Boys smell good, have smooth bodies

to run your fingers over


& when boys love you, its early morning sunshine

with no clouds.


Boy’s 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

sex is always 2.a.m 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.



Street corner

Poems from  Love Bites 2016 buy here


Crossing from Battersea

brown bottled river;

you going North, me trudging South

our fingers stretched to elastic

our footsteps sticky as we pull apart.


Your kisses always taste

like sunshine, light a fire

to steam London drizzle

into Rome twilight.


Our words paint pictures

in the air, I see you watch

my lips move:

imagining the taste of the sentences

swallowing my song.


You’ve watched me slide

through another’s fingers

noted the curves I’ve inspired,

only another pair of brown

anonymous eyes.


Light grows a minute a day

this time of year

and our kisses on street corners

grow pink blossom in January,

while sun meanders scantily.


We remember no huge


yet forever is where,

we always reside.


Ultramarine [January]




From Ultramarine.

Buy here 


Cocooned in seal bliss bed curling warmth,

earth coated wedding dress white

grass contorted, trees jangling stalactites

far down beneath in dark concealing peace

worms spin their lonely journey.


Snow is no soft option as the griping

cold turns breath to smoke, dragons

in my heart whip and churn cry out

for recognition: the city is a still gown

of feathers in the frost.


Bright eyed children wipe frozen fingers

I have reached saturation, rising from dream seas

contorted glaciers of my mind’s synapses

snap bridges shut I’m washed by ice flows

glinting on moon dulled landscapes.


Breath turns as ultramarine becomes black

mind replays symbols:


Childhood taught me the need for ritual for the living, mourners hung in white robes, incense trailing pungent smoke, clashing symbols and then voices raised in grief’s cry. There was so much heat on those fervent tropical streets while children threw small candy to appease threatening deities. We would raid Chinese graveyards at half-light, swimming the monsoon’d alleyways to retrieve jangled treasure, crumpled photos of deceased Buddha’s left to protect, no sooner owned than somehow shrinking in stature. Sitting high on flat porch roof watching Ramadan’s procession, men with knives stuck through tongues, beating drums, chanting priests, swaying of naked bodies, and we knew they were bound for the snake temple, the creatures a slithering mass of poison the opiated faithful crawled amongst.

We sucked florid ice cubes daring each other to jump, fly the forty foot from sky to concrete, until I, trying out my seven-year-old flirtations egged the boy next door to his doom. We watched him fly, then crash, and later drew dragons on his plaster cast taking it in turns to knitting needle the itching.  Amah’s clattered in the crowds below calling errant children as we surveyed the crush in safe serenity.


Here on this seal morning it is the lack of heat that drives me down deep my hands stiff like my wisteria, gaunt and crusted with Northern winter.












of destiny:


you swim



sea – salt



as thin

as wisp


of fairy cloth.


I spun you

in my sleep


grew your

sea shell







I gift you

a life


of raindrop







of my










The weeks



like decades:


leaves fall

& sky shrinks


to blanket grey.


A last pink rose



holds her

lovely head,


as if to say,


‘Winter is forgotten.’



the word


sends icicle


down my spine,

as the sharp crack


of ice,

opens pond.


These are

sea days:



salty bath


of creation.


Fragile, naked





until spring

gathers warmth


& we



pure gold.


Dogs moan

& the donkey




the nightingale

has flown,


from the four

corners of the




prayer call



No water

heat on heat


the tourist

buses prowl


the King’s Highway.


Tri coloured

flag, Bedouin


& their tea,


Hubble bubble

pipe smokes


at coffee

corner café.


I’m alive

in the Dead Sea


salt encrusted

Angels pose


dressed in

black mud.


Red desert

sand like Mars


a vast sea

of nothing:


wind carries

jackal’s cry


wolf prints

at breakfast


round supper

fire strums


the whine

of alien



Time lapse


My body’s here

but my mind


is on the road

to Aqaba,


lost in a

dust storm


where the Jordan

knife -cuts


across the Holy Land.


Jordan, Palestine,

same blood,


ground bone.


My body’s here

but my heart rests


at Mount Nebo,


time stood still

reversed the years


Moses & the Israelites,

countless prayers


have left impression

in the breeze,


sacred, emanation.


My body’s here

my spirit  stayed


in Petra, where

dead talk in




their carvings

soar,  glow gold


at sunset.


My body’s here

my soul is in


the desert;


a ceiling of stars

wind howls in Wadi


& the sand smacks

my cheek


galloping deep

into nothingness.






City of

the dead




rose sand:

Bedouin like


lost pirates,

kohl lined




cries that

split the


thin air.


I was lost

to myself


until I

climbed like


mountain goat;



eagle spun

on anabatic




Yalla, yalla,

young boys


beat donkey’s



wind whipped:


& I


endorphin high,



on the edge,

leaning into


my own void.