A Long History of Knowing Things,
like thinking of you
then the hall phone rings
and it’s your voice there,
sounding lost and sad,
wanting to talk
about the day you’ve had

A Long History of Feeling Scared,
the heavy burden on my back,
The Bear,
squeezing the air
right out of my lungs,
I choke
as if I’m being being hung

A Long History of Feeling Sad,
amidst the smiles
I’m feeling bad,
behind the glass
that separates
my feelings from
the fun you make

A Long history of Loving You, not always a logical choice to make, as…


Marnie and the Snowman
looked up into the night
Up at the stars,
so glittery, far
and dreamt of things that they just might
make and do upon the morn’
when the sun wriggled through
the sleepy dawn

She thought the world huge
and sometimes quite scary,
her path so often hidden by snow
Yet a hug with her snowman,
’til his carrot nose twisted
made her laugh
when a great big wet sneeze
he would blow

His eyes brightly sparkled they were blue, shiny marbles as she straightened his hat and his scarf Though the air was so frosty…


All lovers hope that time is not straight
that it twists and it turns to a shape made by fate
That love can’t be broken by days spent apart
goodbyes only token, mended by hearts
that can’t tell the time, for there’s no such thing
for love is a circle, an eternal ring
I’ll meet you again, see your smile, take your hand
love won’t slip away like hourglass sand.


The man in the moon
he watched you tonight
when your head touched the pillow
until you saw the dawn’s light

He protects the dark hours
and collects every fear
files all your worries
and distills every tear

He’s your nightly beacon
the light by your side
his silver light speaking
to your wishes that hide

He weaves all your dreams
in the realm of your head
until it may seem
fairies leap on your bed

Or unicorns race
through your rivers of sheets
their hooves wildly pacing
the speed your heart beats

His luminous eye there since you were…


In the gardens of the disenchanted
stand the ruins and memorials,
grow the leaves of never-blooms
curled around twisting vines
with decaying hues

Glowing shadows light the way to loneliness
from a darkened path to
nether reaches
Stairwells rise and fall in arching tides
and hollow voices sing to hypnotise

Is this the place I’m meant to be,
meant to feel, meant to see?
Or is the pit inside of me, just the longing,
a dark fantasy?

I walk for days, beneath this sky,
which glowers with lightning hidden from view
The rain, I know, is brimming full
and it blocks the sun and hides the moon

So, I no longer look above my head
I lower my eyes, my expectancy
I speak, not aloud, but murmuring low
and, without direction, onward I go.


At wedding bells the bride’s heart swells, the groom, hungover, takes a pill Amongst buttons, bows and hats, the mothers do their thing, and bark sharp orders So much pressing, so much starch will keep out creases ‘neath the church’s arch All make-up made up, hairspray applied time for guests to stroll in, side-by-side All hearts together, except the bride and groom’s being kept apart in different rooms as beneath neat hair, their minds unfurl and twist and spin and bounce and curl at the question asked, by those concerned, ‘Have you found The One, is the wedding earned?’ ‘Well…


She freed the bird in Victoria Park with another lover I could not see his face, or hers though that really did not matter Until she suddenly turned and looked right at me and like the leaves they had kicked I wanted to scatter She looked at me, deeply as if she knew I was there her eyes fixed on mine I think I looked back, in despair I hadn’t expected to see her not here, or anywhere she had become like a dream for it had been more than a year I think I felt angry but only from…


A raven at your shoulder, looking Too fleeting is your soul’s safe haven Raven on your shoulder, seeing the colours in me, for you, blazing You kiss me on the street, lamps glowing and for a while, the bird has flown We laugh in shadow, sorrow knowing love takes its place in your heart, its home Will I see you today? Or has the bird returned Has it robbed you of the peace you’ve earned? Can we outrun its silent flight? will you walk with me in the bright sunlight where it cannot go where its wings won’t follow Can…


Photo by Liane Metzler

Some days small hands are all I know
Her laughter is the sun’s soft glow
Her smile the kindest seed I sow
As I try to breathe and try to grow

A father’s love, stitched in my veins
My only constant, my endless plane
Her hand in mine, like a feather in steel
Yet through the cold, it’s all I feel

Sometimes she looks with questioning eyes
And I dread the day
When she asks,
Will I lie?

Or trust in her like I always have
Like she trusts in me, her silly dad
Some bonds are made of stronger stuff
Her hand in mine is just enough


Photo by Roksolana Zasiadko

Lipsticks, a hundred no, a thousand - they’ve grown Nail varnishes clinking as they outgrow their home My word, so many colours, I’d never have known I gaze at them all, did she take out a loan? Magazine spreads, beauty queen tips the lipstick so perfectly applied to her lips Face shaded with bronzer, a most skilful artiste, both creator and art food last on her list All her funny ways, I cherish each one, landmarks through her maze her soft, puzzling haze She was woman and child I loved them so — both On the phone I’d read stories…

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