Sunday, 11 January 2015


‘Book of Mormon’ is rollicking hot,
two-by-two dancing, rude - but  (like)  fun.
Andrew and I absorbing the plot
- when a sweet girl starts a honeydew song.

Wide open – an innocent snowball
of pure hope and sun in the morning.
Every note touching bellies and throats,
melting jaundice, judgment, disjoints;
singing from heart in a little face
sweet as dates, light as a veil.

At the interval, engagement is deep:
a tie at the ball, champagne pops.
Andrew holds a fizzy lemonade
nodding around, clear as a cat
‘I’ll marry that girl in the pink dress,
She’s just like me – she is me!’

and I wring small tears ‘I see, my son, I see.’
glance away –  too keen to agree.

Saturday, 13 December 2014

Fourth Anniversary

First  - a singleton -
a beaming sun
(one single leaf of grass)
but married then into a couple
completely satisfied

but how accelerated
into four whole years
as if the one has amplified
through sunny days and snow;
we grow, my wife, we grow.

Thursday, 25 September 2014

Grey skies

but, look, a turn of cloud for sunshine
winking – to submit a whole new word today;
vibrant, iridescent, unstoppable
with smiley face and no conditions,
bigger than the Himalayas (beyond desire):
a simple little single word, compressed.

My question  - can I really trust it?

and ask – ‘if I inspire a fire inside myself,
will a tiny word flow back with water force
through chambers up from shimmering earth,
meet itself and melt?’ Under grey skies.

Friday, 5 September 2014


South West England, Summertime.
The base and 6-string are playing

brightly one Monday afternoon
under a soft watercolour sky;
the base and 6-string are playing.

It’s not clear who started this throb
around tents and camping chairs,
teacups and painted starlight stones
but the base and 6-string are playing.

And, in the darker recess of a plastic tent,
one unwashed Down’s boy sings
across perfectly imperfect repetitive notes,
from a hopeful wet tongue laving for dinner
now the base and 6-string are playing.

Propose a new music, un-housed,
less predictable, in a strange tongue,
held by a deeper fret of purple sound
from a true gut; a resonant truth
laughing like a tambourine
when the base and 6-string are playing.

Saturday, 16 August 2014

So Push

One o’ clock, North Yorkshire
and we cycle hard - cogs
chuckling into spurs and chains
on-and-around sprockets

oblivious to tops-of-trees parading
front-to-back and the Howgills
rolling more slowly
in parallax and majesty

until we hit a low dip
and start a long climb
feeling breath and thighs hot.

Looking far away to the left
(in a miracle of trigonometry)
a far mountain rises mysteriously
like in a cardboard theatre.

Pushing and climbing, an earth-top also climbs.
Cycling more easy, our summit stays and shivers;
a fine old miracle in time.

Now the road descends and our peak slo-mo’s
away; no longer fighting gravity
but sinking like a drowsy head
obscured by trees and foothills, green.

And it helps me feel the sun
and how she seems, every day, to light and rise
imperious - and how, if we all freewheel,
eventually her rays maybe wouldn’t
be bothered to rise either, and sink. A sigh.
So Push.

Thursday, 17 July 2014


Empty now, my breakfast bowl
somberly thinking (‘What is Next?’)
of blue, green, yellow powder pills
and a brew of side-effects.

Monday, 7 July 2014

The Day After

Twenty four hours
into minutes, seconds (even smaller)
but, looking back,
only by story, metaphor, simile
can I Feel-that-Day again
like the sunshine of an orange skin,
(or the journey of a train with volcano cans of beer)
the flesh soft and tangy, juicy as a sponge
dripping ocean sap
and a dream somewhere in between the story of a day;
the sense and the non-sense
warped by brainbox,
itself soft as ripe red melon
fragmented in memory at the end of the day:
pages, physics, juice, included.