Slide and Seek



A cold line of crooked teeth

against the blue horizon

are capped-white enigma’s

Remainders of a broken jaw

woven into a map


Striated flank of mountain range

Game to conquer. Level with?

So, hoisted on cables that strain toward heaven

a wind screeching to howl

amongst the twisted metal, a filigree in rare air


We, romantic gods go offering

praise on soft white loins

bared below nominated peaks

then gondolas disgorge swaddled beings

on sticks, to conquer half tamed swathes of mountain side


A world inverted, beyond vanity

it’s snow raked by wind and tides of moon

the pliant mountain flesh is strafed by

chromosomes and hieroglyphs


pulsating on selfish whims and adrenalin


Until natural forces take her back

and offer up another view.

By the Bye



The sky vibrates. It’s colour’s stretched

on winds that make




Tourists fly in capsules

enacting the selfish irony of leisure

that travel somehow

broadens the mind


We brag with foreign trophies

that our lives are full

and meaningful. Blind perhaps that we are

the forebears of extinction


Those silver fish that glint

high in super-cooled blue air

we glimpse with the gift of gravity

are shards of conscience. Pin pricks in flight


Our borrowed time is the inheritance

of us. Our genes. Our simple proclivity

to see only what’s in the frame

To stall in ignorance. The complicity of fate.

Leonard Cohen





Those gifts were not

from a solemn man

‘ You want it darker’

was a parting salvo

to those of us who loved ,

his words

and will forever be in tune

with a man who mastered melancholy

and exists now beyond the grasp

of anything that could hold him down.

He leaves within me the residue

of a man I never met but feel

I knew

He leaves me lighter

He blessed my soul

So long

You have not gone

Take this morning

Morning shot.jpg

A crow, darkly black, sits

on the red, rigid beam

of a child’s playground ride

A herald to rise

on a spell

mixing colour in the air

Sleek form glimpsed in a dazzle of blue

from the sheen on those wings

stealing away

Leaving static the surrendered plaything

for a mother to push

later in the day

To Declan. (my surgeon)

To Declan. A poem. I am gone..jpg

My shoulders rounded, I am hunched

As instructed

Facing away from a man

With sharp steel in his hand

The cold eye of that needle

Contains unsentimental fluid

Poised and loaded with the logic

That will take me away

Before long I am gone

Off into a prayer

My ignorance all wrapped

In total and utter surrender

There could be bird-song

For I am tethered to air

Or the soft parting of warm lovers lips

I am gone

Take me and render me

Your clinical skills

Your cold hearted craft

Are now beyond natural law

Good Morning

Good Morning poem..jpg

A gift of flowers

Plants packed, their petals exposed

A display of demure generosity

Lingers in gratitude

and leaves that kindest of stains

Thanks for a time shared

When no boundaries were broken

No favours asked

Just the interplay of friendship

And a hope that it may last

Outside, bright sunshine

like some heavenly tongue

has drenched the scene

With natural beauty

And in the windless quiet

each still particle proclaims

a pride in its place

And there is no doubt

No fear that judgement will be made

to sully or scar

each stitched particle

of this tableau

How wonderful

Our garden beams

in the lick of a dew.



The raucous caws of ragged, black crows

Shriek across wet fields

Their winged beat

Like the portents of sick friends

Or perhaps worse. Enemies.

But no matter. Move on

This preamble to the inevitable

Is a matter of course. Routine.

An assembly to a rag-time chorus

So who cares if it is dismal

And raining yet again. A damp curse

On this new New Year

The sun will rise

At some point

And we will regain the light

If not a full supply

That tumult

Of humour

That we might wish for