Saturday, May 28, 2016


I stumble
On crumbling pieces of driftwood -
One shaped like a human forearm,
Others the length of lanky legs,
And some fanned like hands
Or smashed like broken ribs.

If I can find a heart
I might be able to assemble
A man without a brain,
Who could frolic in the sand
Before the arrival of the fine rain
Already drenching
The tangled branches of banksias
And the purple petals
Of morning glory
On the wooded hills.

Choppy surges lick the sky
Between me
And an almost invisible
Distant headland
With an old lighthouse
Standing solid,
Like a dry fountain
In a forsaken past.

The beach is cold,
A southerly blows
And delivers icy slivers.
There is such a severe chill factor
That it makes me shiver
And it threatens,
By way of freezing gusts,
To shrivel my beard,
A two-day stubble of grey and greyer.

Fizzing crests of waves
Turn back on themselves
Before crashing
On invisible seaweed shelves,
Rough rocky ledges,
And concealed sandbars,
The white spray creating
A salty mist over the bending sea.
Soon it will blend
With a bitter shower
And I will wish
For the sizzle of a fire
As the drizzle
Rips through my threadbare fleece coat
And tears at my ageing torso.

Monday, May 23, 2016


Although I am old
I am still a child
Of one
Who always cares for me
And ensures I have
All I need.
He guides me
As I take every turn
And as I enter
Every roundabout.
He walks with me as I stroll
Across green parks
That flank the strands
Above sands of primrose
Where I can paddle
In the gurgling shorebreak
Before pausing to watch
Parades of the coolest shades,
Dissembling in impressions
Like works of abstract art,
Beside turquoise waters
That shimmer in the sunlight
While rippling in the breeze.
Even when it is dark,
And I cannot see,
He sends me visions
So I know the waves glimmer
Under the moon at night
When I listen in my sleep
To the sighing sea,
Diminished, breathy,
Rolling with a rhythm
Written in the beginning
And set to the tempo
Of dances for angels.

Friday, May 13, 2016


How can I beat the black dog that hounds me?
I live in a world where there is no trust -
A place of unhindered malignancy -
Where lies prevail and truth is left to rust.
I never sought a harbourside mansion.
I invested all I earned in learning.
But now no one comes near to read my words,
And I attract only sneers and spurning.
At the crucial junction I was robbed blind,
And then thrashed raw by leeches of the law,
Who live in glass houses with stolen gold -
Slow torture then massacre by chainsaw.
The postmodern preachers rave about hope -
Slapstick for prey at the end of their rope.