Chasing …


Riding wheels

Down the long-black stripe

Between jigsaw piece landscapes:

Edges, broken greens.

Me usually on

The right-wrong side

Of the white line

Chasing changing numbers:

Broken flashing arrow

On a tiny screen.

Making the

Over-and-over mistake again?

Thinking today

Is tomorrow,


If I will

Ever learn



Held up by a red light;

Frustrated and at end-tether point

He fidgets, restless,

Tense hands full of tomorrow carpet,

Head packed with plans and deadlines.

On the other side of

The fat-tar, busy river

She lingers, placid,

Unhurried by clocks;

Head in a good space

Ears hanging on to

The dizzying music of stars.

He chooses not

To see her,

She doesn’t even

Realise he’s there.

The Right Masks

Fallen bottle is empty,

The galleon  intact, but inverted.

I’m damned in public again:

Without clothes,

Short of good words;

The pierrot-priest

Wears a cartoon-policeman’s face,

Passengers on the moonbridge express,

While refusing to acknowledge

Each other’s existence,

Join together to laugh,

Soundlessly, at me.

“Far from home!” the penguin cries,

Rocking gently cowboy,

King of the silver horses, sighs.

If we can survive these lows,

These lies,

Find our own masks –

We may all

Be good people again.


Shadows and Motley

That miniscule, gem-precious moment,

When the present isn’t yet history,

When today is not quite yesterday

But not quite turned –

As it must – into tomorrow;

Continue reading


Put your faith in
The blind life-savers
In distinctive yellow jacket uniforms;
In the rainbow evolutions,
The status queue,
Purple’s endless revolutions;
Those who cross the lines for us
Every week:
In today, first;
Then tomorrow.


The High, Distant Places.

Orchard-fresh apples

Golden in the tree crown;

Set-aside chess pieces.

Learning to walk with crutches

So I can be without them.

Never wanted to be old;

It was always something that could

Wait until tomorrow,

Never did the counting thing,

The adding-up calculator game …


But the green bleeds

Insidiously into the grey.

So late we go, into

The high, distant places.