This is a blog.  I wite in this, thoughts and ideas.  I don’t advertise viagra, or endorse spam. I don’t even like spam, it tastes like cat food. 
I am a poet with various degrees of success , and a writer with no success whatsoever.

I am a born Devonian, but by the accent you’d be hard pressed to say exactly where I come from.  I am a qualified librarian by day and a small time poet by the rest of the time.  I don’t organise books, I am untidy and hate classification systems despite working with them everyday.  However, I am quiet and hate mobile phones and force myself not to tell people to take their mobile conversations outside.

Add me as a facebook friend, or even make a paper mache model of the Empire State building, either way I am not bothered.  I have three cats, I live in Exeter, I’m about to be divorced and I listen to a ridiculous amount of music, very varied. I pretend to DJ and I pretend to cook.

After a recent illness, I am indebted to these people. Please donate to either Cancer Research or FORCE or Macmillan Cancer Reflief

2 Responses to “Biog”


  1. 1 mumsy 13/05/2008 at 9:25 pm

    We are all with you sweetheart and we all love you very much. I happened to stumble upon this blog thing whilst on facebook. Huggys and pancakes always waiting for you. x x x x

  2. 2 Hugh 08/11/2008 at 7:46 am

    Hey Chris, hows life in exeter? are you about in the evening tomorrow(sunday)? thought we might meet for a drink in the beefeater. Hugh


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RSS Cheesegreen – My poetry ‘Plog’

  • Mensa 16/11/2009
    Chris
  • Owe 08/11/2009
    I’m going to Make you an offer. You’re going to like It. Life isn’t very good At this sort of thing. So I’ll sell you my Soul. Posted by Wordmobi
    Chris
  • Cyclone 04/11/2009
    I walk a cyclone on a nylon lead They can be cared for really easily, Remember they will always need to feed In wind and rain and other weather fronts, Engulfing all that stands up in it’s way Trains and cars, People and wildlife too. The upkeep can be quite prohibitive If you have nowhere else to really live, The cyclone never sleeps, [...]
    Chris
  • Rolling 31/10/2009
    Roll your tongue over the slow earth, the live earth told in slow dreams. Letter over letter, lets roll over.
    Chris
  • Pasta Sauce 31/10/2009
    Hooray for pasta sauce, Only the stuff in a jar of course, The other stuff is poncy and grim And yes it’ll help you keep all slim, It’s not the same as the stuff in a jar This wonderful Italian ambrosiarr. Made in Norwich and bottled in Gwent? It’s the taste I love, and it’s left me spent. [...]
    Chris
  • Poetry Addict 31/10/2009
    Hi, I’m Chris, Response: Hi Chris And I am a poetry addict. I have been clean now for three months, My head is full of facts and figures, No stanzas or trochees or sestinas. No rhymes. Just statistics. At my worst, I rhymed everything I spoke. Trying to get a point across was a joke, I couldn’t stop thinking like Dr Seuss, And soon my [...]
    Chris
  • Exmouth (after an argument) 31/10/2009
    Why would you want to be In that weird little place by the sea. Why would you make the trek to a place that has no self respect? Why would you want to be seen In a place where better days have been Why would you make a home, In a place where they steal garden gnomes, Why would you take your gran To [...]
    Chris
  • Wedding Ring 28/10/2009
    Took off my ring, Yet it is imprinted on my skin, Punched and branded like Cattle. You saw me do it But chose not to say anything, Although it has been a long time coming. My finger is the only part of me, that is fine.
    Chris
  • Services (Gordano) 28/10/2009
    We’ve stopped,  and our aching bodies function again, after three hours in hyperspace. Place your feet on martian aggregate. Bright white walls, candy coloured cuddly brand logos, shining in a radioactive post apocalyptic flicker. The foyer, home to sedated loney cheeseplants living next a faux-oasis in a stasis of activity. Baby changing facilities, s […]
    Chris
  • Effy 28/10/2009
    Effy smoked Like life was ending in an hour. But it would in ten years. She didn’t seem to care as nicotenel patches adorned her arm, flat limpets on a cragging saggy rock. One night, she spontaneously combusted, leaving a pair of charred feet. And a fag butt.
    Chris

Photoblogography

16/11/2009

Tori photographing bark

16/11/2009

05072009051

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