“Poetry to shake senses awake with the splash of language.”
I slip, slight, to slither and search / Backstreet, corner, dockland, church. / Sleek, slender, slacking my thirst, /
For richer, for poorer, beggar-man, hearse.
Santa’s reindeer went weird when they got to Wales.
Dusk is the time of Santa Claus /
Autumn briars where he dwells /
He stalks among the dying branches /
Among the stones, inscriptions For drowned ships and fallen leaders, Stands of alder and of birch The frozen souls of…
I miss you, here, now. /
As your voice, telling stories, /
Murmurs through the pine trees /
And the red squirrels chatter overhead.
I’m out here / Walking with ghosts and birds /
Both bent back as they battle the breeze
There’s not much timorous about you my friend
Scrotal ye are, and swelling
I spent the day building the girls a tree house With a neighbour who is much more that way minded…