Realism (Not Magic)

I sit on a curved bench

Look towards the turbine hall

Listen to the echoed screams

Of a solitary child, set free to roam

I will take this home

Insert quite a pause, just here

Afterwards, to reflect

Upon a passage of my life

Ever so definitely finally closed

At the dark end of the chamber

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

Infinitely Small Spaces

I queue for Kusama

Take time out

To be covered in spots

With the force of Tsunami

Tales of a bedroom

Without a door

A viral army of incidental notes

Lumps in the throat

Your love moved on

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

Wait & Wake

The woman who our intuition tells us will 

look back, and who never actually existed

Pessoa

All those words of tight black dresses

As he drifts into other consciousness

Cars that roll down hills

To cross the stream at the forge

In another room 

The boy sleeps

Utters tired words on being woken

All denominations are here

Thousands of untold dreams

Sit at the breakfast tables

For the writer it is the time to wait

Luxuriate in her hurtful absence

Selfless of his own existence

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

Room 309

I have bathed
I listened to the sweet violin
I have read a little of Fernando Pessoa

If I was to call it sadness
Would I have to waiver more clear
If I was to call it peace
Would you crave at the veneer

That I can say it is tiredness
Is that a dearer message to wire
For do we not all feel tired
With much of life still to acquire



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

Given Words

I cannot read

More than one page at a time

The concentration is not with me

Instead I look east, or west

To blue grey skies

To pink and golden sunsets

Further south, small fluffy clouds

Wisps of joy for my feeble mind

Through the flat fields of East England

Farmlands; diggers dig new ditches

Beyond the grain store a smokestack

Beyond the straw bales a chapel

Our shadows speed over the stubble

Dusks gentle conversation is calming

The sun on the last day she gave me

Hope that there will always be hope

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