Saturday, 30 July 2022

Friday, 29 July 2022

 City Lights

I’d walked down the street many times

in both day time and night time

and not noticed them.

I’d driven down there many times

in both day time and night time

and not noticed them.

But something seen so often may become unseen

without a new perspective,

a new dimension.

And tonight I climbed higher

to see the street from above.

A mosaic lay below me, 

a city of squares.


where there

were no squares


Squares of light


like an art installation,

broken and fragmented

making the ordinary

into extraordinary.

Monday, 25 July 2022

 Seeing All

I can see you.

I’m not blinded 

by your fine words

or the fancy dress 

of your masquerade.

But even the blind can see 

through you.

In time there’ll be pennies for my eyes

but they’re open now and missing nothing.

I know you want to hide from me,

would have me cover my eyes

with my hands

or stitch them up

to make me sightless

as death.

But it won’t work.

I’ll look between the stitches

sneak a peek through my parted fingers.

And even the blinded can see

through you.


comes only with death.

Until then

we all can see


Friday, 22 July 2022


There are clouded spaces

so dark I can’t see into them.

I have always been afraid

that monstrous beings

may lurk there,


But now that the cloud

is lifting, moving away,

I am even more afraid,

afraid of the light


it may reveal

the bare boards.

 In The Rocks

It was a small gap
in the rocks
dry and bare
for a time
in waiting,
for the tide
to turn
and the sea
to wash through
to leave it
not quite dry;

a trickle
of salt water
left behind,
salt tears
running down a face,
pooling below
full of life
full of creatures
brought back to life.
Tears can sometimes do that

Monday, 18 July 2022


The crack became a slash

almost splitting her in two.

She could have sought help,

could have driven to heal it,

But after a while she quite liked it.

It had become part of her

and she felt it became her

and who knew what would emerge 

to wriggle 

and squeeze

though the gap.

Friday, 15 July 2022

 One Last Time

Before the trees begin to fall

I’ll take a walk

through the woods

one last time,

hear the leaves glistening

and shaking

in fear of what is to come

some are already fallen



it’s the season for it

after all.

I’ll see the light shining 

lighting on the leaves of grass

that push soft spikes of green life 

in between the fallen

see the light shining 

through the trees

one last time.

It lights up the white crosses

chalked on the trunks

as it passes by

too many white crosses 

all ready

to mark the graves

of the fallen.

It’s the season for it

after all,

always the season for it

one more time.

 Performance Art

He’s the last man standing.

Whether comedian

or statesman

performance is all

for the last man standing.

Standing in the rubble of the city.

Standing on the bodies of the dead heroes,

those lions led by donkeys once again.

No more laughter,

no more tears,

the final curtain

came down on them.

Hollow victory

or glorious defeat

it’s all the same to them.

But the last man still stands,

the star of the show


 When Psychopath Met Showman

When a violent psycho with overwhelming power

meets a deluded showman with a hero complex

it’s looking bleak for those caught in between.

Those displaced from their homes,

displaced from their lives,

those losing their lives.

those losing the life 

they expected to live,

More and more of them,

a stream without end

as the show goes on.

 Collateral Damage

Once they were cities,



lived in


only blackened carcasses




where all else has fallen.

Jagged towers, 

the bare bones 

of dreams



Still as the lost dreams

stopped in their tracks.



the graveyard of the lost,

the lost

dreams and dreamers.

 A Rose For Gaza

Gaza is a garden full of roses.

Stone roses.

Rock roses.

No petals to crush and bruise

to release their fragrance.

Only dust.

Dust and the stench

of death.

No green space left.

No sweet tranquility,

peace or quiet.

No escape.

No garden of Eden here.

No gateway to paradise.

Rubble and rock roses.

So I shall plant a rose for Gaza

in my green space,

in my tranquil garden.

I won’t bruise it,

just gently sniff its fragrance

and hope that one day

fragrant roses will bloom again

in the garden of Gaza.

What else can I do?

Tuesday, 12 July 2022

 The Sins Of The Fathers

We had parked in a quiet Skopje side street

and the Germans parked in front were

surveying the wreckage of their car.

“They don’t like Germans here,” they said.

We sympathised.

“It’s because of what the Germans did

in Yugoslavia in the war,” we replied.

“But that wasn’t us!” they said.

And of course they were right!

The sins of the fathers..

“But not our fathers” 

they might have responded.

And of course they’d be right.


And so it goes,

the sins of the fathers.

There are no barriers,

no boundaries,

no constant

of time 

or place

so they play out

over and over


Monday, 11 July 2022

 Daisies Unchained 

We buried our dreams beneath

a wreath of daisies 

freed from their chains

to mark the grave



for each daisy death

to hide them

for ever,


someone has the key

that will release them

and make them



Sunday, 10 July 2022

 Mad Swirl

She always preferred to blend in

to the background

to lose herself

in the mad swirl of colours

from other peoples lives.

It’s how she became 


how she became


Friday, 8 July 2022


How many times have we had this conversation?

I don’t know. 

I’m not good with numbers

and neither are you.

Probably, it’s the same number of times

as we’ve promised not to have it again.

I’m not very good with promises either.

And neither are you.

How many times have we made a decision,

a final decision, that has convinced us?

Probably never,

as we’re still having this conversation.

I’m not very good at decisions either.

And neither are you.

Life has become too complex for us

and the numbers don’t add up as we’d like

them to.

We want to stop at two,

but there are other numbers in between.

So, our numbers keep on adding up to nothing.

Nothing except conversations and promises

that we don’t want or believe in.

And are unable to end.

Wednesday, 6 July 2022

 The Sad Man

I take my hat off to him

the sad man

of the leafy suburbs

always smartly dressed


old fashioned smart


all our problems 

with all his silent grief

on pinstriped shoulders.

We all took our hats off to him

that sad man,

as we played in the streets

as we grew older

as we changed

while he stayed the same

still silent

still carrying

all those problems

all that grief

that we never understood.

Friday, 1 July 2022

 Wishing And Hoping

The pool was clear and deep.

The children peered over the age

to see the coins glistening on the bottom.

They wondered what wishes had been made

and if any had come true

but no one could know.

No one would tell

them their wish

as they waited

to watch the coin

fall into the cascade

down into the wild white spume

and then into the clear pool below

where it would stay glistening for ever

feeling only the force of water.

All those secret wishes

revealing nothing

lying there