Saturday, May 26, 2007


Response to Sunday Scribblings prompt, 'simple'.

Tart apple sliced moist on the board
roasted oats, almonds in a white bowl
these few flavours old as orchards
sanctified from invisible frenzy within every crumb
carbon molecule's cake dance beneath simplicity's icing.

Sunday, May 20, 2007


Does my unaffected self
peer from within the mask
I wear to spare the neighbours
my anxiety
or to cheer a child
when I too fear the dark?
And what of other assorted masks
that ease me through the day?
When I let them all drop
is my vision slit squinted still?
Can I tell?

Sunday, May 13, 2007

Second Chance at Second Chance

Residual grit cast off by distant stars
coalesces to a quantum tome in bio script
with twist and tuck of human code
a second’s chance
in all these endless leagues of light
discrete, our tiny tick of time with
seventy times seven
second chances
time enough
ambitions lust to boast
to gloat be humbled and despair
forgive and be forgiven.

Saturday, May 12, 2007

Second Chance

Oh dear, . . . after posting this, Marion my best critic, says the poem makes no sense. I am going to have another go. I often go back in and tweak poems after first posting them, which is part of the intended use of the blog, but this one needs a major overhaul.

(I need a second chance.) :-)

The billowing stars with beards alight
emit a moment's splurge in flight
to tuck and twist a human code
a second’s chance
in quantum corridors of script
discrete, this tiny tick of time with
seventy times seven
second chances
to forgive and be forgiven.

Wednesday, May 09, 2007


Feet push pogo
stirruped to the blade
I lift a square of spade-sliced
turf, uncover shallow loam
the lighter coloured clay beneath
I start to heap
where it accumulates
the rhythm,
lift and turn
a stubborn root, I've ragged cut
a rock that interrupts
the crowbar probes, the edge
to widen and to shift
the larger stones
the sides drop showers of dust
a metre down, a little more perhaps
the crowbar rings a sharper note
the rocky bed presents, exposed.

This satisfying empty space
so elemental simple
so soon resolved
in spade-work and in sweat
in crumbled debris cone, in whole.

Monday, May 07, 2007

Road Food

I have topped my plate with fare
from Savannah to Bel Aire
and there are specialities I know
I've yet to taste, but still,
I have partaken well.

I have never sampled Rome
savoured frescoes under domes
perhaps one day I will.
But I've already broken bread
on another hill instead
in Jerusalem
ah, Jerusalem.

Saturday, May 05, 2007

Twice Made Fish

(Response to Sunday Scribblings prompt, 'Ocean')

God prepared me first to be
inhabitant of stream and sea.
The second time oh glory, see
what shore-side breakfast set me free
to nourish and remind all men
that God took flesh
and tastes with them
the food and drink that men enjoy
in body death does not destroy.

"...he showed them his hands and his feet.
And while they still disbelieved for joy and were marveling, he said to them, 'Have you anything here to eat?' They gave him a piece of broiled fish,and he took it and ate before them." Luke 24: 40-42

"When they got out on land, they saw a charcoal fire in place, with fish laid out on it, and bread. Jesus said to them, 'Bring some of the fish that you have just caught.'" John 21:9-10

Friday, May 04, 2007

hot new fantasy

Quid and Harmony - a page turner. This is a shameless plug for my brother-in-law's first fantasy fiction now at the printers. Read the first few chapters on his website. Better still he is donating profits to the Fistula Hospital in Ethiopia.

Wednesday, May 02, 2007

Charity Check

We have full
circle round us creeds
that urge for selfless deeds
of hoops to jump, appeasement works
to do on earth to show our worth.

But I from birth am full of self
too crippled for the hoops and merit-poor
uncertain of my balance score.

Proud people turn down charity.
But what if in the end
charity is all we have? all there is?
What if available to me is
only bounteous, generous
love-of-God charity? What then?
Will I be taken in?

Tuesday, May 01, 2007

Among the Ruins

The crowbar fell across the wide lip bowl.
Something shattered when we got the call,
Clara Gregory has hung herself, poor soul.

A heft of dolorite too large to roll,
is sweated to a place up in the wall.
I dropped the crowbar on our wide lip bowl.

A much anticipated week unfolds:
Seth & Emily fly in to rest away from city sprawl.
Clara Gregory has hung herself, poor soul.

A native hen turns from her haste across the road
alarmed by the chick which flaps and flutters where it falls.
A crowbar fell across the wide lip bowl.

So swift afoot, so rarely road-kill toll.
Emily half turns a stifled cry, appalled.
Clara Gregory has hung herself, poor soul.

A broken wounded world cannot, thank God, forestall
embrace of friend & family though shadowed by the Fall.
A crowbar fell across the wide lip bowl.
Clara Gregory has hung herself, poor soul.