Saturday, 28 January 2012



They stake their place in the thoroughfare
Allowing just enough space for folk to pass
Begging permission :“If I could just ask?”

Memorised lines splatter in random rhythm
Multiple hooks hopefully cast
Their plaintiff plea:” If I could just ask?”

Seeking a tentative tantalising bite
A cause reheated behind the mask
Excuse me sir: “If I could just ask?”

They lurch, puppets in programmed dance
Rehearsed bonhomie blazing fast
Miming the words: “If I could just ask?”

Trying to break your thousand yard stare
Of insouciant indifference to their task
Their prey silently imploring “Please don’t ask”

Lost in Lace

In the fine embroidery
In pretty patterns
That beautify
Disguise and seduce
Swirling patterns restricted
Within angular lines
Which cannot be contained
Perfectly framed

The Slope of Hope

Raise your eyes
Dare to soar
Then teeter
Slip slide glide
Down perfect lines
Don’t stop
To ask “Y”
Into the unknown
Over the edge
Throw your soul
Off the precipice
Your body
Will follow

After Dark

It fades. The discolouration.
Grazed skin heals, cream and powder help

The blows tend to fall in different places
Offering some respite, if required.

But sometimes, when bruised skin
Is struck again, the clenched fist is exquisite

Repetition comforts in nihilistic sedation
A supine acquiescence to specious predation

When anticipation is the only justification
For staying. A vindication

Of impossible horizons and crushed hopes
Swept by an ebb tide.