing of branch they clench fists of soil,
watching a daisy open, skips past beetle black as oil

Circling, swooping, the hawks grace and power
humble but magnificent her wings close for dive, prey snatched.
her life, her journey continues feeding hunger and thirst.

And under blind eyes the grass grows and river twist and flows
its branches hold the Lilly's and Lilly's dragon fly.
Wings glisten like a fairy's gathering, giggling,
tickled by the wind, surfing on waters mist.

with a second of passion a life can be made to hold and grow
a second is forever and love a bond of time never slow.


hope you liked it next one Old lady, mental knitter! i promise
much love. tim

yorkshire box
A heart beats and the city quietly hisses its the middle of a moonless night
only the gusting wind trying to get through my boxy world
can be heard, turned away by my grit stone blocks
made by quarried rock and time old blood and sweat of men in caps
i imagine the history of this room, families being made, passed on to next
no fuss when they leave and time carries on with its ever destructive, forward march
new shadows appear when it's night
what in the days is clear has a new light and mystery cast over it
your eyes your cheeks your tears your love is suddenly here. this is now,
and that's when time, for me...stops

In a momentary lapse of economic common sense or a possible midlife breakdown, "here pack of wild dogs look after my steak sandwich for me (bank account), and please don't eat it!!!". Have just purchased an old VW van for £750 off a friend, which I now hope to convert into a plumbing van/peace and love camper you know sink, cooker, condom machine e.t.c. The only problem is my rent is due and a tax bill of 500 Gordon Browns, bubbling away rather nicely. I'll have to work Sundays!
The van is a gold (mini carravelle) and is just asking for it she drives like a good'un though will need some love. Ok, 4 sets of shoes, new glow plugs (5 at 30 a pop), both mirrors (130 each), like every real woman the bod has a few stretch marks to iron out. So I'll prob nick the lot off a scrapper. my dad told me his old man (grandad) used to break into a local scrappy under the cover of night and raid the joint with his tools in a hand made leather bum bag, must be in the blood.... yes I'm a regular bum bag sporter!!
So when i get more cash together its alloys, spray job two tone black/orange, Ateam spoiler/ splitter, 20ft sound cannon, fake tan, Mohawk and 100 gold chains.

here is a real jem of a poem my friend Gavin wrote.
His use of rhyme is astonishing to say the least.


just last week i was having a look
on the internet at my facebook
regarding the images whats on the telly
then i came accross your big fat belly
splashing on the page all blotchy and pale
i said to myself is that JAMES WHALE?
it turned out to be tim but his stomach had grown
it was so huge it had a mind of its own

I wrote this with the intention of turning it into a rock song but it skidded into something else, be that poem or a grammatical car crash. you tell me??

Marianas End.


riding high on the crest of a burning tide, mortals and enemies fall, broken to his side.

he seeks vengeance from the depths of the ocean floors. spits on the charred remains of what was once called you and yours. watching, dark eyes, Swirling black as volcanic shores. Mariana takes your head with a swish of his dripping claws.

your bullets your bombs fall feeble at his feet as he chews his way through the rotting human meat. call him the devil or call him a beast he wont stop now until the end of the feast.

Hands bleeding he holds your throat. it’s too late for mercy, you can only but hope. hope for a miracle, pray to the gods destuction's his mission forgeting the odds.

shafts of light crack through the black of the darkest night , unseen by Mariana, her sword stops his killing flight. Who knows how but the lady is here and to stop the misery, his eyes show fear.

broken and wounded they plunge to the depths, only one option a fight to the death. Crimson smoke brakes, hurricanes blow , out flies the hero, her sword , white glow.
The land is broken as the horizon clears. Just as she came the lady disappears.