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


Winter Sunrays

They skulk in your shadow
on shoes covered in felt
so as not to make a single sound –

waiting –

for a crack in the pavement –

you trip – a slight twinge
dissipates –

you look up –

the sun slants the clouds,
it’s raining somewhere in the west …

but now the sun shines,
people hug walls,
hints of spring
seep from the luke warm radiance
left by the decay of winter sunrays –

you smile inwardly,
the skulkers have gone

until next time.

A Portrait of Patience

Patience follows
smoke whorls of incense,
twisting, turning, riding
the air, its cylindrical heart
glows orange,
silver ash falls in a whisper;
she chooses words
with great care to
stoke the fire of life,
the smoke dispels
a sticky atmosphere
with spirals doubling,
folding in curves,
embracing life;
Patience smiles
as the curtain waves
to the setting sun.


Catching Colours

his warrior beard
curls around his chin
each finger
ringed with gems and wings
Black Label Society
tattoos coded symbols
of an ancient law
cloaked I follow
to catch his colours
in the mall
– my small stone
for the day …


A Flight of Fancy

“A flight of fancy”, you say,
and I think,
“what does a fancy look like
flying: does it have two legs
extended like a heron
or curled talons like a hawk;
perhaps it carries fire
beneath its wings
like the silver brolga;
does fancy fly across hemispheres
like a Siberian sandpiper
navigating by the sun and stars
to winter in Australia…

On the other hand, could be
fancy has six legs
like an azure butterfly
dancing in rainforests…”

I incline my head,
behind your head
three dragonflies
are waltzing in the sun.


Diesel Bus Fumes

On a grey throated morning
a diesel bus passes
as I walk to the station
evoking crowded memories
of seasons long since turned,
a bright recollection springs up;
a red vinyl backseat
sticks to  my legs
on a hot summer’s evening;
I know any slight wriggle
will sting so I am listening.
The car engine sighs
on a long country road;
I sprawl on my back
looking up, out of the window
counting the stars,
marking their colours,
gold, brilliant white
and twinkles of blue.



Velvet night air,
slight pressure
of a down cushion
on my cheek,
dream oceans beckon