To Devour the Moon.

There is, apparently a legend that predicts

That, sometime soon, the lunatics,

Released from wasp-paper grey cells

Will endeavour to devour the orange-moon,

Swallow it whole, tear its

Changing face to tiny shreds, Continue reading

One for Sorrow.

Was my salute really so poor

That the black-and-white

Felt able to betray me so,

So completely?

Seven flights of seven steps

To bow, trembling,

Before my judgement god.

The desert lords,

Who own the water,

Will have the final word;

Name me




A title that will

March with me

Into eternity.

(Jerash, Jordan)


“Lonely am I …”

“Lonely am I …”

Sobbed the wolf,

“This cold is persistent;

Bites like a legend!”


“I am bigger

Than mere winter,”

Riverstone moon replies.

“We both understand

Loneliness is a choice

We make for ourselves,

Because we relish

The torment.”



Down the long, wide

Sky-horse plough rides,

From one past to another,

Demon-slow and angel-fast,

Droughtbreaker comes:


On electric-jagged legs

Singing thunder,

Bruising heaven.


Big traffic is

On the hoard roads;

I hear the cries of

Passing geese,

But belles will laugh,

Will curtsey and tumble

Before dawn.

And, rest assured,

Full moon will settle

The millpond surface again.