Walking trail – another pass

Wayfaring …
the sound of the word rolls
like  dance steps on a path
between two points
subtle fingerposts
marking the way
ever on …

tread lightly
between the scents…
seaweed, salt, rockpools
cleansed by restless water
drawn by the moon…

So many have fished here;
thoughts wandering
over the sea,
high into the sky,
searching for signs,
reading the wind
and the patterns
of clouds
hoping for bounty …

piping seagulls
a counterpoint
to the breathing sea
I walk with a stick
wet lines in the sand …


Walking trail – first pass

A regular slight thunk
on the down beat,
slight flourish
on the rebound,
impressions added
to a sandy path’s patina,

sandy path
I switch to silent footfalls,
a technique perfected
after reading a book
called Two Little Savages.

Feel your way forward
without  hesitation,
slight variations
in the temperature of the air
that brushes your nostrils
inwards and out again.

Pelicans fly in formation,
their profiles
an uneasy reminder
of pterodactyls hunting.

mossy tree
Silent walking abandoned,
I tread bravely
on stepping stone dapples,
lichen colonies on dead wood
catch the light,  make lime green
ridges and valleys out of grey bark
– will they hear the tree fall
when the wind blows hard?

Follow the shadow stones,
trace the curves and the camber;
a slight rise in the path
a swift flash of pink
on a fence frantically waving,
somebody’s skirt left behind,
the leaves whisper insistently,
thoughts sail up to the untimely moon.


Blue throws blueness
along a horizon …
I unfurl and breathe,
the white sun
shall be eclipsed,
obstructed by a tree,
as mackerel clouds
swim serenely
I stand right here
where the earth
kisses the expanding sky.

Heel rolls to toe
balanced on four points,
next foot now,
erasing previous steps,
as uplifting rebounds
ripple through the galaxies.




Riffin’ on a thick description- Take 2

Riffin’ on a thick description – Take 2

so still she sits
opposite you
on an everyday train
watery eyes
into her screen

her perfume
conjures flowers
you’ve not yet seen
with shades
of pastel pink and gold
filigree edges
swirling in a vortex
chasing a future perfect time

in the loop
sound is magnified

she speaks
sotto voce
her thumb and forefinger
expand her screen

her face waxes stronger
her brow smooths
she taps letters
into words

her glistening red lips
slip into a parted smile
as she presses ‘post’

her words
slide into a void
of gone but not yet read

you write
seventeen syllables
posted to Twitter
#haiku #commute

laptop open
he taps his phone
screen saver blinks
he strokes
a hollow surface

a slight eye contraction

a twitch or a wink
possibly faked

plump words link
piling together
a thick wink’s

he rubs
a fingertip
over the corner
of his eye

the person beside you
has no idea the words
he reads
on the screen
are from you


“Once, twice, three times”
palpable glee in the auctioneer’s voice,
“are we done?”
a pause, even a beat,
you can hear people breathing, shuffling
“going, going …
SOLD to the lady in blue!”

And so a home stripped of intimacy,
styled into an invitation to dream
changes hands …

Your heart is racing,
tears of relief spring into your eyes,
a champagne cork pops,
the intoxicating scent of bubbles
tickle your nose,
a sip of frothy blue
and yellow visions
of playful waves and sand.

Now the house in P_____ St is no more,
the site’s completely cleared,
you wonder why you worked so hard
just before the keys were handed over
to leave no trace behind.

Horizons beckon untrammelled
from a new place
where it’s easy to breath.




Ripples and tears

Thin ridges
are spots  in the detail,
a plane of matter
and space.

Plays of light
vast surfaces stretch and compress,
thin places with slight tears fray,
bursting apart in
the points between
voids (not vacuums),
where life floats
braided in moving stillness.

Somewhere, softly,
a tear duct
lets out a thin trickle.

A ridge ripples,
vibrating upheavals
settle into new attractions
yet to be known.