Nice to see you.

Poet. Author. Videomaker.

Nominated for the 2014 Pushcart Prize. (more)


24 June 2015

It's not over 'til the plus size lady sings


It may be burdensome to teach
An old dog new tricks
Perhaps not insurmountable
Yet you can teach it to love again
And reignite fires
Thought long burnt out.

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13 June 2015

To reflect... and to be

Mind's eye composition

The late afternoon
Sun light, stubbornly virulent
Colluded with the water’s surface 
To thrust heat
Into my chest and face
With a steady slash and burn policy
In motion.

I created a mini tent      
From my towel
Over my head
And was finger clicked
To childhood
And teenage hood days
Complete with visions
And sensations
And emotions
With smell barely relevant.

My three year old
Broke the sun ray’s path
Collapsing on my legs
Ending the fa├žade
And wished to share my tent
And we were promptly laughing

Memories were closed down
Before I could truly reflect
Though I was in the midst of creating
New ones
And I wasn’t alone
Nor felt isolated
In fact,
The company was sublime.

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No mystery as to the origins of this poem, however as my daughter is now four and a half and it's winter, I can only assume it was written in early 2014. Nothing remarkable about it. I simply thought it was time for a change from the usual doom and gloom.

Have a great week.

07 June 2015

What's a word you really don't like...

Or hate...
Or find exceedingly annoying...
Or amusing....

eg. Bumfuzzle
or Hemidemisemiquaver

                    Do your worst....               

17 May 2015

Social Media Soldier


(A piece of Meant)

Sharing a meme
Does not mean
You live by its philosophy

Protesting online
Does not equate to
Any real action

Liking a status
Or comment
Is less than
Fuck all

Don’t swindle yourself

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Next Post, 
An important new Video Poem well worth sharing, especially given the recent talk about violence against women.

01 May 2015

What did we do wrong

The excessive unjust

Overused terms such as devastation
Only serve to undermine the unseasoned
Terror, frustration, helplessness
Grief and anxiety
Being experienced by millions of Nepalese
With many more tomorrows
In the pipeline.

Who do you turn to
When there’s no aid much less guidance?

What do you drink
When there is no fresh water?
How to you stay dry and warm
With your house disintegrated?
Buildings on foundations shattered

Ready to break apart.

How do you stop your child from crying
With no promises of better hours?

How do you protect your loved ones
With chaos as bedfellow
And unpredictability as the norm?

How do you find the missing
With communications severed
And roads fractured beyond use?

Infrastructure shattered
Crops ruined
The future is blighted
Yet the focus must be now
Suffering demands it.

Please consider

Donate:  American Red Cross

26 April 2015

Muscles and skirts

Penny in the dollar

There are so many stories
In bars alone
Only slivers can be sought
But this guy charged on in
Muscled through obsession
And more than several syringes
(That much effort on your body
Has to detract from other pursuits
Such as intellectual ones)
And though I was quick to categorise him
I also had to acknowledge his expensive suit
(Though slightly too small
To accentuate his efforts)
So I figured that he must have something more going on.

A young woman hung off him
Dark skinned but blonde
With too much makeup
Yet an ass
Inside a skirt
Of upper stratospheric design
To make me forget her bestial companion
Along with other saliva leaking guys.

The problem was
That it was an inner city bohemian haunt
Full of hipsters and artists and fringe dwellers
Where I felt fairly comfortable
But I'm fairly certain the couple weren’t.

They went to the bar
He turned and propped his elbows on it
Staring out to the throng
As if to say
I belong here as much as you 
Try to do something about it.

I kinda got the feeling
That attention was what he was after
And with half the crowd
Pretending not to look
At his girl’s legs
He got what he came for.

After one swift drink
He forged his own path
Straight out of there
Light on conversation
But heavy on attitude.

Suddenly we were all united
As though the whole place sighed
Even the walls felt better off
Without him
He wasn't our kind
but he was a kind
and I found myself smiling
As who doesn't secretly admire
A well-placed
Fuck you.

x-ray-photography-nick-veasey-chicquero-middle-finger-fuck-you.jpg (800×961)

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16 April 2015

Hell beyond the doorstep

One Battle, Many Hostages

Battling tyrants is scientifically proven to have a higher success rate to battling teenagers.
Ninety seven percent of parents agree. Given inches and stolen miles.
Marathons have been run on less.
Often said, rarely pinpointed, hell on earth, lies alongside.

The Generation Gloom (not Gap). 

Are you a parent? Step-parent? Uncle, Aunt? You know the drill. It's a wave you have to ride out until it breaks upon the shore. Do you have a classic teen 'brat' story to share?

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05 April 2015

Dwell in Exile

Bountiful lambaste

The insults will come
A dismissal
Misunderstandings – innumerable
And blind-sided putdowns.

They pinpoint emphasis
Augustine Kofine
On the reaction
So if I turn the other cheek
Does this create a more significant person?
If I comply
Be decent to all who cross
Does this improve my worth?
Will I rise tomorrow?
Sleep quickly

Who will hover
To mark my progress?
Who will promote my good deeds?

How I do I measure my contribution to society?
How will I know if it is enough?

And if deemed as such
Will it grant me peace?
Or bestow satisfaction
In a whirlpool of confusion
Where the selfish soar
And the righteous are punished
Too many times
For sense to subdue.

Haw Par Villa Singapore 'Ten Courts of Hell' - Photography by Raytoei

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26 March 2015

Self-serving plans, rewarded

An uneven rhythm

You can always tell a drinker
By the way they tackle the glass
No subtle sips
Only a life affirming gulp
As though they’re just been saved
Just as a light falling rain
Is devoured by plant life
Yet is wasted on concrete
Just as a half left glass
Is a crime
A simple scan around a restaurant
Reveals the ten percent.

I knew what she was
As I had been one (ever to be)
And was more aware of the signs now
Than when I’d been amongst it.

So we played the game awhile
I tested her, without letting on
And she danced
The dance
And while I knew all the moves
I forgave her
Those gracious faults.

As that’s all I had wanted
Without the lectures
From those who stand on columns
Gazing down
Eliciting acidic ventures
In return.

So I encouraged her to get drunk
Though it took only two short sentences
Giving her sweet freedom
And allowed her into my home
And soon,
Only because I knew
What she needed.

Had she not been
A drinker
The dinner would have
Ended with coffee
I allowed her
To take advantage of me
As it was affirmation
That she required
Made more powerful through booze
Though others
Did not see it this way
Or any other way
A charge
Difficult to shake
Impossible to undo
Though ultimately

Participants with other issues
And agendas
Came into play
Good deeds are lamented
And self-serving plans, rewarded
And I learnt                                                                     
That the game (or dance) is too fast
And complex
For any of us to comprehend
Let alone control.

By the time
The trial began
I barely knew a thing.

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The Drunkard's Progress - by Nathaniel Currier (1846)