The Painting with the smudge

I remember her detail,

How she looked, how she talked to her husband,
I just stood on the pavement and cried, I’ll

Never see her again, not here,
That’s it.

Whatever came, came for a moment and then left, we were
Going to live forever.

I don’t get in touch with anyone anymore,
It scares me, the

Vast leap of events between the last meeting twenty years ago, and the ‘hello’ now,
Like a slug or snail whose antenne has grazed something unpalatable;

I’ve withdrawn.

I don’t mean to do it I don’t mean to have this strange mist shroud me, I
Feel tenuous –

Like a smudge in the corner of a pristine painting I could reach out to touch and find,

Nothing there left at all.

Published in: on April 9, 2017 at 10:59  Leave a Comment  
Tags: , , , , , ,

Pain relief

Builders will continue to build, and
White folk dumpster dive,

In the winter anyway,

In red,
And blue overalls, scavenge –

Some for profit, others fun, and I

Cannot be a predator, I
Cannot carry luggage, I

Am dying, and

Perhaps giving things away, a
book or something will relive the pain, lord

Knows I just need some pain relief and, I
Just cannot afford to hoard right now, nor pilgrimage, how

I wish I had done this earlier like,
Forgiven my lover, myself –

I’ll do it in dungarees, I am dying and I

Will give away yellow popsicles instead.

Published in: on December 31, 2016 at 20:01  Leave a Comment  
Tags: , , , , , ,

Tea-time in the sun with friends

Imagine all those who have to swallow pills;
One a day,

Everyday for every illness,
-and sometimes just

For age, they don’t

Taste good in,
Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday packets-

Bitter pharmaceuticals to make you better,

Those who do it with smiles,

And creaking bones and gorgeous flannel;

Respect their furrowed brows and dimpled cheeks, their
Trick of light, their

Twilight years,
Respect your elders now.

Published in: on December 13, 2016 at 11:50  Leave a Comment  
Tags: , , , ,

Death in a foreign land


Charge woman,

Through life, take it all away
Charge, man,

Pretty poet, write it down,
When was the last time you looked at a lover,
In the sand,

Swam with sting rays,
Over African boys asleep with pink men,

Charge woman,
Stagger drunk,

Through the cobbled streets,
Outside home,

Under the lights by the stoop,

Bring it home, that suitcase in the corner full of,
Yellowed memories,

And typewriters.

-short evocative poetry-

Published in: on March 22, 2016 at 07:34  Leave a Comment  
Tags: , , , ,



Promises are made to be broken,

Made again,
Whilst Jasmine pours,


Where God,
Is an impression, a

Asking why, if

Birds and fish and,
Creatures of all kinds,


We terrorize each other,

Even at crimson sunsets, to
Be the first to apologise, and

Stop polluting the Earth?

Picture – ♦Reuters/Daily Mail

-short evocative poetry-




We spend our days,
Getting ready for tomorrow,

Hoping the past will not catch us,
The bad eating, the saccharin juices, when

Now is the only moment, to

Love, to

Re-pack your life, forgive –

On an adventure or,
Simply state your piece,

It will be alright.

We may yet,
Save the climate.

♦photo♦ – High Museum Art of Atlanta

-short evocative poetry-

For my friends battling Cancer.

Published in: on December 14, 2015 at 23:30  Leave a Comment  
Tags: , , , , ,

Office Lover


Dreaming of;

Colorful balloons on an African plain,
Hot air rising, with

Rich people making eye contact,
Heaving brandy glasses at the bar by the salt-lick lake,

Making new friends with,
Levitating boobs or

Buoyant balls,
Out on the reef, whilst;

Putting out lurid spread-sheets,
At the office photocopier,

With Sam,
And his dark blue eyes,

Hoping buoyant balls will crack it too,
That male or female,

Cleavage wins,

That bobbing balls will sway him from the levitating boobs of Caroline in the corner,

Will bring Sam round,
With his dark blue eyes,

To dreaming of African sunsets with me.




-evocative short poetry-

Published in: on November 24, 2015 at 05:37  Leave a Comment  
Tags: , , , , , , , ,


Smorgasbord, and so

A dashboard of delights.

Supine could be;
Relaxed on a hospital bed,

Goose down,
Luxurious but bad for your back,


Sometimes current but initially,

A sister healed,
A discussion beyond Mum,

Silver hair framing,
Ice-blue eyes,

Wrinkles round a mouth;

Ripe fruit is determined by smell, and
A mango,

Will flood a kitchen with colour.

Who are you now,
Riding on the upper deck to Luton with,

The Book in your lap and,
The Wind in your hair?

Why are you a mango,
Ripe to eat?

When love is alive, or

Aroma disperses into cupboards, is
Dispensed across sofas, and

Out walking I thought,
A million dollars can change everything.

– have your wings clipped but clip them yourself,
spoof your location, so health.

Angels are born everyday.

Published in: on August 27, 2015 at 01:09  Leave a Comment  
Tags: , , , , , , ,

The sound of an African funeral


They sing for him,
Swinging from heel to frail heel,

Growing earth between ground and casket,

Bleeding love into the air
Like orchids-


They rise again
And again their gently swaying busts,

Move the air to and fro-
To and fro,

Intending that mother be comforted,

Intending that her wet eyes,
Smile at new wives; That

Though her son was gunned down, the
Rhythm of the occasion,

Brings life.

-short evocative poetry-

Published in: on August 15, 2015 at 20:22  Leave a Comment  
Tags: , , , , , , , ,

Walking with butterflies

She shifts with the breeze,
Neon white with blue streaks,

Antennae filtering blossoms,

Owning the street,
Owning the couple,

At the roundabout-

A dusty butterfly that will not let go,
Just beyond reach-

-and gently away –

You ever been a glass-wearer looking for your glasses with,
Your glasses on to begin with?

– evocative short poetry –

Published in: on August 14, 2015 at 19:33  Leave a Comment  
Tags: , , ,


He was drunk on the wheelchair,
oily, black skin,
black, greasy hair,
greasy, black overalls,

Dead drunk on the side of the road,
Wheelchair crooked up against the curb,

Head hanging off the back,
Eyes wide-open and rolled right up,

Cars swerving passed carelessly,

Was drunk,
like any other drunk on the side of the road.

Picture: Andrew Kinard, US Marine

See also: The Unknown Soldier Project, David Jay

-evocative short poetry-

Published in: on July 21, 2015 at 22:01  Leave a Comment  
Tags: , , , , , , , , , ,

Card Trick

life, cancer, poker, gambling, memories,
Dance music,
Damp heat and talk

Drifts to halcyon days of,
Seventies groove and Afro’s ruffled,

In the political funk of,
Freedom fighters and platform shoes,

Cadillac language,
Smooth and languid,

Dripping off honey colored lips like,
Melting chocolate…

It’s a card trick,
And we are mesmorised by,

Furtive glances,
Over fanned cards,

Fascinated by the sleight of hand,
And the afternoon light,

Our soft voices and loud giggles,
Caught in a trick of time,

Heavy with love and breakfast.

-evocative short poetry-

Published in: on June 21, 2015 at 17:19  Leave a Comment  
Tags: , , , ,
%d bloggers like this: