The Salt Force



we skate across the surface of the salt flats

hexagonals imprinted mind and feet

puzzling horizons boundless buoyant

at altitude where earth and heavens meet

we skate for love for countries for our children

olympian with gods encountered there

wreaths of crystal flavoured tessellations  

our crowns with cubic thorns atop frail hair

bonded to the brittle dessicated

in parched seas that mirror clouds and question why

perception plays its mind games at all tangents

while we skate and build the pillars merchants buy

steel-capped toes with buckled belts and braces

dungaree’d to toil and till to max

salaried in coarse and fine thrown pinches

cellars stocked elsewhere evading tax

a pocketful of salt o’er willing shoulders

a world within a world forced to believe

a conundrum geometric in equation

gliding on salt plains we must perceive

beneath the surface tension ionising

cellular components energy

minds must mine mutations magnifying

scale of operations ill-conceived

miners of the salt flats query skylines

skate for country, kids, to flavour fare

but be wary of illusions, thin-iced mirrors

turn and look, the salt force, be aware


X Marks The Spot

map of the world3

(source – adapted)

The danger zone

lies west of


doing nothing

south of


couldn’t give a shit

north of

what’s the difference

I’m just one of

east of

I’ve already

done my bit

The lethal lands lie


in the contours


in the curves

of couldn’t care


with all skeletal



we never get to meet

each other there


Lath And Plaster Lockets



Lath and plaster crumbled mid the rafters,

Dust and debris hung by aged cobwebs,

Linked by shadows lingering hereafter,

Secret lives suspended by their threads.

Here’s a year when someone else once lived here,

There’s the time they opened casket, found

Chains of bones, forgotten that once held cheer,

Dust to dust, they loiter, still around.

Cemented, covered over, for duration,

Detritus has held them fastened tight,

Awaiting such a moment, reparation,

Motes of souls, now drywalled, from all light.

There are memories you can’t see, in these lockets,

Hidden in the eaves, behind the walls,

Lath and plaster hold them, in dry pockets,

Residing there till this old building falls.

Red Thread



I follow it

it follows me

synergy in red


it felt, I felt

I bled when red thread bled

I sewed, it stitched

we wove together

harnessed leg and wrist

whither I go

it comes too

neither can desist

man on corner

woman there

many I forget

bound together 

by my red cord

everyone I’ve met

coloured yarn

for tapestry

 for warp the scarlet’s best

joined together


centred right mid left

red braid for the journey




in the maze I wander 

lifeline still attached

Daily Post – The Red Thread

Nature’s Kitchen

She seared the pan with juices born of struggle Flavoured it with flesh trimmed from her breast
Stirred the mix and waited till it bubbled
Then slowly added in all of the rest

A little bit of jealousy and temper     A smidgen of the time when words went wrong
Peppered it with points of view disparate
And, while it simmered, Mother sang the self-same song

Some differences to test the truth of loving   Let’s give them colour, creed and poverty
I’ll add a touch of sexual persuasion
Ugliness and beauty that some see

Throw in power and grace and favour Some grievances that keep the cauldron hot
Maybe just a little deviation
Bugger it, I’ll throw in the whole lot

She cackled and she laughed with mirth and struggled
This shouldn’t be so much fun, was what she thought
I ought to love them more than what I’m showing
I’d better put compassion in the pot

Bugger me, she thought, when elbow hit pan
Too much, too little, I may never know
Sod it, now it’s in, I’ll wait and wonder
Some virtual reality for show

I’ll dish it up and dine with them and challenge
From what I’ve seen they like that quite the best
Quizzes, feats of fortune with some bloodlust
My children seem to like being put to test

Oh shit, I nearly left out loving kindness
A mother ought to give that, even some
I’ve given it before and they rejected
But still, I think I should, I’m almost done

I’ll sit out here while pot’s on simmer
I’ll think about these children, ingrates all
Gave them all I had and were they thankful
Not nearly quite enough, and some, not quite at all

The sun set while the mother prayed some
Evil wasn’t part of recipe
But if that’s what they wanted for their dinner
She guessed she had to serve it before tea

Those Days



those mottled days

pricked insistence

of the thorned flesh

those nettled days 

that itch unbearably

vented droplets oozing

life’s evaporation

those barbs of penetration




please, bleed the more

and once upon a story

let extraction

spill the trickle

let it pour, so feed

the need 

and grasp, the while,

the sapped relief

in application

of an age-old remedy

those writing days

their itch unbearable

themselves their therapy

those days

Sticky Words

Pull a little word from out your pocket,

The one that’s tucked away that you can’t say,

The sticky one, the one with fuzz bits on it,

The one you kept and snuck it well away,

The one that when you see it, on appraisal,

Looks a lot like rubbish to your mind,

Rinse it off and look again, might notice,

It’s the one you lost and tried so hard to find.

That sticky word, adrift in secret places,

Diamond in the rough, a gem concealed,

Searched for, sought and needed, once unheeded,

That’s the one that could be, should be, new revealed.

Sticky words, I know them, they spell trouble,

Trouble while they’re lost in tiny holes,

Found, they are a gift, a grace regranted,

Sticky words can unstick word-stuck souls.

In Poplin



satin smooth for sheets to slide on

silk for lingerie

delicates that catch attention

housed in chiffonier

chiffon wraps, georgette gowns,

lustring won’t wear well,

lame, lace or organza

weave their own brief spell

comfort cotton wefted through

warp of stronger skin

little women, heavy-dutied,

worked with worth in poplin


Supple With Strength

Stunted and blunt,

Some boughs of a tree,

Poor limbs pruned till ends reveal scars,

Sealed for protection,

Sad cry from full-blown,

Stalwart, tho’ hindered, life marred.

Tapering branches,

Each new bud, every flower,

Burgeoning sap coursing through,

Roots fit to match, mirrored,

Hidden beneath,

Supple with strength to endure.

Wizened above

But with shoots still to bloom,

Shelter and shade oft provides,

Network supporting,

Sprouting, spreading and sporing,

Encompassing, lineage abides.