Category Archives: Poetry

Noon   The eclipse and glow Whisper at the edge of Her brave vibration glittering Her blouse clinging at the rise Half laughing half in the flush Of her full circle Casual, secret, still Yet interestingly transparent In the strong … Continue reading →

Fine White Margin   The principle of evidence Our will less leaving and taking From every room we’re in   The eroding white margin The sometimes intemperate Fine heaving beneath   Perched on the slightest Gesture of intent hesitation Anticipation … Continue reading →

New Eve   On entering an invisible distance A broad regard without conclusion Reproach and welcome altogether Resumed perpetual a vested interest General particular intimate In repose colliding diverted Stepping out of the well whatever Back to back to never … Continue reading →

A Child’s Dress   A child’s dress on a woman A sun dress under the moon   In the fields, the Elysian fields Her face under my hands Hair stretched in black ink scratches Across her face   Sandals dangling … Continue reading →

Indigo (1967)   All history in her bone A period of a new kind Deliciously aware solid smooth Circus girl tumbler ballerina The jolly best piece of Anglo Saxon ass in the country A little virago your mash What’s she … Continue reading →

The Kingdom of the Blind   Something very Still and appreciative The reflective cold face The silent scarce hesitation The thing in the cupboard Of this unnatural restraint Silent, incurious yet Highly plausible   Fearfully bucked Your little laugh greeting … Continue reading →

Snow on Saint Patrick’s Day   Running darkness And Sudden lights Will you praise me?   Some men count Blood and walk With you when they Can go no farther You can’t pretend otherwise And You can’t forget But somehow, … Continue reading →

Dark Block   Despondency and hopeless drives The grace to love by night if Not by day         listen To me mainly my dear I know it’s hard to see Which one of us is reasonable And which one wise when … Continue reading →

Objective Confession   "Who is this Murphy? Is he, has he anything at all?" – Samuel Beckett     She leans Stretching a line of hair Like a silver scar Across her cheek   In the courtyard Behind the tower … Continue reading →