Thursday, 8 October 2015

In this dream I somehow have so many poems

In this dream I somehow have so
many poems but they are all sealed
up in a big white envelope and I hold
it fondly the envelope as if something
good is going to happen perhaps
this thick warm bundle of poems
might already know something I do not
and so with care I stick feathers
to the envelope using sticky tape
yes I add the small brown feathers
as if they are postage stamps and
I am happy knowing the poems will
arrive safely to you... you who has
always been waiting for a poem and
another and more poems and wha..
what would I do if I did not
think you were anticipating
poems and poems

(improvised text, written directly using my sewing machine as a handwriting tool - this piece is sold)

Wednesday, 7 October 2015

Towards a poem

This is the improvised text from a recently created stitched artwork.

1. towards a poem I write
with the rain looking over
my words and with no memory
of myself ever getting it right
I listen now to a blackbird repeat
his demands and wishes in clips
of sound are we in a green tinged
old film and am I supposed to
be writing a list of dream phrases
beginning again with rain filled
 ono....onomatopoeia and roots
of words dangling in cups or trees
and I suppose you want me to
find my own way to coax this

2. the blackbird is talking to
no one and everyone saying
mean things about angels and
yet all I know from here is the
shape of my flightless hands
gasp of song and a memory of
a kind and lighthearted world
that lives in chinks and feathers
and rain clouds where oh where
is it the green good and
worn hands and sheets
of home I forget to know
and the blackbird is elsewhere
and there is no knowing when
the shape of rain may become

3. maybe you know the echoes
of everywhere you have lived yet
and hear your footsteps before
you have arrived may I be the
one to photograph your every
almost and otherwise moment
may I need nothing more than
your smile and a few arch notes
in the margins of a half day
with the rain in each scene
keeping the meanings of things
as the illusions the light may
share or squander beautifully
there only moments and other

4. always or almost my ideas
come through as mis-memory of
dreams and yet it feels tricky to
make dreams somehow glorious
my waking memory does the
hard work and everything beyond
is yet more real and tangible
and words are heavy with
being words or frailty of some
neglect and where else they may
be yet where can I find some -
something to help shape this
contrary list-obsessed

Tuesday, 1 September 2015


Hello, thanks for visiting my writing space..... I've posted my poems and short stories here for the past six years or more. It's been a rewarding experience to publish my work in this way. Thank you to all readers.

All posts are now archived - but not forgotten. I am going to draw a line and begin to publish new work here. I'll also post some work from the archives from time to time. Now I am moving forward with my writing, with a book coming out next year and other projects in the works....


A new book of my writing (with artwork) will be published in 2016 - by a US small press publisher - more details to follow shortly.

You may read my work elsewhere. I am pleased to have poems published in The Rialto - the UK's finest poetry journal/magazine.

For those of you interested in my 'Grandmama' stories: I am working on a book of stories but this may take some time to take shape.

I am also working on a new series of poems.


Look out for new posts over the coming weeks and months, thanks always