Monday, 8 June 2009


I want you to imagine a creature
after midnight walking from a winter sea,
lumbering forward, every feature
intent on reaching out for you and me.

He stands, a shadow, looking at his feet
stamping in a dawn on this cold
shore an alien, stubborn and eager to play.

Beware. He needs our heat
so shall we spark a match and aim for gold?
But he could test our metal - make your day.

Sunday, 7 June 2009

Support Group

Here, now

eight pairs - sixteen feet;

black and red and green, beige.


Some of the soles are flat on the floor,

some of the uppers are nodding

or turn slow circles.


There! Ten toes poking their nose

and most of the soles are flat on the floor

but some are waving.

Saturday, 6 June 2009

A lad with learning difficulties says

‘What you doing? Eh?

 What you need?’

‘Er Money! Sex. Ah Stuff!’

‘What else you need?

‘A drink, a talk,

 to boss, fight, swear, win, sloth,

 to rule, to dig, to leap,

 in fame and fashion, debt and hope.’

‘Thanks very much.

I say more:

Friends, Food,

Stories, Games,

Music, Smiles.

Thanks very much?!’

Friday, 5 June 2009


Out come words - tiny spurts - with a spirit, tumbling,

sliding into the tall Spring air; rippling the Rubicon

of normal people, clumsy keys

hammering at a door that’s locked

- will we ever hear and feel a passion deep inside?


Shall we play? Shall we cry? Shall we arise and sing aloud

words that line-dance into laughter:

clear your throat and jump the escalator.


Andrew’s words are happy ever after:

ever after the dancing laughter after.


Thursday, 4 June 2009

Walking away

A childlike life will get you all the fun;

when to rest and when to jump and play;

what’s in a wrestle, settle, dance or run,

what makes a small adventure every day.


Of how he talked, ate, mullocked, slept at night,

worn out, stayed superconscious in the eyes,

no dusty schoolbooks, more a dancing light;

his pain was shadow for the rest of us


but now’s a time when children leave, vamoose,

a moment when we say goodbye, ta-ra,

and when we stare towards the vanishing point

all hearts are aching, every head is faint.


He glances round and says ‘merci’, ‘au revoir’

and quickly turns his back, you’re no more use.

Wednesday, 3 June 2009


The note he makes vibrates away;

an eager dance, transforming

ear-drums and thin air.

The composer wrote down a dot

but hear – don’t reckon – leap to art.


This note is a fine one, invites

your flesh to action through the veins

when body and voice,

instinct, sense, come out and pounce.

A note arrives, molecules dance.

Tuesday, 2 June 2009


Another late train,

I sit and softly touch my temple
then interlock fingers
like armour
stopping human touch.

Out I gaze now, up and into
a cradle of stars, disconnected.

You have no warmth, distant sparks

but I remember a son
who knows the worth
of a twinkle, hug;
a pull towards
True North.