Archive for the ‘ Poems ’ Category



Across the way beneath the writing on the wall

two lovers sit, having a cigarette in the waning sun.


Their fondness looks relaxed, though they talk

with lively gestures involving arm movements,


bodies turned urgently towards each other

then towards the western sky; hands flutter


the sunlight touches each silent word

touches lip’s impressions kiss the air.


Those lovers, came there, to leave moments

of vivacity, outlined in fragile script against


the night coming down. Those lovers

were there to take the edge off the omens,


to make the dreams of lovers and poets

seem real, though they never would, but,

though they never may be real

illusions are the stuff of irregular torment’s

erosive stripping of the heart and agony


hammering an anvil in the soul. So take away

the words and let me have the lovers in the sun


as a movie without sound, a mime, a painting,

a silhouette: fugitives from life, ‘star- crossed.’


bus stop shrine


a fashion shoe covered in city grime

lies lost on a bus shelter

next to the kebab shop

i see it’s desolate

colours dissolve under the oily

stains of sludge that are thrust

from the cut-price cars shrugging

their course homeward:

celebrant’s once stylish relic heaved

by barworker on epic drunken sabbatical

inaugural reliquary

for imminent pilgrims

Copper Trees.

Copper Trees.


Beneath the Copper trees

the black crows cawed

and hopped and skipped

and in Crow thought, they thought

of the dark, dead eyes of Ted –

whose poems I never really read

though urged by you who now have

your own dark, dead eyes,

so you and Ted can look at one

another and think of crows

skipping, hopping, cawing

and Iron men as well.


And in the park with the dancing crows

under the Copper trees,

schoolgirls moved through the grass

dew drop beads with early sun

mirrored on the water curves

clinging to their schoolgirl shoes;

i-pods stuffed inside their cares

and rapper songs stifling ears


life is a walk in the park

a dream in the dark

walk in the park

dream in the dark:


flat black crow

not part of the crew


sailed across the blue heaven

and I wished your eyes were bright with life

so you could tell me all about Ted’s crows,

his Iron men, and as old men we could

remember when our eyes were filled

with teenage schoolgirls rocking, twisting,

moving, dreaming, and crows were just big ugly black birds.

*      *      *


September, the land flooded with sweet light

and the mellowness of Autumn.

The fields a choir of dark green

with harvest, pale yellow

shapes and the hills curtained

in mist.