poetry (as policy)

some nights I could write for hours to save the world this night I've only got five minutes dinner's nearly cooked and I've drunk a little wine so what to say I wish I just wish that poetry was policy I wish a declamation made in parliament was a poem and I wish that listening …

and smoke and smolder

he came searching for a drink not really so very much to seek cola lemonade orange juice even water in a glass if it came to it any store on the street could surely have obliged him but one by one slightly ahead of him as he walked they each shut their doors drew the …

the accident of the kitchen sponge

he held in his hand a sponge a very good sponge shaped square colored yellow kept on a shelf beneath the sink in the kitchen he applied an edge just an edge to an overflow an accidental spillage of coffee sloshed from his cup to the table he was careless the sponge did its work …

Margin Poem

the poems of my people (yes, sometimes even dwellers of the realm of nowhere may, by accident of fate or destiny, find each other) hold the lyric of loss and speak in terms of sorrow for we are at the margin of belonging joys that flit touch deeply through awareness of their transience while laughter …

pivot

Poem #277 from a series of poems drawn from the imagination and collected as: a Bachelard reverie. Back to Bachelard and me – Introduction I am of the ascending flame the fire rises from within me when I skip away so lithely to the left the flame skips also rightwards yellow sits above my blue red …

the poet contemplates todays destiny

Poem #213 from a series of poems drawn from the imagination and collected as: a Bachelard reverie. Back to Bachelard and me – Introduction today the poet makes his mark makes a universe appear brand new this time there are clouds filled with pinpoint lights a nursery of stars a nebula of endless tomorrows endless dimensions …

stolen moon

I stole the moon tonight it wasn’t doing any harm nor some special good but I saw a chance and took it grasped with both my hands then away under my jacket the sky still seems full of stars and I couldn’t even claim that it’s become more dark just not so light not the …

carnevale

Poem #204 from a series of poems drawn from the imagination and collected as: a Bachelard reverie. Back to Bachelard and me – Introduction dressed as epiphany he juggled colours in the air across between under and over they wove like ribbons of light into figures of eight and into bows and once into his name …

A Sentence?

Your stockings have a sheen, when clinging to the legs that grace high heeled pumps carrying you to places I cannot go in all the hours of following your adventures from a recess of my mind, so full of cluttered meanderings that take me, at odd moments, into novel ideas and hidden vaults of thought …

predator

  you’re a predator the tone was vehement voice trembling you prey on people like me single mothers vulnerable you think it's ok just seduce and then piss off at a hint of involvement a fucking predator he held her while she sobbed into his shoulder wondered: am I? is that what I do? thought …