a breath

the ache in the space

underneath notes of healing

before their gentle fall

onto lifetimes

of history’s crawl


sounds of heaven

drilling holes

in coffin ceiling…



our complex, war torn world. such a controversial event. such a lovely moment…

get back, cavepeople

the hollowing out –

those sneaky,

serrated lies,

the one sided skies

raining entitled cries

of urgency falling

on friends’ patient ears

your _____ ego turned

on a lathe made of tears?/fears?/arrears? what is it today?

get back in your cave

so illumined by you

poor me in the dark

my ‘old fashioned’ world view

of love and respect

so twisted and skewed

by humanity’s addiction

to $%$@ing  up any ideology for its own disgusting selfish power plays

wait, you’ve got me so sad

I messed up the meter…

but I’ll try really hard

to fit in something like peter


as in,


Dismember the 5th, 1971

flow and ebb

lyrics’ webb

unseen scales

empty trails

of light unburst

municipal thirst

for meaningful muse

the clowns left clues


the wrong grave’s exhumed


lazy thinking


I’m not down for this up

inflatable cup

no thanks.


You can’t hear

what I’m not saying

unplug your ears

of all your preying

then light the fuse

follow the clues

or not.


Short sentences

are my drop,


they’re not wafting

to your heights…





Inspired by one of my favourite, satirical sites, Scarfolk Council, from their Facebook page, where every Friday is Friday the 13th.

This was, clearly, a very uncharacteristic (cough) stream of thought…but I had been in the sun for a bit…


outstretched heart

I catch the evening as it floats in,

on peppered bird song

and the undulating breeze, salted-


these tiny sepulchres

vibrating with lament,


precious, sacrosanct lyrics of being

funeralled forever

in creation’s sighs




He nodded. With his eyes. Cloudy with the beers they hadn’t shared yet. And she heard it all through the phone.
She hated letting him down again.

The walking out of the ocean. She, wearing the heaviness like a medal. Then she hit the no resistance of the air.
And she flew.

Until that last wave hit.
Filled with shells and rocks, or maybe the debris of shells and rocks. And the clawing of it inside-outed her.

Lying in the sand of her authenticity, she’s exfoliated down to she’s not sure what happened. But the ocean took that medal back.

Or maybe, she gave it back.


He wished she knew.
Those clouds burst, and ran down his cheeks.



what depths…

do we plumb

with our layers of numb?

definitions we seek

and the rhymings we tweak


existentially freeze framed

monumentally no named.







mind’s exhale so twee

but my heart

is on its knees…



An American friend shared this article about Stanislav Petrov on Facebook today. I had never heard of him, I am ashamed to say. If you have the time, read the article and watch the clip. I promise you, it is worth the time. And honestly, I dare you to not cry.

(From article: In 1983, he was on duty when the Soviet Union’s early warning satellite indicated the U.S. had fired nuclear weapons at his country. He suspected, correctly, it was a false alarm and did not immediately send the report up the chain of command. Petrov died at age 77.)

the man who saved the world

RIP you remarkable man.

charming rabbits

Leaning on the picket fence, because, they are so comfortable

my mind handed myself a cup of tea,

the one labelled, sagacious synaptic synergy.

I sipped on it soporifically

while cosied in the verdancy

of assumed medicinal verbiage

surrounding me,

my insecurity

ensconsing me,

in the vortex of a linguistic hurricane

you know, the ones like an old phone exchange.

A busy one.


Lots of.


The tea took its effect,

it lullabied so



(This used to be one of my favourite shows. And Katie’s voice. Wow.)

Spaghetti for breakfast

A rooster crowed last night

above computer light

a lone, untimely call

I stopped, looked through the wall

turned back, to what I was reading

unconvinced by random pleading

for it did only crow once

and there were more important things to consider now, like, I don’t know, this sudden ability to see through the wall…


I woke this morning with coffee in my dream

no appetite for solids

just a fragrant, welcome stream

of consciousness, until

I thought of all my thoughts

the ones I should be thinking

and then there were the others

the ones you gave me, sinking

into convolution madness

with an awesome soundtrack playing

the sun is out and colours

are competing with the splaying

of my thoughts into sensations…


and now I want

spaghetti for breakfast


(Post breakfast edit, I did have leftover pasta. It was delicious. And I think this song should go here…  😁)