love, poetry, women



Ask me something

About myself

Something complex and personal

I’m not carrying baggage

Past my allowance

But sometimes

I just want to feel

I’m not invisible


A cuddly toy who sits bitter watches

Ask me



beauty, love, poetry, women

Warm night

A string of lights

Coiled like DNA of angels

Warm night

And she’s upstairs having a bath


Something complex and syncopated


Playing on the computer

Because who listens to a stereo anymore?

but I’ve a mind to turn it off

Listen to the moment breathe instead

And a hard week behind me

Another ahead

But this chair is firm under me

And I need so little to be happy

(That joke writes itself

I am sure)

Still, on call,

And do it without complaint

Different with her,

And even the flaws serve as good


The sound of her footsteps

On the stairs

Putting the kettle on

Book closes

Opens again


With polite company

The blithe roll of days

Stuck in the game as well

As you can be

Does it hurt to be you?

How quickly we have defeated ourselves

Unwashed plates,

In the sinks of our souls,

Looked outside and saw you

Dragging your suitcase to the lawn

One way or another

We are all leaving and packing,

Sometimes in a hurry

But the aim of consciousness

Without conception,

Is a step ahead,

And if it helps you

Remember those whose lives are spent forever,

Sat with polite company

Waiting rooms

Bus stations

And never getting to see anyone

Go anywhere

But I’ve got a book and I’ll risk

A conversation with a stranger




beauty, love, masculinity, poetry, women

Whether dream

Streets turned to mirrors

Marking time with cigarettes

And in my head

I’m twisting you to points of

Sublime, complicated pleasure

Being smart is sometimes

As much a burden as being aroused

The world mocks the man

Who owns himself



But my kisses are sweet

And before the world calls me


One last kiss

Whether dream

Whether real

To send us off

To whatever comes



Stephanies Son

I’m Stephanies son

Not Brendon

Or Brian

Nor Frank

But her son

And also Brians grandson

Tim’s nephew

Once I was Patsys husband

And I’ll always be

Harley And Scarletts dad

And amidst all those names

Some part of me

Remains apart

Hoping someone will see

If I could fix myself

But, sometimes I wonder

If it’s too late for me

And in the most eloquent

Expressions of anxiety

If one day she’s going to be bored

Of me

But nameless and faceless

I still reach out

Take my hand and tell me

I’m not invisible

love, masculinity, poetry

Strings of light and shadow

There are moments

Hung suspended

A string of lights

Still lit,

Long past the season,

A few bulbs, dead with time

But sat there,

Bathed in a carnival of light,

All festive colours

Even the cheer has a dim memory,

But the shadows matter as much

As the light they oppose,

And between them both

I sit

And hold your hand