Long Rudge Poems

I was born within the sound of Bow bells in the east end of London, this makes me a true cockney, I own a cock and sparrow down by the shake and shiver, I sell...

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The Great Bell of Bow

I feel such a Steam Tug and no Porkies
Some Tea Leaf Half Inched me Jam jar

In me local Nuclear Sub you wouldn’t Christmas Eve it
Almost totally Boracic on the way to...

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The Great Bell of Bow

I feel such a Steam Tug and no Porkies
Some Tea Leaf Half Inched me Jam jar

In me local Nuclear Sub you wouldn’t Christmas Eve it
Almost totally Boracic on the way to...

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Happy 212th birthday Charles Dickens

Though written three hundred 
and sixty five days ago,
the following poetic commemoration
doth not warrant any modification.

Said prolific author born February 7, 1812,
whose living descendents
I would be thrilled to befriend,
hence if anonymous...

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born February 7, 1812,
whose living descendents
I would be thrilled to befriend,
hence if anonymous reader
by some genetic fluke 
linkedin to said 
prolific storied author 
please kindly reciprocate.

greetings mutual friend,
hard times dash 
great expectations in this bleak...

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aforementioned author born 
February 7, 1812
the long deceased (centuries) storied author
I toot and trumpet virtual horn
accompanying pet rooster 
first thing in the morn.

Greetings mutual friend,
hard times dash Great Expectations 
in this Bleak House
whereby battle of...

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Charlie was dead

Charlie was dead: to begin with,
There is no doubt whatever about that.
I leave my residue to Carol for Christmas
and Little Dorrit his faithful Tom Cat.

There’s been hard times here in Bleak House,
Villainy and...

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