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

Wednesday, 17 October 2012


I soon discovered as the Truth
Is more oft spoken in our Youth
A clever writer uses tricks
And gives wise words to lunatics
We make a meter made to test
The holder of a cruel breast
Who pretty wit or fairer face
Would dedicated deed replace
When stupid censors fail to see
Beyond their own reality
In times like this we keep them glad
And share sane thoughts by going mad

Tuesday, 16 October 2012


Oh how I love an inky nib whose grip
Sits snugly at a poet’s fingertip;
A goblet spilling liquid.  Ferment stains
Persistently the rug of life’s refrains.
But who to fête with how the wine will age?
The vintner’s skill at peppering a page?
The testing tongue of the sommelier who
Sensibly recommends to table two
His favoured glass?  The diners, nervous, set
Their drunk delight by his lettered palate,
So, cooing over bottles they succumb
To the outpourings of his father’s chum.
Rare is the life that judges by its own
Receptors.  Rarer still the voice alone
Yet knowing of its fellows.  Thus begins
A private conversation between twins -
And from such special, secret heart to heart,
The sweet intoxication of true art.

Sunday, 14 October 2012

Upon a fear

Upon a fear
He spun me; a fly in spider swaddling,
Coral-curled, breath padding desert cave,
Nails pushed to palm.
Sieve keepsake cabinets for sentiment -
But you're not there.
Entire avenues are leafleted, rocks raised,
Neither in the morning.

Dawn on linen,
Arousing hums of some salad sojourns,
As sun draws steam from last night’s single shower.
The rain has gone.
Droplets refresh yarn master, shiver web.
Repairs are made.
It’s all mapped out in meteorology,
Before the clouds

Where is my fear?
Cars lick streets in whispered waves of tide tables,
Gulls gather over refuse racks of yesterdays,
The sea has gone.
And now.  And now is virtually arrived.
Forecast your dead,
One in one out, ignoring watches
There are no losses.

New clouds evolve,
Palpating photographs, their creators
Enter Museums of Apparatuses.
Forgotten lens;
Tired technician scrawls an explanation,
Abstruse the use,
Another, dusting,  places placards wrongly,
Goes unmentioned.

Where is the rain?
In alien drizzle, howled by galactic gale,
Unwatched by poet’s pen - unforecast -
It steals a sea.
Charity shelves brim full with ex-mementos,
The fear has gone.
Dried arachnids debris-dance along the sill,
My love won’t leave.

Friday, 12 October 2012


How to address a wizard mind?  A one
Which by its thinking thinks a thing was done
That otherwise may never have occurred;
The sad spilt milk, thirteen, a single bird.
A ladder thought, that walking under it
Life’s bucket spewed its luck, or maybe hit
Unhappy circumstance.  An evil eye
Whose glance, Medussa-style, alone might fry
All fortune’s favours.  Or take shattered glass.
A superstitious soul will soon surpass
The fear of shards – those here and now mishaps –
With years.  Seven like sisters.  Or perhaps
Write volumes on ways to avoid the jinx,
Yet somehow fail to justify the links
Claimed between salt and shoulders.  Left or right?
Or why leaf tea might pause to give insight
On Nana’s health, or Emma’s bad romance.
Why Dereck got knocked down in lucky pants.
Tassologists, I’d curse you if I could
But I’m more rational than that.  Touch wood.

Tuesday, 9 October 2012

My lover, October

It’s been a roundabout romance.
Here she turns, all misty-eyed, meets
Burning with fiery circumstance.
Starlings stutter stanzas; “Kerweet-ter-keats” -
Even the birds recall the rascal’s name.
Her Other Man. Close bosom-friend!
I too can play, I know his game.
Sweet-talk granary-floor-pretend.

Then that Ulyanov Affair.
Licked her loose lips cochineal raw,
Painted the town red.  Bolshie, yeah.
Did Julian old-style before
Taking Gregory’s papal bull.
Body’s not what it used to be,
Showing her history.  Hair full
Of pink ribbons these days.  She
Says they’re for her girlfriends. 

October, you’re not getting younger. 
Could this be our last year together?