ARTWORK:  Acrylic on wood by FMF © 2003.

Looking back through my poetry written in 2000: 'The Return of Rainbows’ was conceived at University as a mature-age student bloodied by life’s battles and as always, finding succor in words. My seemingly audacious presence provided lots of fodder to explore the constant challenges and effects of that experience on my life.

The Return
of Rainbows

...

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From the depths of a damp October
you called me daily
The auburn street outside
so unfamiliar
That new city
didn't yet feel like home

"I just called to hear your voice
and ask when you’ll come to visit?"
Muted tears falling
on the university payphone
And the scratch of coins loading
asking if I missed you

And every day, I do
of course, I do
Every dusk into that winter
our daily ...

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My eyes are shut

my brains going wild

That feeling in my gut

Makes me want to be a child

I think back to yesterday

It was the very same 

I wish it would go away 

In the end I’m all to blame

My heart beats too fast

As the clock turns nine 

I’m giving today a pass

But I’ll be out of line 

Where’s the fresh start 

The one I dream about 

Even th...

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Thursday morning dew

damp on his shoes

Cotton socks graze past grass tips

Leather holster holds to his hips

Squinting eyes tell passersby

he might’ve been up all night

Clumps of keys cling clang

against his hand and chain

Sacred badge on uniform sleeves

Shorts hit just above his knees

A subtle limp hints he might be spent

but nary a sign ...

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Last Night

…(gemma)...Gemma…

    “Gemma!”  She snapped into consciousness, only partly.  Her head was pounding and her fingers felt swollen.

    “What time is it?” she murmured.  Her eyelids remained heavy still, but they opened wide enough to notice the thin rays of light streaming through the dorm room’s blinds.  Gemma shifted her body to face Alex.  He looked almost as groggy as s...

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It was always The Cabin

before her lectures

                coffee

                and Flic demolishing

                                The Times crossword,

                                sharing the clues but

                                writing the answers

                                as she read, smoked,

                                pushed her blond hair

   ...

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The water is terribly brown,

the water is terribly brown.

Beside the pool lie spread-eagled

academics, wearing terrible frowns,

cavorting in hideous gowns.

This is a lesson in three crowns,

the king, the knave, the clown,

poetic lineage watered down,

by a muddy lake on edge of town.

I'd like to see them falter,

trip up

and then drown.

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