That foreign place, 
Those foreign faces,
Reflected in your mirror.
Recoiling from that future light,
Finding solace in your own midlight,
The answer, if you dare, is there.

This brilliant love tanka

This brilliant love

Courageously simple

Fired with energy

Tempered with play and laughter

We dare to reach for the stars

It’s what I wrote (to a son)

for all you saw of me,
all the laughter,
the tears ,
even the venom.
for everything I presented to you,
you may never know the complexities,
or the simplicities.
through your own reactions you’ll see whispers,
but that’s like smoke in mist,
lost too quick.
you will, however, know me by my works,
scattered in the annals,
scattered into folk memory and tongue,
replicated countless times,
adapted in countless ways.
my words and voice have had an impact.
through the most utilitarian of output,
lost of my name
and no longer the same.
I will murmur on,
outliving most.
in the lexicon lives my ghost.

The Wondrous Tree (for a Christmas Card 2013)

Whatever you think about Chrisrtmas,
Throw away any naysay,
Place your materialism into the ground,
Cast aside the inaction that precedes the day.
Although people party late,
We’ll ignore the disorder and laugh at the puerile.

And atop the tree sits an angel,
Or a star: a symbol.
And at its feet, in a child’s eyes, it’s remarkable.
The child fascinated in excited wonderment,
Never to remember the rapture of it:
That first Christmas Tree.

But with realization comes knowledge in what follows.
Following the appearance of this woody monument,
That smells not of the forest in which it stood,
But of Christmas and of promise.

A temporary tower conjuring images,
Under which children rip at presents,
And where men and women are taken back,
Where momentarily none hide their delight,
Until the last festive tree enters memory.

And that angel or star: a symbol,
Speaks to some of a return. To me a rerun,
Of a joyous, wondrous continuity,
Witnessed under the Christmas Tree.

The Student Weekend

Back home the weekend guards the week
And with questions to answer you got past them
Sure, you learned your lessons, studied hard or didn’t
But know this:
Whatever they’ve taught you to date is worthless
You’ve graduated from your old existence
And it’s brought you today to this instance
To where you’ve become part of the student underground
Part of the resistance
Part of the mob that’s insistin’
That if life’s yours for the taking
There’s going to be a party
And you’re not going to miss it
You’ll make friends for life
Meet people you’d never meet
Fall to your feet when you’ve had too much
To be picked up in a shower of laughter
And thereafter you’ll see things you’ve only dreamt about
See the rules are there to flout
Go on many a walkabout
Dance in the streets at the dead of night
Strobe lights burnt into your memory
Together with foam parties
Short skirts, stained shirts, rubbish flirts
And although some mornings might hurt
The nights always follow on after
And you’ll keep going
The weekends won’t be the end of the week
Your weekends don’t have to end
They’ll blend into Mondays and Tuesdays
You can start before Wednesdays or Thursdays
Because these days are your time
Because your star’s got its shine
Show the world you’re brilliant
Make your experience relevant
You’re in your element
In your prime
So have the time of your life
Because these are the days that really matter
And when all the clatter of student life is done
There’s one thing you’ll remember:
Weekends Matter.

And they will walk in your shade

You will walk in the breath of giants,
Where only angels dare to soar.

And whilst turning your eyes to heaven,
You’ll dance with the devils below.

All creation will know your name,
For it will be uttered with the revered.

And when you cast a shadow,
Great men will walk in the shade.


Fatherhood is like the sparks from the undercarriage of a subway train
Hinting of power whilst conjuring fear.
Fatherhood is like the sound of thunder where no lightening appears,
Majestic, warmth.
Fatherhood is like dancing through a sudden snowfall
Enveloping where new light glints,
When chilling realities transform into miraculous merriment.
Fatherhood is like the devil in me,
Mockingly reflected back in a fleshy mirror.
Fatherhood is the kisses that the boy wipes clean,
Given freely and taken back with impish glee.
Fatherhood is everything I’ve come to be,
Wrapped in a blanket of this loving family.
But fatherhood is a magician’s trick,
Practiced for an age,
Where a pedestal is raised from life’s grim dirt,
Where a man exudes the strength of polished bronze,
A perfect mirage of exemplary masculinity,
With the knowledge that when as equals they meet,
To his feet this sandy dirt will fall,
And with it the death of a man,
For in my eyes, he’ll see a boy.

Dark eyes

What underlies these terrible eyes,
That greet me when I wake?
Panda eyed,
boy denied,
Look upon yourself.

Fate the cruel clock ticks,
hearing its heavy hammer hit,
like a second hand counting down:
days crash by,
Creeping up on me,
this premonitious destiny.

Dark eyes of an addict,
In public people stare,
Implicit questions there,
Their distance they’ll keep.
These eyes of me speak

What underlies these terrible eyes,
And what secrets they do keep.

unfinished poem – must finish

My love is an engulfing storm
And the calm thereafter.
My love is the best in me
And the very worst.

My love is all unquenched power
But it’s fragile to your touch.
My love speaks with silence
When words become worthless.

My love finds clues and answers
Wending in an emnbrace,
In glanced cheeks, in knowing smiles,
In the contours of your face.

My love is polished marble,
With a countenance as to admit
The things that cling to darkness,
Those suggesting promise.

My love sits in eternity
More permanent than anything carved in stone.
My love is our hurtling destiny
Whether I’m with you or alone.

Sing The Syllables

Sing the Syllables
Of sentences heard in your head
We’ve lead you to a phonetic oasis
From which you’re starting to drink
Think the thoughts and say the sounds,
Love the words and play around
Dance the jig of language bound,
Express yourself.
Know the words define your thoughts,
Caught in a cultural tryst,
Raise a fist to our monkey minds,
And recognise this domesticated ape,
Does he not the world define.