A welcome change
from all the postponements,
all the tests,
a rock in the mountain.
Where am I going
but here,
hard against the sky?
Until the day
after the next dark,
what could I see?
The night
like rain.

To A Child

The trees outside,
at this moment,
are where they are,
all their lives.
But who’s to say
what the wind makes,
what it takes
to caress,
to bring out into the open
the silence that never closes
but stays.
But this man,
he says nothing
and lies.


That first morning,
you wore shorts
and came to my bed

with sausages
and bread, things
we could not do without.

Ours is a love
that doesn’t need
to be done,

doesn’t care
to be alone,
with days like separation,

like the dots of evening
unfazed by time,
by ardour

of a kind that moves
in and out of us
unlike diligence

but like passion
not unproven.

No stranger nor familiar man

No stranger nor familiar man
the blackening of night
the discerning might
of heaven
some commonality
of falling
in place
of management
and ascent
no one there
no body held close
some beginning
to last


One of my favourite places to submit is the fabulous online literary magazine Otoliths. I’m delighted to announce that three sections from my on-going poem sequence “Silence” have been accepted for publication by the editor, Mark Young. Thank you once again, Mark.

Published in Otoliths

I have two pieces published in the new issue of Otoliths, edited by Mark Young. Thank you so much!


There is no pain;
there is pain.
I feel my body
Because it is here.
What could make me sick?;
what couldn’t?
I’d like to think
this check-up
is just routine.
Where is my soul
being still?
Where pain reaches
but is not felt
but felt.