Poem: Sky Warrior


Buzzard, not the smartest of birds,
Your intelligence is in your instinct,
The lust of your programming

Euclidean geomestrist – the sky’s tawny compass,
Hunter of circles,
Shaper of predation

Inside you is a leopard,
Feathered, yet unfrantic,
Space-stabbing cries,
A sky warrior’s dialect

You have read all the lexicons,
All the grammarians of hunger,
And many scholars still worship
The cold stupidity of your fortitude

A weaponized wing,
A crow-taunting thing,
A heart-chaffing nest
To catch the clarity of spring



Poem: The Bellringers

The Peal of Bells, St. Paul's Cathedral, 1878.

The tintinnabula of faraway bells,

Bell-ringers swinging on ropes,

The suspended intestines of the universe –

Each bell a reminder of something not by

Lips, but brass, spoken


What do they say?

If you could take those resonant peals

And translate them into language,

What would they speak of?


Whispers never sang out so loudly,

Bursts of poetry, etched on sky,

A blink from the silhouette eyes

Of a peacock butterfly

But you cannot trust these fluttering tatterdemalions

Not to be slyly mystical – each time their Japanese

Door wings collide, a crash as loud as galactic timpani,

Causes all nearby auric membranes to explode

But deafness is not the start of silence,

But a gateway to a higher kind of music –

The kind of music that conjoins imagery

With sound in a startling panache of

Form-bearing lucidity, climbing out of

Of formless bath


So, ring on, bell ringers, ring on,

And once those brass hats

Fall on your heads,

Your gravestones will peal all the merrier





Poem: The Vial of The Night


I drink from the vial of the night,

Strange sips, in the groove of some

Unearthly tango, a maddening shambles

That divests me of sense’s good rhythm


And in ancient Rome, at the death of some

Great dictator, you grabbed my hand with

Great excitement, to pull me into that flowing,

Serpentine procession


But I had not changed my position:

I was still numb, numbless, purling out

In all directions for want of love – an

Ever-encroaching shore that licks the

Land, as statesmen thirst for war

And if I was on that sepulchre,

All my lovers, and those that loved me,

Would take turns kissing me,

And I would be apotheosized by their kisses –

Raised up and poured like a sandy equation

Into the vial of the night


POEM: Future Pyre


Place the fool

Upon the pyre

Who is there to know?

Who is there to understand?

I watch the last glacier melt

And the final sunset set

I watch the dolphins fail to breath

And a Frenchman finish his final baguette

Home is so far away from here

A longing that can never be quenched

I search, I find, I lose, I cry

And in disappointment I am drenched



Poem: Tumbled Wounds


Come here, my love

Let me lick the wounds

With which I afflicted you

And you can take me off the spike

On which you had me impaled

Let wounds be wounds

And scars be scars

Let wounds be a paradise

And scars be the stars

On a mutilated tomorrow

We’ll ascend to the depths

With hand nailed to hand

We’ll tumble down the steps

Poem: Moldy Love


Love is always naive

Always hopeful

Always clinging onto

The very last crumb

Of a mouldering loaf

Why ask the baker

To make you something fresh

When you’re so besotted

With this stale piece of bread?

It reeks of penicillin

And is encrusted with a venomous fluff

But still I go on

Putting it in my mouth

Hoping for a little nourishment

Hoping for another taste

Of what I threw away

POEM: Atomic Amor

love universe

The universe

Always gives me

So many kisses

Every atom

Doing its best

To smother me

With its atomic


Things might get messy –

Better get

The Cosmic Kleenex


I think I’m about

To cut loose