Poems

Counterpoint

Now, for me, the cycle of church seasons is replaced by the rhythms of birds – not just the beat of wings measured or contrapuntal

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Possibly

There was no choice about it–improbable degrees of maybe, no way the many why’s could definitely mean what I was sure they had. Without a

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qwertyoops

spoilt by soft-touch electronics even on a mechanical qwerty brain jams, keys stick/ fingers clumsied by the heavy push of levers   but how full

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Blue Shift

She’s tidying the grandkids’ room shifting the red Lego box cleaning up the constellations of racing cars, glitter, hankies lifting the scruffy teddies back onto

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Soul jigsaw

(A response to Wislawa Szymborska’s ‘Soul’) Soul lends time for keeps usually steps out wherever conversations form sometimes settles in for a year without shoes

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Depth Charges

There is no key to my father’s lock he was made of reinforcing steel and recycled refrigerator racks welded into a portcullis for the chooks,

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Submariner

I do not rememberever holding his hand,only the dart and jabover the dinner table,my father slipping like a fishflick, twist, left, right,turncoat, backpedallerfor the joy

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