November 19, 2015 at 10:21 pm (Poems) (, )

With luck, legs will bear us. With grazes, tumble through childhood. With nourishment, grow and travel light. With music, dance and sway. With care, carry loved ones. With work, bend and callous. With weather, ache and change. With rest, endure to serve us. With wear, reflect our age. With love, bend for others. With time, fall away…

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November 18, 2015 at 12:29 am (Poems) ()

Christmas peeking
knees a-creaking
kittens sleeping
winds a-roaring
rain a-pouring
autumn came
to call again



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Quiet Stance

November 17, 2015 at 12:26 am (Poems) (, , , )

Running, Lifting, Holding, Lowering, Returning.

Should we lose the ability to return, chaos ensues,

limbs flail akimbo, and the body, if not checked, may break.


Running, Lifting, Holding, Lowering, Returning.

When two legs are spirited from under us

our landing position should be as relaxed and natural as possible.

We may then, with insight, place one foot in front of the other foot.

Returning to quiet stance may yet be the strength of us.





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Brighton after dark

November 11, 2015 at 6:07 pm (Poems) (, , )

South coasters hunker
hipsters consume the city
the tide tips and turns.

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Prayer for night-time

October 17, 2015 at 10:24 pm (Poems) (, , )

Be kind tonight dear inky sky
please lend your blanket where we lie
Delight us with your whispered songs
instruct our dreams till daylight comes
Imagine we might wish to wake
and keep us safe for morning’s sake.

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October 12, 2015 at 10:11 am (Poems) (, , , , )

I’m getting back to a place I’ve been
where I’m not a cog in a crude machine
where much less time is spent in vain
with sycophants on the gravy train.

where knees are bent and backs are stretched
and arms are used to take and fetch
where hands of purpose mould my day
to fire a pot of stronger clay.

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September 21, 2015 at 2:16 pm (Poems) (, , , , )

I remember well the stretch of his vest
as she pulled him towards her, across the school desk:
a little woman, with thin purple lips.

You are bad, she mouthed –
at six, he would have smelled her hot breath
and felt her spittle on his skin.

I remember then how miss told him:
You will never amount to anything.

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The Goodlife

September 19, 2015 at 4:35 pm (Poems)

The music laughed
and the dancing played
when the little girl
tossed back her braid
and ran into
her daddy’s arms,
he took her up
and twirled her round.
The crowd we clapped
and raised a glass
to the love of a dad
and his lovely lass.
We took our places
on the floor
and when it stopped
we asked for more.
Oh, clap your hands
and stamp your feet
to the tune of Saturday’s
goodlife beat!

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September 11, 2015 at 10:21 am (Poems) (, , , , )

I saw those ships
go sailing by…

When the boat drew near
it brought a boy
with long black hair
that caught my eye
and a woman who lost
her first born son
to falling walls
and angry men.

I saw those ships
go sailing by…

I watched the boat
list hard and tip
the little boy
off from the ship
and heard the screams
and smelled the fear
of mothers washed
with salty tears.

If my waves pushed high
my current strong
I would push the listing
boat along
then dip to lift
the drowning boy
and place him on
the sand to dry.

I would land those ships
and drive the trains
and welcome people
when they came
to share the shelter
and daily bread
that is not mine
but ours instead.

And though some say
it is naive
to practice what
our hearts believe
my hand is held
by others who
would reach out arms
of welcome too.

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September 10, 2015 at 2:42 pm (Poems)

Thursday is awkward,
bookmarked by too many elbows,
constrained in its choices,
pinned between Wednesday and Friday,
hemmed by projections from the rest of the week.
This extract, squeezed from the page of its incarceration,
doesn’t begin to express Thursday’s vast potential
as a story in its own right.

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