Thursday, 22 September 2011


A book’s a book,
where angels
tiptoe in between
twenty six letters
(already corrected)
laughing aloud at fixation.

After all the indignity
of editing by editors,
an inject squirts
a story out of no thing

and angels from a soulful place
dance – here and there – out among
the twenty six, flowing a
Technicolor  dream.

Tuesday, 20 September 2011


He does this thing, Andrew,
- statistically different from me and you.
Shouting! Not to make you jump
- but simply for exuberance.

He looks you in the eye, expressing
excitement for any flash
of theatre, a piece of toast, a ray of sun.

Like, always it’s a Xmas or birth day
present moment
and, every time, a bead
of juice leaps from his heart
- into yours.

But only if you’re thirsty
and ready to catch.

Sunday, 18 September 2011


Today every habit will be cured,
every clich̩ Рcut Рto the quick.

Getting dressed,
I put my foot down,

pull my socks up;
put the boot in.

Wide awake a while,
I feed my folly, smile.