I Love Women

For International Women’s Day today – I give you this celebration of women.

From Bath to Cork with baby Grace

I love women

I admire women
I am jealous of women

I am enriched by women
I have been saved by women

I love the shape of women
… the flaws of women

I am infuriated by women
I love cooking for women

I am irritated by women
I despair of women

I am tickled by women
I write for women

Women have made me a man.

View original post

Am I the only one?


I was killed at school.

The bullets hit me somewhere

in the eye, ear, nose & throat,

maybe through my heart.

I didn’t feel a thing

pierce my umbilical pipeline.

I guess my mother’s blood gushed.

Maybe she hadn’t decided what she’d do with me.

All that ammunition …

Cartridges for crucifixions

Explosions of extreme unction

A Hell of Heaven

I imagine the bard broken.

I was gone within a heartbeat, snuffed out.

Was I the only one?


I was elected at home.

The votes cost me

a bank balance weighed with wishes.

I keep eyes, ears, nostrils, speeches primed.

I feel throbbing hearts,

invocations of investors …

shareholders sighing like furnace …

I am a political animal,

I stand to attention for the last post

in association with my brothers-in-arms,

with every voter who craves the right to shoot,

to the grave.

I’ve earned the money to pursue the sins of the Senate,

the hustings of the House.

I’ve paid the price

Am I the only one?


I am the gun that shot the child

in many places.

I have an owner.

A kind, gentle, considerate, generous, careful citizen.

An emotionally retarded, psychotic, neglected, deprived, abused, vengeful

collector of beauties.

My barrel gleams.

I am an automatic obliterator,

my owner is a dead shot,

proud, defender of the faith of our fathers,


lover of fire & brimstone.

I love my owner.

Am I the only one?


(17 February 2018 – in honour of 17 humans massacred in Florida – 14 students + 3 faculty members)

Martin Luther King

January 15, 1929 – April 4, 1968

I wish that I could sing
a song so strong
your dream would seemGcPwvo98NRgoMKk1ndyLpeyJ

to have returned to life
on streets
where blackbirds thrill
and arms are bent
against the ring of a call to prayer.

You sit on the right side of an angel’s wing

You rise with horned larks
across farmlands, prairies, deserts, and golf courses.

I have a song
that waits to be sung
the day a choir is born
surrounded by mixed fruits,
blackcurrants, redberries, dark chocolates, and meringues.

Martin Luther King
you’ve never slept,
always an eye forever,
a tooth ready for the call,
ready for the Promised Land.

In defence of unhappiness

In defence of unhappiness

“Happiness is a warm gun” – John Lennon

As the cuckoo grabbed a nest
and crushed eggs to death
blackbirds sang

As hurricane winds blasted
and tree trunks fell
wood beetles sang

As mayflies starved and died
exhausted swarms collapsed
hover of trout smiled

As meteor crashed to Earth
the sun went black
jellyfish smiled

As serfs and slaves revolted
blue blood was spilt
beheaders sang

As Job tasted pestilence
a hunger reigned
Almighty sang

As foetus died stillborn death
a mother wept
a hope was born.


Note: Audio recording is here https://anchor.fm/e/993838?at=1085154

After Sunday

‘It’s hard

to start…’


After Sunday

A roll of the dice 

A cut of the cards


Night and Day

rolled into one

Background & Hinterland.

Did Elvis chant

‘Let’s Strip You Bare’?

Music & Musaque 

‘ Where have all the jute-boxes gone?’


What’s your poison?

Your cocktail?

Your justification?

To be sure,

none of us expected you to order

“Massacre on the Rocks”.

No parrot sang

“Pretty Polly

Off your trolly

No folly

Pretty Polly


Police officer


Local government employee

A couple of Canadians

With his fiancé 

A very good mother

Heavy-duty mechanic apprentice

Maple Ridge

Big Sandy







Pompeii on the Strip


‘I won’t be right

until I’ve written 

– even then

I won’t be right.

I lost my heart in Vegas



Nobody but you

There are too many bloody good people around
They make me sick with their good intentions
Puke with Generosity
Retch with Universal Love
Angels cast in vomit.

Too many spirits carry the burden of pain
– as if one snake’s venom was bedfellow
to a reptilian Collective Conscience.
Give me the fiery “Go fuck your trouble

Stop feeling for me.
Cut out the empathy surrogacy.
Drown in your trade-marked tears.
Do something for yourself.
Go walk your own mile.

Go be nobody but you.
Isn’t it hard enough to live one life

than to be mother to another?