Twitter bits – make what you will

stalactites creep
towards stalagmites
of columns

a universal sigh
you get
the picture

drawn by desire
pips fall to the earth

was I gone too long
now forgotten …

I hurled myself
into an abyss
the universe
caught me
by the feet

have I lost my reach
can I still touch your senses?

she lost herself
his eyes
smooth pebbles

I catch my breath
hold it close a moment
and hurl it forth
watching seagulls fly
into the blue beyond

the promise of new love
she hurled herself
into making art




“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.




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


Riffin’ on a thick description

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

a slight
eye contraction
a twitch
or a wink

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
on the screen
are from you

Riffin’ on a thick description is a homage to Clifford Geertz, an anthropologist who took the art and craft of writing observations very seriously.

Morning commute

The coffee sits warm in my belly,
its taste lingers in my mouth;
the edge of my notebook
sharp in the crease of my left thumb,
my right thumb and forefinger
feel the cylindrical joint of hard and soft plastic
as ink flows smoothly between lines.

Too many words …
a sweet thought of decluttering,
a recorded voice announces the next station (not mine),
and sunlight covers my page.


the drone of the heating
mumbles “all’s well”
a mantra for peace

ghostly shadows
loom on the walls
sharp edges sleep

a line reaches
its mark on a gauge
the drone sighs into silence

it’s a windless night
a cat watches close
through the window

his book snaps shut
an incandescent glow
by a bed pops off