Bodies are burning their oil lamps brightly

from the windows overlooking the church  

their silhouettes shape-shift on the bedroom walls

as they move from room to room,

neither stand still long enough for you 

to grasp who or what they are,

televisions flicker in accord

as if planned in some way, it’s strangely romantic

as if part of a passion play – and I am the only one h...

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This city of rooftops
this tangle of streets
Houses perched 
upon hillsides
This fragmented view
a colour sample chart
of various greys
Choose any shade…

A ghoulish wind rattles 
shivering window panes
as remnants of noisy leaves 
shuffle down crooked lanes
Frozen snow 
blocking passageways
I wiggle my toes
to keep the blood flowing

Between five rivers
a hill I rise, or will s...

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The snow is not to blame

In fact, it covers it up

All that I see is kindness

On the white covered ground

The snow is not to blame

It offers a rest bite

from worry,

as the crystals float past

my window  

an endless letting

       go

an endless letting

             go

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Lobo’s Got a New Ride

Sirens howl in the December morning frosty air the pale haze of cold morning dew. The coffee pot drips the house back into life out of the deep winter slumber. What a good time to sleep she heard him say, but she wasn’t sure if it was she who said it first. The burst came later upon the reflections of a future not yet arrived, a direction she can’t see. She thinks it will ...

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Scarborough Sleeps

Distant church bells probe fretted air, where

Roof top gulls roost, wrapped in feathery cloaks.

Shivering clouds sob mournfully about everyone’s panes, and a

Hibernating town huddles under a grey blanket.

Shuttered shop fronts rattle their complaints,

Shared only by a spiteful wind that patrols dark doorways.

Customers long departed to foreign part...

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