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Biography is either masked ball or epitaph. As you find me, so we are.

Friday, 10 August 2012

Reciprocal Arrangement

Language is a stream that is almost sure to smack of a mingled soil.  - George Eliot

Redeemed! In weft wove gold of Raveloe –
Hush now…Kind heart –  I see this Golden Rule
Doth comfort thee.  Sternly observant as the love shall go.
Which Love? For Greeks had words
For passions – Fractured them – Cruel
Speech that throws a sense
Yet senseless lies.
I am undone in syllables –
E’en as your story tries
To reassure.  Its reassurance wanes.
A hollow mouth.
An empty glass.
And leaves – well – foretell Nothing.
True! Future rests her footing on the Past.
Seer, stop and tarry – for the night is young –
And we must marry meaning with the urge –
Strange feeling – not unique –
For were it thus we’d have no word for it.
O! Seer - Gaze upon the palm –
And see Eternity –
Reflected in the coin.

This one's for the also-rans

This one’s for the also-rans
Who loved but whom love lost
Who also dreamt of making plans
But paid the higher cost
Who fortune favoured fleetingly
Although their moves were bold
Who never got the luxury
To see themselves grow old

This one’s for the also-rans
Whose passions weren’t returned
A boat not quite remembered
On a tack that seldom turned
Their features went unmentioned
Their novels went unread
Their details stayed unwritten
By the pen outside their head

This one’s for the also-rans
For they too made the race
Without their added ballast
It would run a different pace
So let’s make up the numbers
‘Til one plus one is three
This one’s for the also-rans
Yes this one is for me.

Wednesday, 8 August 2012


I wrote this rhyme to break a spell
That made me think my eyes saw well:
A rose by any other name,
Or butterfly that looks the same?
The children round the storybook
Know when they take another look -
Or they replay a favoured game -
The tale is never quite the same.
The clone is but our own belief
That hides the insect on the leaf.
For chips designed to simulate
Will never recreate their mate.
The Twins – forever two in one -
Show where such sums must come undone;
For if I’m here I can’t be there
(Unless here-there is everywhere)
Tomorrow cannot be today,
Or reproduced another way.
All copies simply don’t exist
Beyond the swirl of human mist;
For we cannot remake A Thing
With nosuchthing as ‘copying’.
And still I see what this reveals,
Not creatures camouflage conceals.

Monday, 6 August 2012


As lines convey the saline drip
With certain roll to trembling lip
This mortal tastes immortal salt –
The Poet is but Nature’s fault.