Friday, 28 July 2017

White Feather

I take a chance, no change in my pocket and it’s a who needs a parking ticket kind of day anyway? Carefree swings to cardiac panic: the queue is all in a lottery day dither. 

Hotfoot it, scan the windscreen and yes, something has been stuck to the space above the wiper - 

one white feather. 


snow in feathers and crystals 
shrouds one black rock

Friday, 21 July 2017

White Stone

The day smiles all along the battleship coast,
coats and dogs, impending Monday gloom.

Strangers thaw, 
dare to transmit
from behind insect shields.

Cold splinters -

the sea parts long bones 
from sockets.
Sea meets sand 
and the sun 

pours bottle green 
on the foam horses.

Wooden steps 
and the wind’s tricks -

mistaken mermaids 
in the dream of silent talking
the sea holly timings gone all awry…

Sounds fall 
on the white sheet of the bed.
She draws white stone from velvet.

The stone offers two choices -

the answer waits for the sun
and the next day rings true

Monday, 10 July 2017

Turn Of The Wheel

The turn of the wheel
a slight adjustment in the alignment
of a star green dial, brass cog, 
the notches increase
the white-moth glow

walls clad in pine
ooze resins and sap
curtains frail like cathedral flags

night presses close
a black blanket 
embroidered with stars

one tree,


the downhill slope begins

the wheel turns a quarter 
the wick burns
the light changes

clouds in the water
and one raindrop on one leaf

of the one tree

Monday, 3 July 2017

The Tree

The one tree, black bark, roots that can only be seen in the imagination
sealed beneath the red earth

a six petal blue flower
with a gold star pistil, and a circle of snow
in this desert landscape defies the odds,
strewn with red roses like a public outpouring
of grief - the death of someone we have never
and now never will meet and is still 
one of us because we are all one.

And there are more petals,
petals that have no colour and too many
to count, they form arches 
surrounded by gold, the gold outlines sketch
the spaces where the petals fill the void
like the festoons of red roses
where there once was a person and three
turquoise stones are placed at the foot
of the tree and three birds eat
of the fruit of the tree and the leaves
do not turn brown, here the leaves transform
from green to peacock blue and pigeon pink
and do not fall.


Morlock Oil

Morlock Oil
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The Quest Of Great Celtic Mystery

The Quest Of Great Celtic Mystery
New Chapbook Available (email for details)


Bunchgrass Press

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