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Off the cuff

March 23, 2015

Lamplight sits
on heavy shoulders
shrugged with attempts to
make sense
out of thoughts
half eaten
cuds of consideration
rolled around
for texture
and interaction

but no words
seem to evolve
out of motion
just the relentless
tethering to what
can only be glimpsed
in passing

the bells set off
a chime inside
and suddenly the pace
races through veins
and over internal
terrains of night times

another day
chalked up
to (in)experience.


March 23, 2015


It isn’t that you don’t

it’s that you opened

the possibility,

(when you opened your mouth)

that you did.


I had never considered

the possibility

until your touch,

in the half formed light

began to seem


and somehow safe.


My appropriateness

primed to retain the barriers

held their own,

but something in your expression

endured, began to settle,

and so it began

I started


to look again

to think again

to consider touch

to look, to check

if I could

if it could be


And because I am

who I am, I had to

poke, probe,

to check,

if the words spoken

(in sauced breath)

could be real

could stand up by themselves


your response

steeped in twilight

broke the burgeoning hope

that you had previously

strove to ignite

You reminded me


I’m not good with passing fancy

as your statement hit the pit

of my stomach

like a kick – if only you hadn’t

thought to share, with words

for which you gave no thought,

then perhaps I wouldn’t

be caught, as I am,

in flexion.

Wunder Baum (a poem written about many moons ago)

March 23, 2015

I try to hidemagic_tree_forest_fresh
my modesty
as I climb into
the taxi, outside
where my life now lives

and as I slink into the seat
you greet me in the guise
of a thurible
magic tree
your smell,
part upholstery,
part lynx,

waft and layer the air,
like softest cotton shift;
the anachronistic scent
of our summer
spent swiftly
roaming around each
and the other.

My eyes mist
as your adolescent face
crazes across the rear-view
mirror: a waterspout,
gathering recollections
like condensation
along the window seals
each triple set
of double swings
reawakens your relic
rocked shut inside me


when all at once
I readjust
to the familiar
musk of what might have been,
I finally exhale
to add my breath
into the drift
of what will never be.

Dormant laughter

March 23, 2015



Last night

through slumber fog

and months of absence

you appeared, one hand

held by Morpheus

the other hand occupied

with moving your grave

to a more pleasing location


and you laughed

that husky, breathless

laugh with lucent eyes

like sweet wrappers, stannic

staring out at the world

as if it were still yours

to walk


and I awoke

breathless myself

your mirth still jangling

through the gelatinous stillness

of the night

and I cried


because it was a sign

that I hadn’t forgotten


it was a sign


that though the months

had clattered against us

corroding your everyday impact

the truth of you remained:


you once had been.

An oldy, but a goody…

March 23, 2015

I was having some interesting chats with friends this weekend, and the subject of break-ups and the subsequent gossip they generate came up. Then I looked through some old material and, low and behold, back in 2004 I had written a poem on this very topic so thought I’d share it – for all those people caught in the post-break up maelstrom.


Maelstrom (once removed)

When voices rise against you
shouting your guilt, despite your efforts
to damage control a bad situation
believe that the stand you take
is for the best in the end

no one can ever know the intricacies
that two people share in
intimate moments; the workings of
a partnership are only visible
to those who sit on the inside
looking out.

To those on the outside
it all seems so simple, black
and white with all the grey removed
in these moments
to suppose that there is
someone good
someone bad

and that the good
are innocent
and the bad
are removed from ourselves.
The truth is a little more complicated.

This day

March 23, 2015


I stare
Ceiling filling
My eyes
As the cars
Break like waves
On my ears
The sound of morning
Builds outside the window
The smell of dawn fumbling
Through the openings
Under curtains
And into my waiting
Then a silence
Just a mili second
Of nothing
My heart
Throbs in my chest
Heightened – the only
Sense as I close
My eyes
Breathe and the crescendo
Begins again
I stare
My eyes
My ears
My waiting brain
My heart
My eyes.
This day.

Larger than my grandparents garden

March 23, 2015


I dream
The edges fuzzed out
Like charcoal smudged
Drawings, blue tacked
To an oscillating screen
Flicking over sleeping eyes
All shadows and echo
I dream of love
So big, as to cover the whole skyline
Foreground swamped in feeling
Shimmering like heat haze
And fire sheen
Larger than my grandparents garden
When I was small
As magical as electricity and slight of hand
A love as tall as heels and tiptoes
But real, so real
Tactile and solid
Sitting between us
Like packets and packets of solidified gum
Chewed and blown and stuck
all bulbous and strawberry like.
A love, ripe and heavy
Savoured and luscious.
Like slick thighs and breathing organza breezes.
Love, in all its overwhelming senses