“The effect is lovely, Sir,” I said,
“but should you go canoeing
in that tailored three-piece suit?”

The breeze was stiffening,
and dark mackerel clouds
augured rain and rising waves.

“Perhaps a life jacket,” I said,
“or better, safe ashore
with a hot drink?”

He smiled and handed me
his rings and wristwatch.
“You worry too much,” he said.

Like a swan, he slid away
into darkness and distance:


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Posted in Poetry, thoughts below ground | Leave a comment

Short Term

If I could remember just what I meant to say
before some diversion wafted thought away
or enter a room and not wonder what for?
(which I certainly knew ’til I opened the door)
Or if I could do without making a list
of things that I knew I would otherwise miss
then I’d certainly not be this old and addled
and thinking that others can hear my brain rattle
around in my head like mice in a maze
running the course in my short term daze.

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Posted in Poetry | Tagged , , , , | Leave a comment


If you ask what inspired me to write this poem
my civil response is to send you hoem.
If you ask me how I wrote this werk
I’d answer you with this rational perk:

If I waited to be inspired and fonkey
I’d write with the skill of a typewriter monkey.
I sit down to write every day at these times
because if I don’t there won’t be any rimes.

Writing’s a craft just like any werk:
‘Til you turn on the heat, your coffee won’t perk.

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Posted in On the process of Writing, Poetry | Tagged , | Leave a comment