Monthly Archives: November 2010


sitting at the little wooden table

eating rocket and mozzarella
and cherry vine tomatoes

we spoke of Keats
and Wilde
and others
who had shaped us

my bare legs
tangled around your waist

as we ate
and touched
and talked

l left
as the rain arrived
and wondered
if it would be
for the last time

I think of you
when I taste tomatoes





~ Posted for the Wonderful One Shot Poetry Wednesday.  Lots of delish poetry to read here One Shot Poets



Filed under Free Verse, Poetry



Come live in this cave cariad
Come dwell in this candlelit womb
Come wallow in warm, sybaritic storm
Come glister in aqueous gloom

Come cwtch in my arms cariad
Come swallow the warmth of my breast
Come feast your sighs on this ritual dance
Come gaze upon ardour undressed

Come listen to shadows cariad
Come hear their untarnished truth
Come rid yourself of your hellions
Come renounce your renegade youth

Come live in this cave cariad
Come seize the salve to your wound
Come grasp the ancient catholicon
Come revel in rapture cocooned





~  I’ve used two Welsh words in this piece that are commonly spoken even by those who speak very little Welsh. Cariad (pronounced carry-ad) means love or a term of endearment as in ‘my love’. Cwtch (pronounced cutch) means hug but the literal meaning is a safe place, so if you give someone a cwtch you are giving them a safe place.



Filed under Poetry, Quatrains

Escape Route

I know I drive too fast down country roads,

gobbling up the miles laying in between,

hurtling towards our hot hypnotic scene,

obliterating rabbits, squashing toads.

This drive to still my lust lets me careen

between the hedges and wide lorry loads;

brain scans green traffic signals like barcodes,

impatient for the moment we convene.

This rain lashed engine battery corrodes

and drowns in domesticity routine,

foot to the board, feel pistons trampoline;

sparks fly and fragile diaphragm explodes.

Envelop me in love aquamarine

that far exceeds our day’s harmonic mean.


Filed under Poetry, Sonnet



Fingers fold a sheet upon itself;

base formed, sides touching, corners turned,

returned, sharp edges smoothed,

mountains, valleys,

light and shade,

manipulated — a paper

peace crane, serene.

In time,

a geometric remnant.


Hands unfold; a bit crumpled,

a bit worn,

creased, released,

sometimes torn,

yet freed, to find

original form;

once again, a simple

single sheet.

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Filed under Free Verse, Poetry

Our Glass


Was there a clock in the room? I seem to recall
seeing one on the wall, and yet no noise,
no sound of a tick, just the rise and fall
of your chest as we fit, inside
and around, all four feet
on the ground,
while the time
went so


no tick


Was there a clock?





Posted for the wonderful One Shot Wednesday at the One Stop Poetry blog.


Filed under Free Verse, Uncategorized