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Why am I not?
Why am I not, what?How long have you got? Within our allotted span we have choices fewWhere we were born comes into it, true Who are our parents, where did we liveWhat was the school, all this we must sieve Then there is sex and sexualityDon’t try to deny that harsh reality Then there is →
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on Ukraine
Still conscious in theatreYour operation is being performedBy two morticiansSeeking to embalm youWhile you fight for breathWar, your anaesthetistTurns up the gasAs these crowbeaksScavenging your convulsing flesh Squabble over your vitals ~ CLP 02/04/2025 →
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Comédie Larmoyante
Comédie Larmoyante Blame the starsBlame the planetsBlessed coincidenceNo one knows their true originPerhaps it was the simultaneousPowercuts wiping out the National GridThat fateful nightPreventing the big cup game being playedSo after tears of frustrationWith little other entertainment to handTwo unexpectant couplesBecame expectant parentsTears of joy at confirmationOf expectationAnd celebration(The Cup was won!)Born on the same →
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the painter
this picture the family keptbut light no longer shinesin eyes cataracts had dulledno captivating smilenot in virile poseor grandiose settingno finery in the clothesa few strands of hairswept back across a weathered crownwith timelines etched deep into face and browsteel rim round glassessit comfortably on the nosea well-worn cream cotton coatheavy upon age-rounded shoulderswith life’s →
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on trees
this Winter lingersno polite exita tip of the hata nodno stepping aside to wave in Springthis winter bids us an insincere farewellpretending it ought leave nowbut waitan umbrella forgottona scarfoh, a glovemy coat! I forgot my coatjust when I thoughtthe door can be firmly closedon the back of this recalcitrantit drags itself reluctantly down the →
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A Short Story
How do you iron out your past?Re-tell the story until it bores youWhen you finally realiseEveryone else was boredYears agoDo you write it outChoosing the best bitsOmitting the worst?Or vice versa? How do you move on?~Here is a version of The Story of Woody and Johnny, (Johnny’s narrative).Thank you for reading. →
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on the air
deep into the nightthe descent of fogbrightens the darknessdistributing street lightingthrough millions of airborne dropletssoftening the glaredamping down this late hour’s strange soundsthat carry across the broadover the still woodlandwhat is that distant commotiondisturbing dreams?geese? shouts and cries?distraught dogs?this kingdom is unsettledis this the ghost of Kett’s army? of Lollards fired upto protest sgainat the →
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on The Broads
there’s a point herewhere the slow sashay of the Yarconfusesa black-headed gull facing coastwardlooks a tad bewildered as it drifts up-streamon the rising tidereeds bent by winter’s long breathrattle dry stems and sighas the bird rotates in slow motionon an eddy formed by the mixof flow and ebba pair of marsh harriersfloat along the dykesmaking →
Journey of Words 