Visitation

All in whitedescended on my doorstep,in a cloud of cologne:the amoretto, the deuce,the quicksilver sonof Mercury. Some spellsare an intercession. — Other poems about visits, hellos and good-byes: Different rides My heart was a rogue balloon Pavement Writer On a traffic island halfway across High Road, evening The mattress turned over In this place, I

Time tripped

The electricity tripped. Time fused at 05:17. I woke to the flashing. On my ‘phone 08:03. The day well underway and no new messages. I waiver over the buttons to recoup the extra hours. Inside this digital turn-back machine, once a bedside radio-clock, 05:17 is closer to that stolen other time. — This poem reminds

Knowledge

To feel waves must crash if they thirst for the shore; they must trip stones smooth, burst jagged hands, pierce the stretch strain of speckled beanskins learning the ground. The walker must trip. 2003, after Las Vegas, Death Valley and Flagstaff, USA — “Knowledge” appears in Shining in Brightness (2013), my first book of poetry.

The forest birds know not to trust

I proceed on the outside with my daily life, all the while taking mental or handwritten notes. These observations saved ‘for writing’ often echo personal revelations. The regularity of this continues to astound me, especially as I re-post poems from this blog’s archive. It is sometimes said among writers that we are called to write what we are called to

Grand Mastery

  I’ve always wished to be expert at chess, but I overthink every move and lose my pawns and queen in the oldest, quickest thrashing in the book. — I have a knack for completely overthinking things. The reference in this short verse reminds me of a line from “Escucha.” During the dance, the poet/narrator

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

They had slept through storms before

January brought with it a blizzard. Icy darts aimed for our knees and the testing froze our sense of belonging to that land. The old bears sunk deeper in their caves, groaned and turned their backs on winter’s sluice trusting that in time from it would flow all the blooms of spring. 31/12/14 — I

Lettered objects finely wrought

I did not set out to write poetry. I intended to write Novels. And anyway, I am of the view that much superbly written and evocative poetry already exists. The Shadows of Giants loom large. At the moment I have no illusion about even coming close to their kneecaps, never mind shoulders. This time last year

Another Food Poem

You cooking me Two burnished hazelnuts singe flax. Golden Savoiardi shake loose vanilla pods. An oiled aubergine turns roasted cumin seeds. The sorrel and bay sauté with wild mushrooms, freshly picked. A wholesome slice seals the Dijon. — I have written a number of poems that draw on the influences of cooking and kitchen. Today’s

Transition/ Disclosed

From night’s horizon sweep in yowls and howls across the polar plain. Glacial blue dims. The sharpest window opens above: stars minted by the chill. — Today’s prompt for A Poem A Day October was, “Write a poem incorporating the concept of being ‘frozen,’ whether literal or not.” All day I have been mulling over