To Claudia and Lisa, ( and I could ask for more). Lisbon 2016.


Don’t ask for more.

October sun. Shadows.

Dark fingers witness

the patterns light plays

As I sit naked

with a breeze stroking my flesh

a seagull’s distant screech

and sounds from the street

rise up in music

to colour the air

concealing those foreign vowels

A casual complicity for the traveller

Me on a narrow balcony

four floors up

could be Soho

but this is Lisbon

Below a man clean’s his car

It’s sunday

Outside. Basking. Outrageous

And I could ask for more

Invisible across the tiled horizon

the Tagus is broad and easily able

to carry me on spikes of white light that dance

A playful icing on the world’s shared sea

An old tram powered by a rickety digit

to wires overhead

clatters on narrow tiled streets

that have lain and listened

to hooves and feet and secrets over centuries

absorbing the heat

The wild ego’s in flight vainly competing

against an inevitable fate

clutched in shared space

So passengers are forced to adopt

a humble pose for transit. For experience

To experience the exotic, the foreign

A morsel to remember for sharing when home

When all the tongues share vowels

that conjure sense from excited air

Back home to boast

of where we were

I really shouldn’t ask for more.

Another smile

Another SmileWhat fun it is

To run amok


With naked thoughts

And fire


Friendly rockets

Out into space


Imagining all targets

Are worthy causes


And smother them

In compassionate flames


Render them

Surprised to find


A rose petalled spring

Where volleys of words


Crash peacefully

All around the cowering forms


That live in fear

Without a blanket of hope



The first smile

There is no new

So early in March


How right it is to stride across

The past. Into another season


With sap rising

In the lengthening light


Hope will tug at opportunity

So strike a pose


Walk with purpose

Ignore that porpoise


We can be funny

Covered in honey


Alluring to

A sweet-toothed muse


Revel in your status

As a simpleton


A chocolate covered minstrel

Aiming to amuse


Pucker the lips



Create the laughter lines

And let age construct


The ridged framework

Of a happy man