Sitting for the first time alone,  having bid goodbye to your weeping mother  at the cusp of college term,  dusk lifts your dandelion hair against the orange stone,  and you are caught between the tides – as already-made friends shoal by – of life loves me, and  loves me not.

In Memory

There was no single moment of goodbye Just a tapdance of last times Each blissfully, beautifully unaware That they were the last of their kind. I did not want you to end in pain But that is cancer And endings do not rhyme. They are balancing acts Between consciousness and analgesia Stutters in metre And […]

The Songs Remain

Communications are getting Scrambled. Once knew three languages, complete with traditional songs. Transcribed politics with my typewriter, Romanced my love with the same, Poems tapped on round, chapped keys – The rubbed out โ€˜Eโ€™ – Oh those were the days when we wrote loudly. Those imprints are being Dismantled. Ninety years. I forget my name. […]


Sunshine cracks through the canopy. Mushrooms, like white blood cells, tranquilise time. There is no ending of things. When the light goes, only badgers and deer will know we are here.  In the forest, we will always be walking.


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"The truth is usually just an excuse for a lack of imagination."
~ Elim Garak


My longer creative projects are all prose fiction. However, when I have emotions, or wine, I tend to write poetry.

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