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Beneath primrose and violet sunscreens
vibrant passions bloom and wilt in some
patterned, noxious routine.
The fraternity lies athwart the boundary line,
lounging in heavy boulder sun-scape,
all in white except one, in green and black,
takes stick and slander with good heart,
gives as good as handed out.
I rise and stretch from the hearty crowd,
and slip up slanted turf,...
Saturday 20th August 2016 3:57 am
Thought you'd want to meet me here,
a scion of Clint, Randolph and the boys,
a dirt speck on 1950s celluloid,
thought you'd want to meet me here,
a grin and laugh mired in static,
a rusty nail and worn-through rope,
a tired actor and a removal van,
outside, teetering on the kerb,
yeah thought you'd want to meet me here,
a long way fro...
Monday 11th July 2016 1:08 am
Swimming in cycles, I pattern an air;
dash, cross, the mimes of meeting,
they are a crime and I am a road-side
mottled hard, cracked paving,
the worse for wear, but a red light
lights my eye and guides my thought,
a spark in a second, a buzzing phone.
I throw out dust and paper, reels of film
sun-baked, reeling, cracked,
replace with seconds from the fountain,
Wednesday 15th June 2016 12:04 am
Hand in hand we walk
in a darkness carved from light,
the plastic trees surround
bottle-green, shadowed props.
Granting me light to see words by,
you count my vapour in the air,
the lingering space of hollow thought,
my burning questions left to float.
Later I will raise a hand and place it,
solid on a high glass wall;
from the floodlit boundary line,
there I ...
Saturday 11th June 2016 11:07 pm
With just enough light in the sky to take out
the newspapers of yesterday
and arrange them, padding in
the galvanised bin;
in a neighbour's garden -
I cup hand and call,
remark upon the vagaries of the weather
and the recent tree
felled on Cobb Hill.
In response I get a half-turn
and shoulder shrug, grunt
of some approximate affirmative,
Tuesday 31st May 2016 11:04 pm
Foot-torn, the path of leaves.
Dead, borders are green, still.
I am white. I turn.
I am now looking with paled eyes,
across a broken pit of river
up, above some untidy shack;
the train on the hill climbs,
smoke billows, a raincloud summoned
I turn back and see rows,
of autumn-blushed houses
fall silent on this minute.
You are only a passing mist....
Sunday 27th March 2016 10:56 pm