by John Cox | Jul 12, 2010 | Poetry
Singapore Hot summer nights and Echoes of that exotic Time, gold skin on white. Pulp Fiction ‘She entered the room In sections’. What did happen To Mickey Spillane? Eastern Advice A Bugis Street “girl” Sways and smiles down the road, eye her at your peril. At the...
by John Cox | Jul 9, 2010 | Poetry
In a shoebox of random pictures Among the tools and unmatched crockery Cheek by jowl with snaps of commodores And smiling maids outside the buttery Yours was attached to a cardboard frame Signed the Novelty Studio, Plymouth. Not back nor front does it give your name...
by John Cox | Jul 8, 2010 | Poetry
I am sitting at home, my wife in the kitchen, Friday is baking day, although you would not recognise me, You do know me, as did your father, almost everyone knows me, for I am not the ‘Boy from Warsaw‘, I am however the policeman, with the motorcycle goggles standing...
