Dear Prudence

Dear Prudence


Dear Prudence

Dear Prudence

Their promises are gaunt

like strips of meat

Decaying on a line that sags

Limp in disappointment

But heavy with the drip of guilt


Yes the men of war wear medals

And yes, they glint in sunshine

The day after the dead

Whose camouflaged souls evacuate

The space where war marked hate


The men in their bow-legged victory

Swagger. So keen to shimmer

To suck respect out of reluctant souls

Who visit shame with caulked eyes

Lest tears drown the docile troops


Beware those who bestow the accolades

Their flashing lies,

a mockery of taunts

Echoing well in chambers

Haunted by blessings mis-cast


Those patrons of our common dissent

Their rants perplexing all and sundry

Let loose a litany of chants aimed, nay, targeted

to mesmerise

Those of us that would possess a vote

Another Mixed Double

Another mixed double

Mixed Doubles


I take pictures. It’s what I do. Then they sit with me. A living history. Fragments of time I have consumed, shared and stolen. It is a privilege to have these moments at my command. I don’t wish to waste or abuse them. The element of trust is implicit. I honour these people because they have shared a stage with me. These are fractions, splinters of innocence.

Those Random Fields

Those Random Fields

Those random fields


The poppies. Luscious red on stalks

In patches. Risen because memory

And a reservoir of love

Deeply held, compels us to plant

The seeds of future hope

And to mark with a beautiful stain

Acknowledgement of desperate human wrongs

That random beauty

From guerrilla planting

We savages come across

And see a whisper

A visual clue

That one hundred years ago

The moans of men

Are not forgotten in soil

Where red remembers

Passion spent

Where sentries speak

That whispered lament

So. Softly go.