Talk your thin, fool words,
Make your feet-of-clay plans –
Both will carry,
Curse-crystal clear –
Feel the gods laughing presence,
As they position game-pieces,
Sharpen diamond teeth?

Plant your pale, flags
On maps-that aren’t;
As if they mean something,
Are terribly significant …
If it’ll help.

Conceal tribal silver
As is traditional,
With future beauties, power
And conceit
Atop the sacred rock:
Strap war-doom saddles to
Belligerent bull camels –
Time is treasure –
The star is
Always moving on.




I began, nervously, blogging in the year that is now ending. 2012. London Olympics, Royal (GB) wedding, Queen Elizabeth’s Diamond Jubilee, a year of record-rainfall in England. I knew my technological skills, determination and creativity were going to be challenged. Maybe I would need to duck out of it after a while; the ethernet waters too hot or too deep.
But I have receievd nothing but fabulous support – that’ll be from you. Really.
So …
A heart-felt thank you to my fellow travellers, companions, friendly shadows and sometime-partners who have visited, supported and kept me going in this difficult to define environment: the blogosphere.
Social networking has, without doubt, challenged the dictionary and concepts such as strangers; changing what is now meant by “friend” and I have glibly slipped into “meeting” people I have never, actually seen; that, frankly I have no idea about. I think I think I mean this in the nicest possible way … I am, after all, talking about the relationship between you and I here. I have entered spaces with inspirational writing, sometimes short and shocking, often deeply emotional, comments, commentary, discussion pieces, with images and stunning thoughts shared. I have started playing a (hopefully useful) part in something which may become known as conversation, polite and positive, criticism, thoughtful and supportive – maybe we need to coin new terms here (if so may I suggest “blonversation”* and “criti-blogging”*) … and I find myself drawn in and enjoying every moment of it.
But the truth remains we are mysteries to each other, albeit in a definitely friendly and encouraging way (I thank you for that): partners in a sense, sharing a journey to who-knows-where.
I wish you all a happy, peace-filled and adventurous (if that’s what you want – of course) new year… and I hope to “see” more of you in 2013.

*Hey, does anybody know how to patent new words ??



A fall too far,
Too far … and
Far too fast
From a wall
Too Heaven-high tall:
From butterfly belle brilliance
To double-dull

It’s rocket-rate race
From rock to ruin;
Too quick,
Too Devil-drive quick,
From pistol-shot
To tape:
From innocence
To grief.

Midnight-shock realisation;
Slipper slip
Staircase sprint
Takes little time,
Maybe none,
But it’s all
The time you had.
Before returning
To cold ashes
Once more.


The Impossible Plank

We were all pirates once,

To be sure,

Living off the rock;

Learning chords,

Where the sharks fed,

How to walk

The impossible plank.


Did the sea-change really come

So cutlass-slash suddenly –

The way one-time fierce,

Blade biting buccanneers

Tell it?

Matching the speed with which

They turned coats,

Abandoned chests,

Betrayed their crew-mates:

Becoming sulking, silent

Sunken hulks:

Old frayed ropes in

Borrowed hats.


Indeed, may it be,

As cabin-boys whisper still,

That the sea hasn’t changed

At all?


Harlequin and Columbine,
Struggle, again, with Fate:
Their opponent: a rich man,
An opera buffoon.

The masked showman builds a temple;
Worshippers when you enter here,
Pray suspend belief and prejudice.
We can travel the seas of time and culture;
Straight line distance
Can be dismissed
Before your very eyes.


What You Ought To Value

Silver ribbons

That were once rain –

Are following their

Liquid grace race,

With moon-fuelled,

Rune-serpent weight;

Throwing Thor and

Theory curves at

Gargoyle rocks,

Calendar dreams

And bleeding-wish seas.

Reflection is a path

Mortals may dare,

But read the caveat

Before you risk

What you ought to value:

Satisfaction is, necessarily, elusive;

Ignorance can be

Genuine bliss.


The Speed of Night

Ghost-like in the stage smoke,

And wailing the bonnie blues,

Voice filled with broken-glass pain,

Eyes brimming with silver-god wishes

The runaway is bleeding;

Bleeding for our pleasure – again.

This blonde is lovely-blind;

She cannot see past the

Wildheart babies with

Powder-white faces …

A way back to the top

From here, but she’ll

Sing your story –

Or any one you choose –

For money and a smile.

Don’t shatter what she has,

She’s so pure-blind,

has so little to believe in …

Please don’t tell her that

Nothing is faster than

The speed of night.