O’Clock At the edge of the sky, a dirty pink scratches at the permagreen – it isn’t dawn, it isn’t sundown, it’s late in the daylight, later in the season of blame. If life were...

    Ubiquitous Unravelling   I     Reader, I can’t pretend to know you, but listen intently enough, as though I do in the concrete jungle they call Piccadilly Gardens:...

  Curlew Calls   When I walked the moors Of the South Tyne Valley Not knowing anyone Within 150 miles I hugged the very call Of the curlew.   I watched them lift together From fields...

      A Happy Ending For Petrologists    A pebble sat upon a beach and thought, as would a stone, Of whether in the Universe it was a soul alone. For it could see no evidence to...

      Central Florida   It is only a few acres Sun choked and thirsty grass   Our house is scab brown, flaky Pickup truck red offsets the dirt like a fresh heart   We...

      Catharsis   Ideas become objects; we become what we sculpt   He, experimented with soil, and got an Adam   We experimented with silt, and got robots   She...

      Fishing Line    Above the bridge the crescent moon hangs, thin as a nail paring.  Rose tints the east, the stars are fading and the morning call to prayer pricks my...

      Jigsaw Piece     I stride to the tarn just after noon, sky grey as a heron’s back.   My feet squelch cotton grass; a peewit carries in the air.   Smell of...