written for an exhibition local to me about the area in which i live. James “robber” Snooks was the last highway man hung in England and this poem is about the locals’ tale behind his last few hours. it is displayed at the art hub run by Annafunkyart.co.uk.

Snooks by name snooks by nature,

IT was the spring of 1802,

When the last,

 highway man swung,

Like Strange fruit from

 The mighty horse chestnut.

Of Boxmoor

Singing the fun cannot start

The fun cannot start

Till I arrive

Till I arrive

As he drank

the swan pub dry

Robber snooks

Robber snooks

What did he steal?

Postal bags

Postal bags

Now just a marker

Just a white marker

The mighty horse chestnut

of stand and deliver.

Just a legend,

Just a legend !



Navvies song

Today at #DVERSE we have been asked to write something about risk . in the las few days i have been looking at the building of the canal around where i live. i was impressed with the shear effort of the working men digging these out by hand using only pick and shovel ( the spadesl they used are called grafts hence the saying a hard days graft). The navvies (workers) risked their lives digging these out and lining them with a mix of clay and sand called puddle clay, which when keeped wet is water tight . it needed to be stomped un by many feet to drive out any air so i came up with this as i could imagine them singing in unison like sailors singing sea shanties while they stomped. .


this also now displayed at the art hub in my home town put togethor by #annasfunkyart

the view

from old Fishery bridge

Stomp the puddle down!

Stomp the puddle down!

          Under old Fishery bridge,

          Under old Fishery bridge,

Dodge the risk from above,

                    Risk from above,

More puddle clay from above

                Dropped  Clay from above

Stomp the puddle down!

Stomp the puddle down!

Deep in Fishery lock,

Deep in Fishery lock.

 We are the navvies of emerald isle,

                     Navvies of emerald isle.

Risking our life and limb

                    Our life and limb.

Stomp down the puddle!

Stomp down the puddle!

Then we can fill her to the brim,

Then we can fill her to the brim

Our canal dug out with these grafts,

                              Dug out with these grafts.

All to feed our families of emerald isle

                    Our families of emerald isle.

© 8/6/21 rog leach

Permanent Sleep #Quadrille

(Trigger warning: suicide attempt. (fictional))

Thanks Sarah for a great prompt at #dverse poets pub. here in England we have recently had a mental health awareness week. so have taken the opportunity to write a piece about how Sunday night and Monday mornings can make you feel really low sometimes. especially when you are working in an environment you do not enjoy. not really living just surviving.

Permanent Sleep

Sunday night dredging anxieties,

Insomnia steals intimate serenity.

Mondain Monday,

 driving melancholy,

Monotonous scheduled,

 workload downhearted.

Dancing like a blade,

Across my tired wrist.

Mondain Monday,

Driving melancholy,

Conformed thinking,

Killing uniqueness.

Permanent sleep calling me,

Being driven by my,

Sunday night dredging anxieties.

©16/05/2022 rog leach

Draco’s feast

tonight at #Dversepub we are talking food in a poetic form. my vampire couple are out, out celebrating.

My dearest Draco,

I wish to share,

Lucifer’s favourite tucker,

 with you my dear,

In remembrance.

Sharing our devotion,

Sharing our eternity,

Sharing our passions,

Sharing our bloodlust,

For our son’s memory.

The dark kings tucker,

Will flow from royal veins,

To celebrate,

Our anniversary,

When we became.

Your widow.

feast moon

Dear Persephone,

You bring the starter,

I’ll bring the main,

Your company the pudding.

Sharing our devotion,

Sharing our eternity,

Sharing our passions,

Sharing our bloodlust,

For our son’s memory.

We will be royal,

When our feast is over,

The eldest left of our kind,

Last Human royal blood,

A fitting tribute,

To our son.

My widow I eternally adore you,


© 10/05/2022 rog leach

Anger thief #dversepoetics

What a great prompt. it got me thinking of about how I put a stop to being bullied as a young man and the Anger that was triggered on a night shift, by somebody I went to school with.

The anger was put to good use but I recall how terrible I felt after it subsided.

corporate bullies kill innocence.

The anger thief #poetics.


The loss of my innocence,

Haunts my placid,

 Innermost being,

The anger thief stole it.

Corporate tyrants steal,

 good health,

From all they employ,

Paying them peanuts,

For what? More wealth!

Self-loathing explosion.

My innocence replaced,

With red wrath and loathing,

Bullied to red brink,

For another’s gratification.

The anger thief stole it,

From my Innermost being,

Haunting my placid,

For the loss of my innocence.

© 03/05/2022 Rog Leach

Static #Quadrille151

thank you Mish @ #Dverse for the static prompt for todays #quadrille.

static thief. a gnome


Static thief, static thief,

Why are so stationary,

Oh, so still.

Fear of getting seized,

Hiding within the static,

Oh, so silent.

Static thief, static thief,

What have you stolen,

Only our home.

Fear of getting caught,

Killing humanity,

Earths defenders,

Taking back,


© 02/05/2022 Rog Leach