Past dissolves
future looms
pre illusions


watching the moon
sparkling cold
steps in puddles


Mournful curlew
serenades the moon
clouds gather in a ring


Clear night spreads
a cosy chill without
within warm hearts beat


A package
bird brooch
a CD of road songs
and a kestrel feather
precious memento


watching the moon
sparkling cold
steps in puddles


haiku guides
of the mind


Clear night spreads
a cosy chill without
within warm hearts beat

the umbrella tree
two deck chairs
fresh green tea
teahouse open

Slip Alley XIX

Greta places her chopsticks
on the ebony rest,
takes a sip of wine
almost choking,
wipes her delicate lips
with a napkin;
excusing herself,
she slips
into the second bedroom.

Blue cat slinks along the passage,
stops to look at Ollie…

Isamu sits in a sauna with Thi,
draws on his fat cigar,
puffs out a cat shape,
pokes it with his index finger…


Blue cat hunkers down
each muscle taut,
Greta steps through the door
aiming the baby Glock
straight at Ollie’s heart.

Ollie raises his hands
into the air, locks her eyes
as Blue flies through the air
landing claws out
on Greta’s head.
The Glock clatters
on the parquetry.


Isamu smiles at Thi,
takes another puff on his cigar
and pours them both
a glass of icy vodka.

Thi sculls half a glass
and slaps herself
with fresh sprig of birch branches
imported from Russia.

Isumi sculls his glass, belly laughs
and eats a spoonful of Beluga caviar
straight from the jar
as a vodka chaser.

You can catch up with the rest of Slip Alley here

Slip Alley XVIII

Ollie places two noodle boxes
from his favourite takeaway
on the kitchen bench,
Mongolian beef for Greta
and a Thai green chicken curry for himself;
he unscrews the cap of the sauvignon blanc,
pours two generous glasses,
he hands a glass to Greta,
“chin chin”, he says,
she smiles with quivering ruby lips.

The blue cat plays with Ollie’s pewter pen,
flicks it to the floor,
bleats and stares at Ollie.

Ollie hands Greta chopstcks
and the box with Mongolian beef,
“let’s not stand of ceremony,” he says.

Greta takes the box,
the cat’s jade eyes are fixed on her
as he knocks Ollie’s phone onto the floor.

Ollie picks up the phone,
pats his cat saying,
“thank you Blue, I get your drift,”
while feeding him a piece of chicken.

Greta’s slender fingers
prise open the top of the noodle box,
she sniffs with an nonchalant air,
but the tightness around her lips
speaks of agitation.

Ollie takes a deep breath
smiling at Blue,
he smells adrenaline,
beneath Greta’s sandalwood perfume;
the chopsticks in her right hand
betray an almost imperceptible tremor.

Ollie engages her in small talk
about the best places
for coffee in the city.

For the whole series so far use the tag Slip Alley

Slip Alley XVII

Jack sits on the beach,
Thi swims in turquoise,
it’s unusually clear, the haze
has lifted from the rocky islands,
a junk sails lazily by catching
the gentle breeze.

In the resort behind him
women and men of a certain age
lie on massage beds in the spa,
lithe young women realign ligaments
with strong sure hands
kneading flesh, pressing bones,
seeking every weakness
relishing the sighs
of pain and relief.

Isamu grunts with bliss,
tension finally dissolving
under the masseur’s feet,
he watches Ollie close in on Eric
on a screen behind his closed eyes,
he watches Greta hide her baby Glock
in the closet of  the second bedroom
in Ollie’s apartment
closely watched blue Ollie’s blue cat,
the cat looks at Isamu and smiles.

Ollie walks up the steps
with two noodle boxes
and a bottle of chilled
sauvignon blanc.


Sveta smiles enigmatically,
“That will give them something to think about”,
she closes her laptop and calls it a night.