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Salutations for Sally

I wrote this poem for my wife's birthday.

Salutations for Sally

The years don’t pass slowly anymore,

But there’s still time for an eternity

In your eyes, in your arms, your love.

Each moment a step to infinity,

But time doesn’t march, it ascends,

And we rise on the years,

Sadder, yes, but wiser and

More loving, more understanding.

And you lift everything around you


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Leaving Platform One

My mind is dishevelled, disorderly.

As unreliable as the damp cardboard

That contained a childhood treasure.


I unearthed it in my web-strewn attic –

The box, not my mind.

An old railway set, long remembered, but lost.


Its strength gone, the contents scattered.

Track and train departed, uncoupled

And bound for darker destinations.


A journey into the unknown...

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AgingDementiaMental Illness

Misplaced Memory

Minds mould cannot always bend to the will - Look!

A blur of surreal reality:

it’s vivid, a memory, a means 

but travel through years 

and maybe it’s a dream,

or the worst fear:

(for the youth with infantile stretch marks to hear)


For the youths with flat ironed flesh and barely dogmarked ears,

what we all fear

 is to forget.

Tell the boy with the newly ...

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The Future

entry picture

a week ago 

a professor asked me 

what i wanted to do with my life, 

the quesiton caught me wrong-footed; 

two decades ago

learning to walk, 

a decade ago 

learning my body, 

5 years ago 

discovering love,

3 years ago,

accepting my body

a month ago,

accepting who i am 

and now? 

thrust into the unknown,

an oblivion that teases me;

infinite doors t...

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Autumn Changes Me

entry picture

Autumn changes me

I grow stiff as a tree

The falling memories

Are piling all around me

And my color changes

Emptying into grey

I feel broken and cold

As the November rain

Turns into December Snow

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Agingpoemshort poem


entry picture

The Rook,


bewildered stood,



fallen from his

flock now flown,


one wing seemed


for flight no good,

the other useless

now alone.


The Gent, 


in aimless wander,



fallen from their 

path well planned,


his stick seemed


where once was stronger,

held by a firmer

surer hand.



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I remember him now and then

When I’m feeling brave enough to recall my childhood

Mr. Strathclyde

He was a welcome break from the ceaseless banality of the suburbs

I’d see him every Saturday morning on my way to work

Damp panatela clamped between his gums

Stained string vest and pyjama bottoms

Smirking like he’d just told a racist joke that no one had heard

‘Morning sport’ h...

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did I ever say I was “good people”?

did I ever say I was “good people”?

some days I miss the hasty shouting

the crack of fist on salted cheekbones


better that than the nauseous choice

of considered upholstery or designer phones

never weather appropriate, rather, accident


ripped and bleeding, waiting for some other

and days my head will fill with men of war

always in shock yet mostly in awe



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agingdespairlonginglossself destruction

Curioser and Curioser

as the dew dropped tulip two-steps over my tongue

so a pubic slaughter of moonbeams and drag queens

leaves so little space in-between the longing

hung, low slung, below the eaves of this curious abode


where pregnant questions await the gaunt relief

of a crucified thief who has chosen his flavour

so sure the house has fallen on the queen of the east

love thy nei...

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The Budding Senescent

The Budding of the Senescent



When you reach the forgotten age
like 45, between 40 & 50
you realise that you need someone
by your side to remind you
that it isn't who you're with
but what you feel in your heart
they say life begins at 40
they also say that it's the mid life crisis

for sure you're no longer young
and for sure have not attained seniority either

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