July 28, 2019 at 6:48 am (Poems) (, )

Seventies sounds slide from
wet speakers under tarpaulin,
revealing our average age.
Whilst pretty youth hangs out,
brushed ordinary by inclemency,

LED fairies wrap happily
around huge balloons,
wafting in idle dance,
and gauze obscures a newborn
suckling, haunted by a nipple.

As adversely politiced pairs
set the drunk planet keeling,
I’ll take my leave, followed by
more grizzled absconders,
yearning decaf with our cake.

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Every Day

July 22, 2019 at 10:24 pm (Poems) (, )

If every day I do my best
before I lay my head to rest
and try to lend a helping hand
though help may sift like softest sand

If every day I only say
the words I mean, not by the way
and take to heart, not bow to head
the feelings meant, not what is said

If every day when I reflect
with honesty, in retrospect,
I’ll find the seed of hope we sew
when we allow our love to show.

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Performance Being Seen

July 21, 2019 at 10:29 am (Poems) (, )

Eight dancing bellies, backs, and sixteen buttocks, bending and brushing, bringing things, changing ranges, shifting gears, shunting and travelling, challenging,
shoving, recovering, dividing and doubling, demanding and declining.

Being seen
by one hundred and ninety two willing eyes placed in four parallel lines on either side of a smooth studio space.

Then, fifty completed feedback forms laid out to be sifted, scrutinised, analysed, and summarised, whilst
the twenty steel toes of nimble fingered technicians, practitioners, choreographers, crew and costumier
chew over, chill, enjoying the moment, swapping spectacles.

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July 20, 2019 at 10:37 am (Poems) (, , , , , )

Before entering the book,
Lying in the almost dark,
I thought about the comfort
Of an ordinary life,
But, all things considered:
The page wrapped smooth
About me. I remember excitment,
and a sense of belonging
in that desperate landscape
of unfamilar words, lit only
by a spark from an inward torch.

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July 19, 2019 at 2:09 pm (Poems) (, )

How perfect to sit

In exquisite quietude

And let the rope slip;

To unclench the jaw

Relax the foot

And simply roll;

To unfocus the eyes

Loll the tongue

And let kindness in.

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Clay Men

July 18, 2019 at 9:03 pm (Poems) (, , )

My idle hours are spent

On any project that

Doesn’t use too much

Energy, or blow what

Little life I have

In evening solitude.

Now I am whole again,

Growing is an option.

Clay men feel ambiguous,

Liking to bathe, but

Anticipating their own meltdown,

You see, I am one of them.

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Number 3

July 12, 2019 at 10:55 pm (Poems) (, , )

Remember days at number 3
when we had time to sit? And see
the raindrops coursing down the pane
and race them, giving ours a name?
Remember when the storm would light
the chintzy curtains in the night
and we would huddle in our bed?
Remember all the things we said?
and how we giggled endlessly,
when we were young, at number 3?

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July 6, 2019 at 4:47 pm (Poems) (, )

When it floats your boat of straw

for a few short minutes

to kill someone’s wellbeing

with sharp wit.

What a sad waste of happiness

and poor use of an able brain

So soon sunk.

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July 4, 2019 at 9:27 am (Poems) (, , , )


try to take a balanced view of life

for the sake of my health and equanimity.

A documentary film about

Phillipe Petit, who high wired

between New York Twin Towers

on 7th August 1974

taught me that sickening fear,

rather than external physical danger,

is the greater killer.

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July 2, 2019 at 10:42 pm (Poems) (, , , )

Play to your own boom whacker basic beat
which may or may not syncopate:
if (drum roll) by happy chance
your cymbalic clash
rewards you with a thrilling
gong, beguine together for
some common time.
But mark my bones, ‘ you skip a beat,
and hit the snare, your ghost note floating on,
revise your phrasing, note your pulse
adjust your seat,
long may you sustain your mighty solo song.

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