Woven wire

Painted toenails the giveaway
Symbolic richness, an island castaway
Whose cymbal I once stroked lightly

Brushed with sensuous sensitivity
Tingles for the no longer single
Sweet, bright, intense of night

Danced until the moon wained
Talked through to the dawn
Excitement of acquaintance

Wake of a bright new morning
Gang-time of a breakfast
Rich stories, with secret smiles

Weekend life and weeks away
The wonder of the why
The magic about to find out

Burst visions; no more to know
Broken dreams, apart in reams
Painted toenails; rhyme not reason



a poem from the collection Painted Toenails in Nortons Grate - Love with Varnish Appplied available by clicking here

Last Time

Always on the last line
Cynicism less than sublime
Always follow the light, twist
Away from stabs in the dark

Perhaps a breakthrough
See, here I go again

Climb high in mind and mood
Fly at over thirty-thousand feet
Yet for every high spot, I
Pull on the lead lined boots

Aware that in command
The lights shine luminous through

& on this occasion there is no
Last line
See, I so nearly made it







a poem from the collection Painted Toenails in Nortons Grate - Love with Varnish Appplied
available by clicking here

Stasi

Your life as an addict - turned into the oncoming traffic
Your life with the didactic - turned into the oncoming traffic

Of addiction & art & poetry & death
Of subterfuge and sub-titles
Somewhere, somewhat more discrete

Of dictators & despots & sex & death
Of refuge and the triumph

Of reckless love over impending duty

Of imitators & writers & actors & death
Of subterfuge and sub-titles
Somewhere, sublime yet incomplete





a poem from the collection Some Trickier Poems - Love with Conflicts - available as a kindle download or library item by clicking here

Deep place mine

I do get lost
I am lost now
& this is the seventeenth time
that I have written this poem

So what is the cost
to rack and reason how
As we wake ourselves to sleep
what is between the now

And the abstinence
from the words I cannot keep
& this is the eighteenth time
that I have written this poem






a poem from the collection Some Trickier Poems - Love with Conflicts - available as a kindle download or library item by clicking here

London Bridge

I did not, do not
Want to be a suicide victim
I do not, did not
Want to be with a suicide bomber

It is of no matter
It is enough that you want her dead
Words of the play
Ring, run around, turn inside my head

Vomit on the pavement,
Fireworks in the sky
I did not, do not
Want to be a suicide victim

I do not, did no,t want to be there
For the victim of a suicide bomber
But hold my hand she said
With a dark and lonesome cry









a poem from the collection Some Trickier Poems - Love with Conflicts - available as a kindle download or library item by clicking here