Tag Archives: life




We walk at night my girl and I
and talk of life and love’s sweet ache,
beneath a silver dusted sky.

Half-summoned by the nightjar’s cry,
uncertain of which path to take,
we walk at night my girl and I,

unhook and take apart the lie,
unravel every dark mistake,
beneath a silver dusted sky.

Answers sought in every sigh,
curiosity’s thirst to slake,
we walk at night my girl and I,

discarding every alibi,
false promises we now forsake
beneath a silver dusted sky

Despite nocturnal lovers’ cry,
soft-sullen moon upon the lake,
we walk at night my girl and I
beneath a silver dusted sky.


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Filed under Poetry, Villanelle

Making It

stars 2

‘Well, you’re just going to have to make time’ ~ my Mother (and everyone else’s)


Time’s a tunnel, isn’t it?
With an escalator running through it;
the two most important events
firmly positioned at either end,
a set distance apart.

She was asking the impossible –
to make time

as if it could be crocheted;
dozens of multi-coloured minutes
neatly stitched together

or three perfect seconds
and whisked
until bigger (and fluffier)
than the sum of its parts.

Perhaps she meant for me
to garner millennia
from the skies;

meteor showers
whose components
would barely last a moment
but collectively
would leave an imprint
on the retina.

She was asking the impossible –
to make time

but I took the stairs anyway

so that I could sit on the roof
under a soft blanket of stars
and consider her request

whilst lingering over my meringue.

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Filed under Free Verse, Poetry

The Snowman


For my friend Liam

Standing between pews,
by unfamiliar pillars,
I peel back
a late night conversation
we had
about snow;

the way flakes
soften and yield
the moment they rest
upon warm flesh
leaving only a moist remnant
of their tender brush.

Three years on
I cradle
crystal memories of you
in frozen hands,
while you, pristine
in your chocolate swirled youth
into a starless October night.


Filed under Free Verse, Poetry



I dislike funerals,
but the Celt in me
loves a decent wake.

Not the
curly white
cucumber sandwiches
and cups of tea
you could stand
a corpse up in

type of wake

or the sort
that forces those
with a harrowed,
rawbone ache
to shake hands
with an averted gaze
and sympathetic shoes,

but a proper ‘do’,
a celebration
of a full-span life,
mottled with its share
of strife and scrape,
peppered with purpose
and lively liver spots,

where the skeletons
are more interesting
than the closets
and the china is chinked
like battle-scarred armour.

So, let’s skip the cemetery,
the shallow grave speech
from the unfamiliar preacher
while we pick worm-mulched mud
from beneath our nails.

Let’s save on the heating,
cut the cremation,
the lip-synching of hymns,
the scattering of ashes beneath
the sapling limbs
of a strategically placed yew.

The phoenix is a fallacy;
nothing ever rose,
scented from the pyre
but the stink of crisp skin,
the wraith of desire
as it whimpered unnoticed.

Let’s lay this body
down in the meadow,
on a table cloth
of butternut sunshine,
squashed between cordials,
bathed in a changeling breeze.

Open that bottle of Merlot
we were saving,
let it breathe the scent
of campions and daisies
that thrive
beyond the dried bouquet.

Allow the sun
to slip smoothly
down the neck of the sky,
instead of wrangling
with darkness
as it steals the day.

Unwrap our picnic of
cherished remnants
while Bacchus
opens our throats
and we lace our memories
with melodies and verse.

Let’s sleep,
arms wrapped around it
in the dewy night air,
beneath a blinking coverlet
of unknown mischief,
until it’s time to wake.

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Filed under Free Verse, Poetry

Chamber Music


Blithe metronomic music box,
soft strains propelled by pulse beneath,
spring-driven motor rotates teeth,

steel pin-encrypted comb unlocks.
In time the rime-encrusted chimes
scrape, grate and grind the cogent cogs;

stalled core harmonic slips its sheath,
its metronomic music boxed.


Filed under Octain, Poetry