A Child's Tale This is your father, my mum whispers. Her hands telling me to call him 'dad'. Tonight I find the dad sprawled across mum's bed. Like a hairy spider, like a beetle...

      You Turn Into Birds A flock taking fright as I clump into the field You dot the October sky like painting a myth by numbers. I try to call you down with a handful of rough seeds...

      This is the house With or without hope We always return home (Jaroslav Seifert )   This is the house of lost joys The house where all things come together This is the house...

      The Walking Woman It’s fog-haze and halogen orange out. Casting her skin more greys than fifty. Illusion: the real illusion is it’s not one. Daylight slubs her palette the same....

    What I’ll Do Then I'll hold a buttercup under her chin, pick a dandelion and tell her it means ‘lion’s teeth’ and we'll both wonder how clever and sweet I am as we blow our clocks into...

                                  Images of the 1956 Hungarian revolution     Instead of a Tombstone   He shyly closed...

      Bluebottles   “I’m earning my keep” fussing over teapots plates of biscuits, iced with pointed remarks   No one asked you to   I open a door in my chest coax out...

      There are mirrors Which reflect not only our image But other mirrors, where we are also reflected, so it seems we walk among a collection of ourselves, each identical But subtly...

      Proserpina opens his fridge Her soft tug releases an odour. The light flicks on... Along the top rack lies a tube of puree, twisted, missing its lid. A streaky rasher dangles...

      Another Poem About Love Sigh, because this is another poem about love about the disaster the vague essence of hope the meet, the end, the bits in-between. Tell me I didn’t hate...