Updated ‘One poem from each collection 1982 onwards’ page in menu above. Glad to have reached a milestone of 50 collections of my own poems and visuals since 1982! big kidsplaying in the playgroundmighty mighty strong, puny puny weakrunning round the playgroundplaying hide’n’seek playing in the playgroundgeting in a huffrolling round the playgroundgetting ready, rough …
Continue reading “Collection no.50 completed with new collages”
Updated ‘One poem from each collection 1982 onwards’ page in menu above. By the seaI like walking by the seawith my head in the sand.I like picking up my seashell ears to listen for freeto waves with their timpani drums and starfish band. I like getting away from everyone all aloneto be by myself to …
Continue reading “Collection no.49 completed with new collages”
My photographic excuse for soundventures into nighty nights.My wayward warrior selfishly fighting fights regardless of plights.My sweet, sleepy and reliant stargazer.My astronaut patiently waiting for the moon to retire as a hell raiser. My reason to be, my responsibility.My ears and eyes, my steadfast surprise.My guilty and abandoned.My reunited and tandomed. My stalker and stranger.My …
Was I waiting for you?Or had you already gone?Did you just miss me like a phantom phewor haunt me forever like I was the one? The older we get, the more our memories go back to childhood.The leafier nature is, the more it grows like wood.Say something and tender.You know it’s a winner and won’t ever …
New Year’s Eve fireworks explodeand shell the midnight skiesafter grammatically thicko teenage terrorists with their little bombs throwedhave already beated ear drums of jumpy elderly passer-bys into submission and into hiding. Funny how in a world claiming to want peace,the new year is seen into a planned frenzy of endless war sounds to fire ceaselesslyin …
Cesare street-bellowsabove the bells;Red wine has reddened his tonsils.His blackened lungs tarred by Camels. He’s the local lunaticaround whom stories circulate:Of a life ruined all too quick.Of a foreign legion escapade. Were his dice destined badplaying fortunes dicey game?Or did he risk all he hadwith no-one but himself to blame? Now he gobs, the gobshite …
About to go back to a torrential rain a month after 33 years agowondering why stereotypical summers didn’t last as long as autumns on a tincoastal birds swirl over cliffs down-beating down to earth in a pantomime showwith a why don’t they give me credit for doing what they wanted me to before it ended …
I live with my muse in a music box.I live like a duke in a juke box.I sit within walls of sound in my bedsit.I turn my factory 45s churning out hit after hit. Feel as close to a return paradise ticket there and backas a record player needle to a record track.As fictitiously far …
Sitting in my summer garden of an afternoonand feeling safe in my middle class mother mountain father cocoon,I daydreamed with the lawn mownand all my neighbours a silver jubilee clone. Long long later and of an afterand, once again, passed by for the Nobel prize for Literaturethere I sat in a garden, daydreaminglistening to the …
Passer-by footsteps are a beatwhile printed lyrics, straight out of a songbook,flutter on nearby window curtains over a paper street. Couples hand in hand talk of fingers in a piewhile babies in their prams deafen sighing parents as they bawl and cry.A hat on the pavement coins a musical refrain,but market forces won’t change till …
A Pretty Kettle of Poetry 