Category: Poems

From above, a drop, brief as a comma, spaced from the next by a breath of time not cold, not wet, a touch on the wrist and a sound – tick – or not quite

I approach the bed in darkness my head feeling happy for tomorrow there’s that coffee arrangement to look forward to and then…I slow need something there, search the cupboard, bare must find a place-filler for

she closes her eyes to the storm outsideand blankets her dreams from the nightmaresof water standing day and night in a shackwhose cold members are splinted together for warmthand dread every sound heard from the

On the stem of incipient protea shark-shaped petals wax tight their cradle of colour, ready to bare the heart of bloom for creatures of earth and air to gather and gather until, full-blown by time

I like to run long-distance races nothing ultra, of course, a half-marathon is quite enough to put me through my paces, beyond that it's simply not much fun. Now, sadly, that is something of the

I met a migrant from a distant land who sang: in a garden beyond lies the wreck of a birdbath, pieces strewn across the sand, its slimed bowl cracked, of water not a speck. Split

Dead weight the paths behind us still on our heels we returned with wind on our faces into the air of the household and its company of chairs and passage. the curtained rooms had no

The root of the candle burns down into the wax and glows with lustre and light. Our eyes shine with warmth as it burns and burns down into its grave of fuel.