Belong to ‘hap’



a carried corpse

a life-long load

the woe of the muddled mind

half filled with slag

no light, no hope


Ah, banish that

Corners can be turned

The moon, elastic orb of lunar swellings

can cast milky light on doubts

We can emerge from grime

Swim out into the juice of hope


The ineluctable tremor

of passion

can overwhelm the bleak

and lengthening shadow of despair

The slap and tickle of mirth

revivifying contained, stale air


Exhume the hope

from wet leaves smudged beneath

your walking feet

All around the air and scenery frets

for us

to entertain the view.

A cup of tea

A cup of tea

A cup of tea

I salute the deep swells

Of an ocean that rolls

It’s hunger audible. Sucking. Heaving.

The breath, then the rasp of shingle

Dragged across the palate

That moment of calm, when

I imagine the stomach is full


Before another lunge below the moon

Announces gravity will not wait

And sailors bob on waves

Duty bound, flung in a dance

A flamenco of spray and romance

And me,

So far in land that this

May or may not be happening

But it matters not

Because it satisfies my minds eye.

Another Caught Thought

Canvey Island 1929

Canvey Island 1929

Another Caught Thought

I am constrained by silence

And the echoes of my past

That bounce and shimmer

Without form. Timid. Irresolute

Bounded round by a clutch

Of anxieties

I stammer. Falter

Giddy in my resonance of ideas

Always looking for a quiet place

The place where I am absorbed

Wholly lost

From whence I can fly




A school report

An old photograph

The origins of my history

Are witnesses

But no final proof

Simply windows to a soul

That shares the fears

And hopes of all the eyes

A quiet moment

Can fill with hope

Or despair

But remember

I am the remnant

Of then

The spark of now

A rider of the casual beast




The weights of life

Would be. Could be

If only I

Were true

To you

Not mine

Not mine

Not mine

A rubble strewn sky

Diaphanous white handkerchiefs

Wind-blown. Shambling

Against the blue of hope and space

That forms a shroud for us

Not just to me

That aching distance

Has always been a dream

And conciousness is gravity

In our high-blown minds

That are anchored here. On the ground

Not just mine

The last thought

Before taking action

May be fatal

May be an inspiration

May be an epiphany

Not just to me


Photograph to illustrate poem, 'Splinters'

St Bartholomews Church, Smithfields, London.



I would do something today

Like explode a myth

Or put air around a tired thought

And smile from ear to ear

In a public space


Oh yes, I would

And be generally, emphatically, me

This denizen, this soul

A growing remembrance

Of a life more or less explored


I would

And be less confused

More playful

More generous

Just once



This blank page is like a day

Full of atoms that may break

Ignite or fall away

Knock on wood.

All souls alert


All souls alert 

Man down

In a careless thought

The breach was found

Fractions measure


Lost and bound


So mistakes made

In an instant

Will compound


All future movement

The best endeavours

Lost in cloud


Vague memories

Mourn false hope

So cling. Hold fast


To instinct

Best laid plans

And magic


For peace resides

In the simple

In clarity


Not in a mind that’s closed

But in the yearning space

Where love resides