The mask of nonsense

“It’s complicated” posted this time last year proposed a point-blank assessment of The Relationship Drama, especially as recounted by heterosexual women (as this encompasses most of my experience). It’s the “He loves me, he loves me not, why doesn’t he love me?” tune. The poet/narrator declares, none of this is complicated. Either it moves forward,

Comparison

The lock on the bolt hung like a coat flashing its lining of polished gold. The weathered door was envious; Its varnish long sapped by the sun. — New poems have been a little scarce recently because I have been writing about my dating experiences again. I have yet to find the courage, or fictionalising

In preparation

In preparation           for life’s many little pageants We brush out our hair, cut the dry, split ends, straighten out the frizz. We lather up our legs and smooth out the bristle. We take concealer to those rings beneath our tired eyes and layer over the unhappy spots. We tint tiny

The Brothers Three

Younger is a funny, joy-filled beast whose appetite seeks charms and luscious treats, yet he knows there is wide, wide world. So, off he bleets once supped and full. The older – add scores two, a half, minus ten – knows this landscape of plenty shifts by hurt and over time lithe limb and limber

Revisiting the Octopus

Ah, this is a good one from the archives: Tied up in 8 Tentacles of a Goal Octopus. As an update – I don’t yet live in my wooden house with a deck overlooking a lake. For travel in 2013, I took the train to Buckingham for Christmas. As a day trip I went out