THE LEAF PICKER

(For Tilly)
silver snakes slither
grasping in throngs
tongs of black crayon
prickling and puncturing
twining secrets like wool
winding amongst the weeds
weaving a different story
this bearded brush
sweeps up the trees bare skin
spearing the skeletal hands now
brown with age discarded
on the crystal ground
this accidental leaf picker
is on a different path
head amongst fresher foliage
engraving stone with rivers
this curly coat like breath
lacing smoky circles
amongst those bare reaching
branches.
(20 lines)

UNAUTHORISED PHOTO

(For Chris. xxx)

you stay sleeping in your bed
many things are left unsaid
I love to say all the things I mean
so many things left in between
I see you peaceful, but unaware
I wish you knew how much I care
you are my world, my one and only
please don’t leave me cold and lonely
I love you truly dearly dear
even tho you leave me lying here
I don’t know what else to say,
except please don’t leave me this way
I hate to put this all on you
but i love you & i don't want you to go
I want you to know yr not my go-to
otherwise I would have taken this unauthorised photo.
:P

THANKS FOR PHONING BACK

After a cold and damp night the
plastic guttering welcomes the sun:
TWAP TWAP TWAP TWAP TWAP
in E X P A N S I O N

my dog’s feet
‘tsk’
their disapproval

i ask ‘soon?’
he replies ‘yes’
i wait
and wait
and wait
i get tired of
waiting
tired and angry
i look for something to do
like I can’t waste enough time
by myself.

my poster is sagging
I try to lift a corner
‘rrrrrpppp’
it doesn’t look
right
held together just with
blue tak
which is white
white tak?
s t r e t c h I n g
to compensate
for my fiendishness restlessness
IMPATIENCE
i think it is not
ENOUGH
i tear it into
pieces

i hear it now
it’s dying gasp (it was my
favourite poster-
vertigo)
dismembered and dying
in my waste
paper basket:
‘crrk crrrk ka’

Thanks for phoning back.
(44 lines)

AGEless

AGEless

the moon is very horror
movie moustaches of cloud trousers
on its face,a lamplit smoky room full
of london 1888,in the sky
like a fiery death,a painting framed by
cloud,i can imagine a starry night,a
wolf man holwing,the drunks staggering out
onto the streets as it blithely watches,seeing
all seen all with its black kohl eyes,and scarred
face fire cars wars storms unblinking
it is all for you moon,we—
a puff flower,stars blown in the wind
watching coloured boxes with hearts
apple core,the curtains now
drawn,the illusion,illumination
lost to the window
frame an eyeglass age
less sky

(18 lines)

Published in 'Reflections' by United Press

to be published by United Press

AS ONE
to study the white wings of the sea
dragging it’s fine grains like trailers,is to look into
your eyes like suns sunken in their melody
this beauty stares
thrown down into the sea of diamond jets
mind swimming into mind
things have beginnings and endings—
this is Limbo between the decks of a ship.electric bells
move tears,cleaving ravines down your stonelike cheeks.we had
walked under the rain altars—
spirits of the desert,coming to this page
turned by the frivolous wind.different coloured chapters
the dead hour
when the arrows are shot at 90 and three mourn
full tones ring out eyes
this time see,passing from rock cliffs to purple sea
sea sky and sound
alternate
sound sky sea
striking fingers of light
(20 lines)

(to appear in the Book of Dreams)


SHE WAITS
looking out the window,head
tilting back and forth
now and again on tip toes
straining into the net
curtain.i imagine her furrowed brow
the brown spots in her eyes
flicking from side to side,fingers
leaving their misty prints
on the wood.all I can see is her
ragged hair and apron strings
swaying,from the back window to the
front,ears peering like a cat.the tea
is in the oven,nearly four hrs have gone
by,yet the birds still sing and the
dog watches.the click of the phone
her aching bones slotting into place
(16 lines)

(to appear in the National Poetry Anathology 2011)

PUBLISHED POEMS

SICK MORNING

A holocaust of beetle shavings,
buds of flowers rot
a corpse of leaves
like a shrunken spider
i pick a large pom-pom of dust
for Maurice and Harvey are waiting.

Out walking i see obscenities everywhere
in the sweaty day, i see
composites of daydreams changing
into black light holes of death,
stepping-stones to avoid
the searing vomit of grass
summer is evaporating!
with smoking huts.

(14 lines)

Published in Whispers on the Breeze



MERE

The town’s repugnant bottom
sea-green waves of dancing light
floating ceilings of bright swimming pools
but here there are no shallows
blackgreen depths of sucking clay
trapped bones of summer boy swimmers
swirled away by invisible currents
tearing flesh from bone
corpses hide in colourless solitudes
no penetrating light, only
the crust of slime and jade scum floating
amongst the cans of friday nights
a treacherous promise, the only living
the poisonous algae and the prehistoric carp

(14 lines)

Published in A Sense of Place

My favourite Rimbaud Quote

'I have stretched ropes from steeple to steeple; Garlands from window to window; Chains from star to star... And I dance.' (Lines, from a Few Belated Cowardices, Arthur Rimbaud, Complete Works, HarperPerennial)