Something left. by Paul Roberts

The best you can do when you look back.
Is watch your lack of.
And the hurt you caused.
But sometimes there is a little left.
A heartfelt love for those that wept.
And in the wake of karma paused.
While you reflect on life being kack!
Remember that there is only one way out.
Once in a while you can help someone.
Who is struggling deep in life’s great bout.
to give a little hope –
a word of encouragement..
And a couple of bucks might just make you.
A new friend.
Paul Roberts

who would i be without…. by paul roberts

paul roberts

So I sat here and thought of old friends,

and what they said to me.

Some things were trite,

and some things grew on trees..

Tom said to me that :

It ain’t them at fault when they lie to you.

It is yours for too much faith.

Jo said you are mad.

But that aint no bad thing.

Blaise said I’ll pay tomorrow,

Nowhere to be seen.

Gerry said your a star and listened to me.

And died.


Not in the blaze of glory he deserved..

Nick said :

Do you want to chase the dragon?

and went the same way.

Till said you are better!

And should stop that shit!

Funnily enough the judge said the same thing.

And the parole officer!

With her big heart and breast cancer.

And if I hadn’t met them?

Any of them?

Who would I be?

Paul Roberts.

IF by Rudyard Kipling read the genius…

paulie and breadvan
paulie and breadvan

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too:
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;
If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim,
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same:.
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build’em up with worn-out tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings,
And never breathe a word about your loss:
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: “Hold on!”

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much:
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!

To Russia with love x

Still from the most beautiful film x
Still from the most beautiful film x

I like having a reader from the Russian Federation.

When I looked at my stats and saw that 1 person in the Russian Federation has read my work.

I realised I could make the difference…

Breaking into the Russian Federation has given me a lift. Perked me up.

I hope of all hopes its not a Weissmuller.

When I wrote a piece about Johnny Weismuller I wrote as I always do with care.

I suspect however I get stray search traffic reading by accident my lovely words about a cracking Tarzan.

I hope my Russian Federation reader meant to read the piece he or she read.

I should have more faith.

Faith : “the assured expectation of things hoped for.”


Small Talk in The Clinic


Small talk in the Clinic.

A play in one scene.

Act one scene one

skin clinic waiting room.

Jamie enters stage left and sits down on a clinic seat. He looks to his left and in doing so see’s a familiar face. The face is that of a man who works at a car tuning buisness.

Jamie: hello, what you doing here?

Car tuning man: oh you know, bits dropping off.



pauliepaul and brother Jamie

Suicide in the trenches by Siegfried Sassoon

Brilliant writer
Brilliant writer

I knew a simple soldier boy
Who grinned at life in empty joy,
Slept soundly through the lonesome dark,
And whistled early with the lark.

In winter trenches, cowed and glum,
With crumps and lice and lack of rum,
He put a bullet through his brain.
No one spoke of him again.

You smug-faced crowds with kindling eye
Who cheer when soldier lads march by,
Sneak home and pray you’ll never know
The hell where youth and laughter go.

Siegfried Sassoon