OLD

Take the lid off the old wooden box and peer inside, what is there? What do you see? An old bullet from the Korean war, a discoloured gemstone from a broken lover’s necklace.

A curling yellow photo of lost teenage friends, now no more, one lost to drugs.

Some ancient coin from a faraway land, unreadable language.

Now put back the lid and pause for thought. If you...

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Bought,

imagining her face

her smile

a butter dish

from Derbyshire

the cow on the lid

painted cheerfully

is sat on a creamy base

licks of grass growing up its sides

Wrapped

in gossamer tissue

taped at the edges

so as not to give away

its contents

beautiful

held

tightly

carefully

all the way home

sandwi...

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These travelling shoes
lackadaisical partners
walk without weary wonder

they drift past
poplar-lined roads
into tangential horizons

and that is where
this wandering soul
goes off to, willing

and remembered only
by fleeted echoes
of short-memoried soles.

`

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MY LITTLE COLD WAR 

My mate sent some song lyrics to me, by some band. I read them after reading my story on my nuclear armed stealth jet being used in anger. I’m trying to make sense of the cold war I grew up in now, so many years later. It’s so crazy. The younger kids have no idea but my mate does, he’s only 21 but he tries to understand what it was like growing up under the shadow of the...

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I’m glad the steam rally won’t be here again.

I can ride past on the 85 with no reminder.

Nothing to make me dwell on those three days each year

When you were so engrossed – in steam!

Although we had the ancient taxi – off  the plate -

You had to go there on your bike - I bussed it.

It seemed so romantic, meeting up

as you removed your cycle clips

while I f...

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`

I walk from room to room
and try to catch a glimpse of you,
but all that I could see,
are muted shadows playing tag.

Sunlight catches visions
of days now stored in memory
and with your recent passing,
you climbed upon the misty crag.

The kitchen tap still leaks,
we've fixed that oft and time again;
your trusty stove still works,
those smells a...

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`



small sounds
twinkle in my ear
a velvet touch of
invisible fingers quietly
mingle on a weathered cheek
with sullen humid arvo sweat

bleating echoes in the wind
dessicated foliage rustles
as creaking floorboards
whisper willowed memories --
childhood's laughter rings
clarion of tomorrow fades

`

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