Category Archives: Original acrylic paintings.



Another image I came across somewhere and found the original photograph quite striking. Painted in oils, somewhat playing with different techniques whilst exploring the medium.


The Hangman.

The Hangman


There were screamers who were dreaming

There were watchers standing by

While a woman lay heartbroken

With a teardrop in her eye

There were children with no shoes on

They were waifs and they were strays

And young men watched the years go by

While old men counted days.

There were clowns and there were vagabonds

A hangman dressed in black

There were many going forward

But none did they come back

There was one stood in the midst of things

Who held within his hand

A trickle of the finest grains

Of gently woven sand

And as the trickle left his palm

And fell in silent flow

Each grain of sand became a dream

Into the book to go

In ornate script from flowing pen

From nib to book they flew

To wait upon the golden glow

That comes from love so true


The hangman looked around him

Red eyes ‘neath hooded frown

In long black cloak and high black hat

His glance was always down

With meticulous attention

He guessed at weight and height

Assessed them for their neck size

Then sat back down to wait

He knew all men to be guilty

And thirteen women too

It was just a question of degree

Hanging me or hanging you


The vagabond was homeless

Dressed in tattered rags

His world was carried with him

In worn out shopping bags

He slithered through the milling crowd

Looked for half a chance

His fingers sliding everywhere

In a thieving mystic dance

In and out of pockets

For silk or coin of gold

For silver pin or pocket watch

Aught that it could be sold

The only one to notice

Was the hangman with a grin

Who marked his soul with a cross of red

And wrote his name therein


The waifs and strays were orphans

Abandoned and forlorn

They would sell their soul for thirty pence

Or rags that folk have worn

Standing there with hands out cupped

They were rudely pushed aside

No-one knew the pain they’d felt

Or the rivers of tears they’d cried

The pretty ones were wanted

The rest? Well who would know

The hangman grinned, with toothless smile

Into his book they’d go

In grubby rags and skinny limbs

With hope gone from their life

Their so young eyes had seen too much

Of sadness, tears and strife

In huddled groups they waited

Not knowing from where they stand

That the only thing that awaited them

Was the hangman’s outstretched hand



The clowns they did their juggling

In this carnival of grief

And watched the fall of mankind

Like the falling autumn leaf

The hangman looked around him

Well satisfied it seems

To put an end to life itself

And to kill all hopes and dreams

And when the day it ended

And I sadly look around

The only thing I see that’s left

Is the book laid on the ground.


And then there was me.

I know I am odd and difficult to understand

Even I struggle at times to make sense of me

I seem to be laminated

To exist on different layers

I find something to be looked at on another plane

And off my mind wanders

You are on the ground, waiting patiently

A flower in the desert I am

A refuge from my storms

Somewhere to lay my heart.


This view, I view

I’ve viewed before

In another life

Through another door

This fine soft sand

And clear blue sky

Once warmed me

Through another’s eye

The swaying palms

In gentle dance

Send me back

In quiet trance

I’m paler now

I’m a different me

Not quite that one

That all can see

This view I view

That I view again

Brings forth it’s sadness

And with it pain.