Friday, 17 August 2012


Waking is a hard attempt to grace a dream,
free from hazy traveling
and, out from the blue-gray sky of morning,
Andrew shouts. (Far away like a lark)
- fibres of sound grab my ears,
swing my flickering eyes. He’s outside,
been for an adventure, saying hello,
holds his hands out to the world.
Good Morning!
                                    I’m tired
and tempted to stay underground,
ignore that green shout
and his trembling cry of intensity.

But I do decide to move up - in one choice moment -
and spread my arms away from dreaming.
He trumpets
a few notes :
dreamscape, magic waking.

Monday, 13 August 2012


He simply wants your spirit
as he fumbles for the key,
with a little song that turns a smile
(he stalks you by degree);

attacks your arrogant nature
with questions in a blow
‘are you Jesus, happy, married?;
‘why not?’ he’ll want to know!

He wants your neck to straighten,
to stop you being ‘cool’
with a smile wrapped round a thunderbolt
- he wants to touch your soul;

there’s magic in a reach of hands;
and then the hugging – love –