The man who stole my heart I've met, loved and lost some incredibly beautiful people in my life; something that goes with the territory of having a terminal illness. But that's the map of life. You love and you lose. You fall down and you get up again. Not long ago, I met a friend's … Continue reading The man who stole my heart
As promised, here is the link to my poem in the latest Cordite Poetry Review. Cordite's guest poetry editor for 'Interlocutor' is prolifically gifted poet Libby Hart, who has been extensively published. Add poetry prizes, grants, fellowships and residencies to the mix and you can gather some idea of Libby's handsome collection of writing. Here … Continue reading Poem in Cordite Poetry Review
Do you remember dashing through sheaves of pampas grass until we were in that breathless light? Milling through the darkness with frayed hope; our hands still with pallid knuckles of rural decay. An umbilical tug of energy – tender and unsettling. We passed bridges like blood lines where ducks freckled the water plain, gliding and … Continue reading together
I want to find a body; learn it like a map. Bones, skin, veins - all leading to a midpoint, with a laconic walk to the core on a trail nobody knows about. The elegant curvature of clavicles pushing through skin then a dutiful SNAP. Common chunks of bone, hanging with meniscus and snapped nerves … Continue reading a fine education
You've seen the house built and you've seen it torn down. Then you saw your daughter drown. Knitting your air with misplaced fear you roll in the water like jellyfish, screaming at the wall, trying to manipulate currency with a fist in your mouth.
We sleep with our own derision stalking upon sleight of penitence. A troubadour buckles down, trapping a moorhen - strangling it then unfurling its wings as one would lay out the wings of a Ulysses butterfly. He sidesteps a flannel flower, pushing through dense backwoods. His face rubicund, belly just as stout; the bird’s … Continue reading Mutiny in a backwood
Refusing to cry for your past I try to usher you into a softer place. Falling like confetti out of happy hands, you stop, drop and claw at the ground like you’ve lost something precious. Dipping back into that wound, a blanket of goose bumps as big as horns cover my shinning bones but … Continue reading Redemption poem
Reaching for the wind in the branches, tickles fingertips like a feather on your thigh. In the water, you plumb the sea for cloaks of stingrays - the ripples cradling your body. You lay there until your feet and hands looked like crumpled paper, body a breathing corpse having been diving for coins like a … Continue reading where this has nothing to do with me
Birds fly low their beaks tilted upward as though they are the elite.
Long tufts of mangroves wind down river. Gossamer city with its sheeting rain.