The Helmsman’s Hood

The biggest truth was
The first one we lost;
Oh so casually –
The first of many that,
Even now, are
Slipdripping through our
Ignorant, care-nothing fingers.
We mend the irrelevant barricades
(Too foolish late),
The nets, bait the
Big, hopeful hooks with
Embroidered versions of our histories.
The helmsman’s hood is filled
With gracefully spinning stars and wheels;
The captain keeps a useless log.
“Lack of knowledge is
Lack of power …”
Masthead albatross, feckless,
Greedy wide-winged messenger
From the long-dark night
Is fond of chanting.
“Lack of knowledge …”
Do we blindly believe again –
Or open our hearts?


Estoril Too

Full combat balance:

Poise and pose-grace,



Racing cats;

Will growl,

Will roar,

Will tussle,

Will spit and purr,

Will force sleek-fork shoulders,

Brave riders, adrenaline-engined hearts

Against all the limits;

Will lock elbows,

Fall, spin;


To the white line:

Spirit, glory and dreams!