Friday, 24 September 2010



from London,
a juddering train,
silver rain, traveling shadows.

At my table I can see 3 empty seats
as if I have no mates, or smell like a beast
and now, spinning around, I perceive

your pull – but you are miles away
and I feel an ache. I long to
swing and quiver,
turn my heat
to you from
way down


Thursday, 23 September 2010


Because he speaks straightforwardly,
Andrew tells you what he wants;
like -food- or story -food- or music
and, coming at you,
punctuates and forces

danger in a clear decision
of choosing from your right and wrong.

Tuesday, 21 September 2010

Butterfly Collector

'I am a butterfly. I am not a butterfly collector. I
want the experience of the butterfly' - William Stafford

Look, you’re sitting in pub
after a nice meal, belly full,
when music hits the juke box – Abba;
sitting in a pub.

Your son starts to dance
Elvis’s hip movements, jumps,
and then with windmill motion, butterfly,
your son starts to dance.

You sit and smile, like many
in this crowded restaurant, amazed at expression,
sitting and watching a dancing boy,
you sit and smile, like many.

Sunday, 19 September 2010

Listening to a female

She said something, something was said here
but in what language? Nothing clear!
Nothing simple until, ages later,
saying little, I slowly get it, get it – get it?

Little by little. Like everything as far
as eyes can see – like everything illuminated by
a morning sunshine smiling on a perfect cove
when everything grows simple, after all.