Confidence

His name was

No I would rather protect his identity

It could have been Kirsty or Eileen

Holly or Darren or Imogen

But it was

No everyone ought to be allowed privacy

It could have been Sarah or Alexander

David or Peggy

Yet it was he who thought

He could outwit Dara O’Brian

Small stage

Bright lights

Haze of smoke

Loud conversation

He walked on stage well enough

Smiled at the audience

Made to start talking

Then he froze

Not a word

Not a single word

Mute

Not a word

But he stood still

He stood still and firm

Still not a word

But he stood still

He stood still and firm

Someone started laughing

Then cheering began

His silence had them in fits

He turned to leave the stage

“Your go Dara” he said

With a thumbs up to the crowd

from the collection
The Curved Ball of an Artists Model
Love Encouraged By the Breakout
Available from itunes by clicking here

Arrival

It started light, windy, grey but not overcast

The sort of day no one would particularly choose to be born on

It turned into a dark blue starlit sky

With a breeze, that ruffled the sea; along the bay

Festoons of coloured lights reflected off the waves

It was the sort of peace, tranquility, and expectant joy

That absolutely everyone would have chosen to be born into

from the collection
The Curved Ball of an Artists Model
Love Encouraged By the Breakout
Available from itunes by clicking here

Be Unique

That’s it

I’ll write jokes about sheep

Dara was talking to himself in the barn

The next farm was over a hundred kilometres away

Not many farmers then to laugh at Dara’s sheep jokes 

& as a ten year old

No way to move around those lonely arable lands

Eight years later Dara heard The Beatles on his university radio

That’s it

I’ll write jokes about The Beatles

Forgetting that that was John Lennon’s job

There you have it

Dara’s job was taken already

from the collection
The Curved Ball of an Artists Model
Love Encouraged By the Breakout
Available from itunes by clicking here

Sand Dirt Girl

I stroke the drum

Stroke so softly

As though it was your lips

Where my fingers were walking

My hopes there are roaming

Soaking so slowly

To  keep there the hoping

Bemoaning the undercover of love

I hear out for the whispers

Quiet so slow as though

The door may one day open

Upon your calling voice

My thoughts there choking

Revoking so lonely

To hang on to my stone

Heart hopeless lover of love

I hunger for the aroma of flowers

Fragrant flowers

As sure as the perfume spray

Of all our yesterdays

My arms sway,

After the way your intent

Descended upon my vine

Signed itself lonesome of love

In the hour to press 

I test the taste of love

Impress the cotton on my teeth

Seethe to tear this grip of grief

My aura disturbs with disbelief

The hurt that stole the sweetness

Thereof, the neatness inside

Your secret sheaths of love

from the collection
The Curved Ball of an Artists Model
Love Encouraged By the Breakout
Available from itunes by clicking here

Happy

I take my time to wake

Escape from the work life

That I have no desire to chase

Instead to trace my fingers

Around your face

In those old photograph albums

from the collection
The Curved Ball of an Artists Model
Love Encouraged By the Breakout
Available from itunes by clicking here