Sunday, 9 February 2020

1 New Poem

Windows, Walls

I look over the wall;
how reflected was the noise,
light beams that slipped through
those grey spaces between
dorm-room tacked posters, dresser
drawers and lamp shade shadows.

How it seemed no longer a trapping space,
but something found safe on
Sunday mornings where time
faded from foggy view,
squeezing of clock sweat ceased
being so gold.

A trail of breath was painted
now, a stain of brilliant colour
seen only in glimpse, only in
impressed dragging, that cower,
yellow in shade, at corners
of darkened conscious, waiting to
be struck alight.

I look out the window;
the fickle New Scottish branches
encased in dripping crystal.

Your skin was bare, satin soft
against snow-moon’s hanging
glow, bright ember against dark
of abandoned ghosts, wrecking
invisible memories that vanish
against sun.

It had views to outside,
where things stormed, rages, were not soft
as bedsheets, turned cheeks,
first kisses, traced hands,
muted whispers.

A leaving mark was hardest to make
in this, torn-away curtain
from ourselves in birth-same state
drew closer, more rationed
with occurrence, more drying as
broken minutes pass.

But there were:
walls to shelter,
windows to look.

Monday, 27 January 2020

1 New Poem


Light-Coloured Dresses

Pale blue: swiftly you sway
around the salt cave crystal
that sticks in mind, sending
stomach knots unwinding, released
with tender touch, with whispered
word.

Blushing pink: old lines started
wearing out in everyone’s voice,
living that didn’t come easy
as shuffling coil springs
here and there without much
thought.

Hemming gray: delicately we push
feet together, seeing what shapes
we make together when all else
falls in, shuddering of skin aside,
too-quick sparking of nerve
aside.

Morning green: next minutes
paused, rehearsing the cold sails
taken home, but made light by hands
on clock face that no longer stared
deeply against my figured formed
solitary.

But was aglow in our shade.

Sunday, 8 December 2019

1 New Poem


A Good Thing for Us

You could be as crystal,
shocking in light of
brilliance staring through
widget walls and blinking wires,
sees all good things beneath
chipping paint, gathered cloaks.

If veils were lifted from
living time, shivering form
revealed between our cloudy
exhaling that sticks to skin,
chalk dust in red, embarrassment
of riches to split apart.

Too deep it went for all at once,
needles sharp for cutting skin,
nearer to the rushing blood,
in wicked strange of forcing
time, that sallow pitch sinking

Below cast-iron light of
ghostly morning walk.

Sunday, 20 October 2019

New Poetry Collection Available for Purchase


I am very excited to announce that my new collection of poems, entitled Places to Be, is now available for purchase!

Thanks to Moonstone Press for working with me to bring the project to life!

Check it out here

Sunday, 22 September 2019

1 New Poem


A Dear Green

I scour the scrapyard,
hopeful to strike riches,
some spot of land:
shimmering acre to draw
around with fenceposts,
anchor wire and call alone.

I arrive in carriage time,
flouting rule and upriver dancing,
from scattershot ravine echoes
that trap ourselves in
fearful amber, in rancor
of things left apart.

I lose some pinwheel grace,
no longer broken glass of
bottle colour and heavy sole
upon soil in crashing through
night windows and to the
warm, embracing place all alight.

Tuesday, 13 August 2019

1 New Poem

Blood Loss

I felt it flowing through windows,
between walls, in salt air and sea spring
whispers we could take to brick
with us when fading starts,
trips the box breaker.

It struck me still as the
silver cups, upturned and making
noise replied tenfold down
dreaming streets.

I was the kind to go weary
in heat, dizzy-blank from
fear of fortune,

But in this time I am not
so rushed, three-sails and
wounded, yet again.

Monday, 1 July 2019

1 New Poem


Foot Shuffles

There goes again the scattered picture whims
to four corners and six seas,
a disappointed numbing when you lack
a still part of evening time to get lost
between and come undone from beer
bottle cap to the closing line.

I had a habit of not joining
thought the inconvenience too much and
too penetrating for all of that;

But you work on me like
anxiety pills, dissolved in water,
crisply drunk to drive out
concrete memories and be careful
of ringing bells across dust
and yard fronts,

Where we could have closed some
time ago, walking through port lines
touching in the impermanence, Singapore
transit, that our heat makes on screen.