On Shaftesbury Avenue, you were my first love. We children were the new created star, You would be the hand and I the glove Each moment without you like a scar. On Shaftesbury Avenue I watched for your light And looked for movement in your yard. The warm summer days would change to night And... Continue Reading →

Did he think before the thinking And question his desire? Did he suppose to strike the match But not put it to the fire? Did he think before the wanting And question right from wrong? Did he start to hum the verse And determine to sing the song? Did he think before the taking Weary... Continue Reading →

The pen lays long and still now, The window light falls dark And finished lines sit all in place, So beauty and smudge create one mark. For the world eternal will only have To hold and wash their eyes, While the body falls silent The great voice never dies. Ideas like unchained current Moved through... Continue Reading →

I've reworked this poem a few times now. My darling mother was ill when I wrote it and now she has since passed. The themes conjure up images of my grandmother's home and my mother's home as they lay empty in those days and weeks after they died.  For some reason I feel as though... Continue Reading →

The winter cold The coffee shop closed The days ideas Have all been supposed. Lights in the street, Fog in the air, The young working girl With dew in her hair. Her hat and her coat, Her quick leather walking, The sullen cold faces Of people not talking. Through quieting streets And saddening lanes, The... Continue Reading →

Rest my little love For busy have you been And the time of day is late and late And there's much today that you have seen Rest my little love You're in day and night's between   Rest my little girl In my arms as you do sleep For the day is passing over now... Continue Reading →

She sleeps in clutching pillows, She sleeps in clutching pillows, they're charged to fight She sleeps in clutching pillows,  holding her down laid on her right, Holding, holding her own, holding her down and there they lay. There they lay, the woman, the pillows and the end of the day.   She sleeps in clutching... Continue Reading →

The following text is an excerpt from my National Novel Writing Month (nanowrimo) effort. Excerpts appear in no particular order. The Dutch Uncle tells the story of Crijn, his sister Mariëlle, an Australian man named Jasper and his daughter Harriet (Harry). It is the story of betrayal, redemption, lost loves, forgotten chances and the problems people create... Continue Reading →

Ruth Stone is working in a field. The land is on her hands When a train of air, thunderous, barrels across Virginia's landscape And she feels and hears the poem, coming t'ward her over Virginia's landscape.   It comes barrelling down at her. Rushing at her body. Shaking the earth under her feet, shaking over... Continue Reading →

I chanced upon a moment of nostalgic reckoning Unlocked by some long forgotten sound or smell And buried yesterdays came back quickly to tell As if time past itself was beckoning The past came like a romantic lover and courted me And this time I was ready and wide awake And this time the memory... Continue Reading →