Monday, April 16, 2018

The Loner

A loner
By isolation

I long
For the lonely

A modern day
Cast out

To have the
Space to hear
The symphony of silence

A loser
With not
Enough selfies

The lilting
Melody of

The scent of
Shame scrabbling at
His throat

The in breathing
scent of

Sitting unseen
On the

To sit unseen
In the tranquility

Of timelessness

Life’s perversity
Hating what
I craved

Life’s perversity
Now craving, what
Once I hated

I originally wrote this poem in column format.  The bold, italicized verses in a second column juxtaposing the verses in plain text.   It is the comparison of growing up as a loser, a loner, feeling isolated and then as a older person craving the silence and the stillness that was attached to be a loner

Sunday, April 1, 2018

To my Grandson

You loped down the stairs,
The outline of your
Boyhood receding
Like mist
In sunlight
Your body stretching
Into manhood
Unknowing and
With nonchalance
You carried the
Shadow of
Your uncle

You are the
Man, of the future
That strange amalgam
Of your father,
Fears and insecurities.
Their hopes and graces.
And lessons crystallised

We men, we spend
Our lives wondering
If we are enough
Insecurities gnawing
At us, while we race
With anxious desperation
Trying to prove
We are enough
But you are

This, whatever
Life gifts you
You are

You will look
For love
And love you will
But love will hurt
For such is its nature
It must hurt
To refine

When love has hurt
Then you will find
It is not the love
You find that counts
It is the love you learn
To have for

You will look
For friends
And friends
You will find
But do not grow
Downhearted, when
Friends betray or fail you
For such is the nature
Of friends.

True friends are
Few and far between
It is not the friends
You have, but the
Friend you are
To yourself

So, my grandson
As you stretch
Into manhood,
You are enough
You always will be

Love, hold it lightly.
It comes and goes
But always love yourself.
Remember, loneliness
Is life’s way of
Giving you the
Opportunity to be
A friend to yourself.

Mistakes, you will
Make them
Do not be afraid
Of them
For that is how
You learn

The time will come
When you will
Rest in your strength
Be at peace in your love
And be a friend to yourself

A time when you will
Watch your grandson
Lope towards you
That strange
Amalgam of his fathers,
Grandfathers and
Fears and insecurities.
Their hopes and graces.
And lessons crystallised.

Thursday, March 29, 2018

I woke at 2

I woke at 2
Startled by
The silence
That crept
Into consciousness

And the wind
Held its
Breath, awed
Into stillness
By the silence

I lay motionless
Caressed by
Stillness, waiting

Stars with
Mute disinterest
And cold
Waited as I waited

For my dark lover
To enter and consume
Me, as I sunk
Into the

Saturday, March 17, 2018

This Heart

It’s been around
This heart
Parts stitched,
A tapestry
Woven, still

A tapestry
Of colours
The grey of grief,
The gold of grace,
Passion’s purple
And love?
Its blush?

Now I am
Realising, I have
Crossed the line,
The threshold
Where I crave
The silver
Of silence

That space
Between words
That pause, before
Your kiss
That moment
Of suspense
Before release

Time, stilled
Before succumbing
Into the oblivion
That is not
To silence

In the stillness
Of silence
My heart,
This heart
Beats, in

Friday, March 2, 2018


I am a Libran
Do not forget
Behind my smile
You are weighed

Do not mistake
My politeness
For liking, for
You are balanced

On the scales
Few there are
Who balance them
And fewer still

Who tip
The them
To their favour
And fewer still

Who have
The wisdom
To know
My smile

Is my mask
My social grimace
Behind which
I watch and wait

I am a Libran
I weigh
I wait
While watching

Wednesday, February 28, 2018


The pressure of his hand
Anxiously uncertain
The sinewy sensuousness
Of quadriceps rising
To kneel in
Supplication or adoration
Ambiguously unknown

The warm toxicity
Of breath
Eyes searching
The boundaries
Of the face,
For some tenuous flare
Of recognition

Time eclipsed
In the masked ball
of reversed reality
Where nakedness is
Revealed but not
The intimacy of
Our name

Of time hunted
With Erotic intensity
The weight of bodies
Then elided from the day
Held in memory

Requiem for the other David

I am his
Namesake, an
Unknown uncle
This other David

He had
Long gone
By the time
I arrived

His life
To a phrase
Died of war wounds

And I
Who he was
This man

To oblivion
No grainy
Black and white

To give his
Features visage
His presence,

But for
Four words
Died of war wounds
I wonder

What were his wounds
What was his war
Did he have time
To love

His spectral
Haunting presence
Restless, in his

A man,
An uncle
A name
Nearly forgotten

But not forgotten
Saved by words
Just four

And we,
Linked by
Our names

And the other
Man, we shared
Your brother
My father