I love the deep dark
in you:
the secret nub
of your rooted
It calls to me
in the wilderness
rises from seas
too deep to contemplate.

I love the deep dark
in you;
the nub
of the place
where you’re
to infinity.

Mr Whippy

You said you loved me and I said so too,
you said you loved me, and I thought,
“as much as a young man ever could”.

The roses are hanging
in patches of candour
petals falling into dead grass.

In amongst the bindweed snails
suck slowly across deep peat earth
and birds throw themselves at the sky

in a huge dawn chorus.

Summer’s holding hands with her lovers,
you appear and disappear, right hand
left hand, full heart.

I’m hoping for an ocean glide
blue and yellow fishes in a tropical
dimension, this second coming is slow.

Our bodies still remember, to remember to fit,
corners to hollow where they should, shy and
out of practice.

You tell me you want to hold me,
that’s the way we do it, love seeping
from our skin to dye the cream sheets pink.

Sex is something we’re not sure of,
know it’ll open a door to a place not wanted,
tie us to a future left unsaid and waiting.

I want you, falls like the rose petals into
the room and I do , but wish for no surrender.
It was the ice cream that did it, blame the ice cream.

You standing on my steps with a dripping
Mr. Whippy,
delicious in its e numbers, all consuming.


Sunday Easter Brazil

Each morning they re-hang the sky
early, before sunrise; it moves to left or right
and I look hard to see the gap

between here and heaven.

The sea returns and returns
sprayed black and illuminates
the swimmers, white in the moonlight.

You have your moments; we talk
in broken phrases, as time passes
erratically culling the silence.

The girls hover like angels their
skin sweet and multi-coloured
I watch you sniff their fragments,

You lie sanctified by dream
a hedonistic sprawl of boy limbs
and soft fur waxed into pillow.

We will have to call love another name
suspended in this middle ground we jostle
for significance,

find it lacking.

The still point

(Written 3 March 2011)

Turn again,
travel the selfsame road to the journey’s end
where sea scuffs the rough from salted skin
and the fishermen ply their nightly trade
fireflies burning the horizon.

Turn again,
with the two of us pirouetting
gracefully cloning our separate points
within the evolving circle.

Try one more time
these long forgotten gifts
immaculately coating our separateness:
and choice is a carnival of illusion
to hold or not to hold;

to plunge or linger on the edges of your unlapped shore
where the fishermen trawl their fished out seas
as we float in the ocean of what this might be:
if I could only turn again.

When words can do no more

When words can do no more
but stutter, stumble and recall
the depth and breadth of past declensions;
when feelings fumble from the deep
like trees bereft in winter gale
that fall but leave intact deep twisted roots
which suddenly each spring renew
fragile pale green shoot on withered branch,
and all I love in you is transcribed in the beauty
of our children’s laughing faces.

It seems somehow we’ve tried it all
somersaulted, Catherine wheeled
blazed the darkened nights with fireball frenzy,
so many years of fighting truth:
each time that you drew near I shied like startled deer
bit you with a tigers wrath
then watched you bleed your mortal wounds
couldn’t somehow croon the sounds
to heal our broken language.

This is just another rhyme,
you’ll say it lies the way all the others do
but I always, always, knew that shining secret heart
you keep hidden out of touch where it’s padlocked to my soul;
here words can do no more than recall ghostly lives
when you were mine and for some reason I don’t know
I battered down that twice locked door to reach the other side
so I could tell you one more time,
that despite myself and between the lines
maybe because you make me cry,
I’ll always, always, love you.


Boys smell good, have smooth bodies
to run your fingers over…………

& when boys love you, it’s early morning sunshine
with no clouds.

Boys wrap their arms around you
tell long boring stories of other girls

& boys can’t see the cracks in the pavement
or wonder when tomorrow will come.

Boys are dangerous, their love ensnares you
the sex is always 2am and continuing,

& the goodbyes raw and confusing,
boys make you cry!

I loved a boy once, he had green eyes
told me he would love me forever:

& his morning kisses were sweeter than
anything I had ever known.

Boys leave you, often without warning,
they leave gaps in the fabric of your universe

tears in the structure of your environment
a monsoon in your heart.

I had a boy once………………

Dream Yoga

(Written 19 February 2011)

I’m talking on dream airways
it’s 5am no sounds form
in the cellphone of our minds
I’m trying to explain:
stairwells of the stars jangled nerve endings
optic fibres retain your darkened image

I’m snatching small gestures,
you discuss her like an option for a meal,
a set menu of family, no, ”special choice“
just marriage, birth, circumcision,
old testament re-kindled in a common blood, your blood.

But it’s here and now that people decide to love.

Reason is branded in your brow,
I’m elemental angel wings
and your mind jitters crossing water, climbing mountains,
running from your own heels squeezing me to fit your truth
operating break out clauses.

Am I the boundary for your chaos?

Talking on dream airways,
5am we sleep divided by a history so deep
it’s killing us; like suicide bombers on Jerusalem streets
we maim the innocent with no expectation of escape.

Wash my hands clean
of your weakness, switch off the power,
listen to the rain cleansing city streets
forget to remember what we might have been in heaven,
on cinema screens, with children laughing at our feet.

Forget to remember
what time and culture has stolen from us.
Want to listen to our breathing,
riding desert highways manipulating the boundary of this dream
and choosing.

It’s 5am

Are you with me?

Valentine Poem

(Written 14 February 2011)

I walked with you in winter
as willow shed her hair,
we talked and touched with tender sighs
swapped secrets we both shared,
you led me to the water
where taut ripples tumble clear
gave your strength to me
watched me stumble free
pledged your honesty.

Now the willow’s deftly laden
brushed with buds of burning green
and long winter’s deadness ripens
spread on banks of new beginning,
here brown river sings her stillness
as you turn to walk away,
but you’re in my heart
always stay a part
of every bright new day.