“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.





Smoke Rings

the singer’s voice
smoke and whiskey rich
sings about oppression

the guitarist’s fingers strum
salutations to the condors
tatooed on his chest

a chorus of three voices joins
dead friends immortalised
the singer lights a cigarette

inside his smoke rings
cochineal red betrayals
a requiem inside each circle

Catness X 3

stillness sighs
why why why
leaves start to gossip


water drips
from the inky sky
street lights leak onto the road
her tail a question
she meows at the door


a bell jingles
behind the curtains
I stare intently
into a cup of tea



a cosy peloton –
one cyclist breaks,
on the verges cheer,

a zoom,
the peloton
now a sausage
inching up
a mountain,

the leaders
can be caught,
those on the verges
cheer like geese,
and clap clap clap,
hoping for
an unexpected
win while commentator
experts express doubt.


The street runs like a dark mist,
rain swiftly catches cold,
streetlights grab the sidewalk,
an embrace of stone necessity.

A hooded faceless figure
throws a still glowing cigarette
into the flowing gutter – phssst
– extinguished now
they ride the pipes together
to the underworld.

A lonely rat sniffs a roller-door,
whiskers slick against his cheeks,
I step aside and find the moon
on the other side of my umbrella.

Strains of cheerful chatter
beckon from just around the corner,
with purpose now, I stride afresh
towards the harbour of my love’s face.

Cutout Whispers

whitesmoke vapours
slither from a silver exhaust

drifting crystals churn
to a distant wind chime tune

secret fireflies dance
in a maelstrom of moonrain

gardens sparkle in champagne
while rent ghosts roam
dazzled by periwinkles
fractured on bisque pots

cutout whisper motes
float in between
mint and lady bugs




A Red Kerchief

a red kerchief
waves from a tired
anchor chain

sunlight paints
weary warehouse walls
cameos of leaves and butterflies

jagged glass
glints in a puddle
edged with green

on silvered wood
he sits dangling
a slender line

iridescent dragonflies
dart apaches above
a senna river

the line dips low
the red kerchief

another supper caught


Open Link Night ~ Week 79