Pops and whistles through gaps
we string together and brace
against apple cores and raps
from life to cheek and face

Receding to a lighthouse
of glowing, shiny shock
that is anxious in the sun now;
a sundial: a natural clock

Filtered black, we drip and drip
waiting for sips and blows of love
topped to the brim; instant and ripped
we shake, asserting: “it’s not enough.”

Leathery, empty and winded
by the boots of unwrinkled greed.
“How can this be rescinded?”
We wonder, frown and plead.

Boldly, Again

These words are rivets
that steel our flapping hearts

when the wind dies: that
is all that will matter;

those etched, scribed,
shaped and moulded

linguistics of a broken age.
Add them up and throw

them to the leering sky
that refuses to break its

judgemental stare.
In a world away they

listen and are awed
to tears, while we dine

and chime crystalled
liqueur that only

makes us all the
more mute.


The cattle are fed
children well wed
and the cellar propped up
by needle and thread

while we walk and talk
over boxes of chalk
that the children climb up
like rings of beanstalk

I’m heralded here
and derided o’er there
while the siblings of neighbours
shoot clay without care

“I’m a pragmatist now,”
said the pig to the cow
“the rush of the pneumatics
blows my fat mind somehow.”

Red wine turns so sour
chiming with a twelfth hour
and the robust are napping
‘neath a frown so damn dour

yet we walk and we chat
of the dog and the cat
and their well-being is paramount
though we’ve grown so damn fat.