Grace

In the quest
for a rhyme
Grace
just in time.

In the blink
of an eye
Grace
showing why.

In the beat
of a heart
Grace
from the start.

In the search
for a soul
Grace
makes it whole.

In the blush
of a cheek
Grace
for the weak.

In the face
of a fall
Grace
to the call.

In the gift
of the gods
Grace
against odds.

(Read my short story The Memory Girl at litro.co.uk, click on Stories.)

Shroud

Wash the city
from an ancient face.

Unveil the skin,
the state of grace.

Keep Veronica's
blood-stained lace.

Hold a miracle
in heaven's place.

Taste the sinner's
holy embrace.

Wash the city
from an ancient face.

(Read my short story The Memory Girl published by Litro magazine, an international literary publication, at litro.co.uk, click on Stories.)

Seduction

Children echo in our hearts
name, age, country,
birthed for slaughter...

Now flickering candles
in a hall
of horrors...

Your tears
for one beloved
nourish Tikva streets...

We wander
Jerusalem's ancient
bloody alleyways...

I am humming
Leonard's raincoat song,
you wonder what he thinks...

We wail at separate walls
with scribbled papers,
bobbing holy men...

Nearby, Jesus pilgrims
kiss his holy stone
trying to recuscitate God...

Sweet soldiers watch,
rucksacks sagging,
rifles half-cocked...

Flying out
of the soulless airport
I plan to seduce you...

Using Dead Sea ointment
You bought for me
To massage your feet...

We embrace the night
but no amount of fucking
brings the children back...

(Please read my short story, The Memory Girl, published by the international literary magazine, Litro, Litro.co.uk, click on Stories.)

Memories

She sits before me
Strong, silent, sullen,
A Rock

Woman

She is beautiful
Drawing in
Frightening off

Enigmatic

Her head stretches back
Her neck straining
Toward the past

Remembering

Ghosts of pain
Veils of mystery
Wisps of joy

Hers

Dark eyes
Dead ahead
Capture me

Here

Her memories,
Neither alive nor dead,
Carry forward

Today

And today
And...

(Please read my short story The Memory Girl on the on the web site of the international literary magazine, Litro (litro.co.uk, click on Stories)

The Morning Train

I don't run for the morning train
I'm not sure where it goes.

I will not ride the evening boat
To where the river flows.

My post piles up beneath the slot,
My sloth is well exposed.

I rummage for a clean T-shirt,
I've bins of dirty clothes.

I can't get up to meet the sun
That's when my eyes must close.

I'm scouring for a fresh tea bag
It's not the life I chose.

I'm stranded here in the desert,
One night I nearly froze.

My phone won't ring, won't ding-a-ling,
I've crushed it with my toes.

I'm sure they're trying to find me,
They've questions they must pose.

I'm lost incommunicado
Until the poetry shows.

The Sea

Come to the sea
And die with me

I don't want to die alone.

The wind and the waves
Whisper deep graves

I don't want to go alone.


Come to the sea
And live with me

I don't want to live alone.

The sky and the beach
Crash and beseech

I don't want to go alone.


Come to the sea
And walk with me

I don't want to walk alone.

The sun and the cloud
Pray it out loud

I don't want to go alone.


Come to the sea
And be with me

I don't want to be alone.

The gulls on white caps
The rhythm of taps

I don't want to go alone.

Bring Your Love

Cross the ocean
Bring your love

Waves in motion
God above

Float as a cloud
Gentle touch

Sing it out loud
Joy's too much


Sisters splitting
At the seam

Mother's quitting
Widow's dream

Prays from heaven
Drunk on hell

Family's leaven
Lost its spell


Cross the ocean
Bring your grief

Silent notion
Rests beneath

Taste the water
Salt and deep

End the slaughter
Start to sleep

Pension Plan

Pension Plan

There is no pension for poets
No pay in either pound or pence.

So why do we scratch and do it
When it makes neither wage nor sense?

The words of our lives may not flow yet
But at least we don't sit on the fence.

Most rhymes end up in the toilet
Unless there is beauty in tense.

On those days I dare not spoil it
Though it's not going to pay my rents.

Body and Soul

Body and Soul

I am body
searching for soul
all of this living
is taking its toll.

My broken limbs
those hidden bruises
all of this dying
one never chooses.

Perfect in moments
of lustfull bliss
all of this loving
we'd never miss.

Now there are signs
of rapid decay
all of this searching
I must not delay.

Inclement (Poetry for the Modern Soul)
Autumn 2009

Don't Just Do Something, Stand There

Some Monday morning thoughts while all around me people are rushing for the bus or train, frantically trying to get the kids dressed for school or walking the dog because they won't be home until midnight - there is another way. I know it is heretical (for all us good believing capitalists), and almost everyone I know would say, "Yes, but I need to work for a living... " Indeed. Still, there is another way to live. Read Wayne Muller's Sabbatical: Finding Rest, Renewal, and Delight In Our Busy Lives, for example, and reflect on his alternatives. Book off sick today. Or try and work a different way. Go to work the long way, through the park. Meditate. Curl up with a good book (like Emma Donoghue's, Room). Take a bath. Play with your grandchild. Stare at the sky. Doodle. Make love. I know you're thinking, "Lucky fellow, he's got the time." Yes, I made the time. You can too.

Urgency

I'm living
mid grace and gravity
and dearth

Inhaling
the urgent lethargy
of earth

No longer
embracing the racing
towards worth

Now pregnant
with creativity
and girth

Awaiting
the sweet expectancy
of birth

My dying
still in its infancy
and mirth.