free to do anything

there is nobody now
can claim
they have a right
to put hands on me
not that they held
any of that ever
more their definitions
of my being
are dead with them
it is impossible
to live
than that

cards to keep

we can sell you
a christmas
you name
you got it
it will cost you
pockets deep
with mementoes
flowers, balloons
& cards to keep
we do this everyday
being professionals at this
but you
you want more
wanting feelings
needing a reality that bites
desire encounter
some meeting of minds
love, care
& we have to tell you
for that
the price
is very steep

Send me E.T

For I have things on my mind
that only good blotter
window pane
or microdot
could help with the thinking of
these modern chemists
have no love
no deep spirit of wonder
all the class A taste
at the back of the throat
& ………..
& nothing of wonder
so send me some
ergot titrate boys
lets whoop it in the spirit of ‘66
before Leary killed the beast
the CIA used the mob
& ………..
& forget all of that
send me the bathtub chemist
a prankster or two
for there is thinking to do

avoiding the axe

with the dial on 35 degrees

it is difficult to think

of ordering the winter wood

to be split


when the dial hits 2 or thereabouts

even harder to contemplate

the swing of the axe

make it thud



cleaving round logs

into quarters to fit the fire

come December

a start must be made

for these too to sit in the sun

drying out


temporary homes for



& the wasps to take their nibbled share

create their paper drays

ice rattles now in my tall glass

as winter ice will shatter my bones then

for now the sun warms me

creates these lazy days

hazy in the shade

under the high trees

also avoiding the axe


Les anglais/rosbifs

The English abroad

in their pale skins

cotton top hair


that slight half smile

thin acknowledgement

nod in recognition:

yes I have noticed you

but please for gods sake

do not say hello

for I wish to pass as a native

not understanding

their fawn




colour clothing

white feet in birkenstocks

signalled rosbif

from deux kilometres


lives we know nothing of

These lives we know nothing of

people spilling out of church

on a hot Saturday afternoon

after a christening

as the heat reads 35degrees

all in suits & pretty frocks

le midi

france profonde

as we sit sipping Meteor beers

while the swifts wheel the sky

catching bugs mid flight

men in whirling moustaches

offer bonjour

walking into the bar

we will never know of these lives

encounter them

their back stories

cris de coeurs



bebe’s born to etrangers

so we sit & murmur to ourselves

for the beer is good & cold

much like our ignorance

of such existences