The loop of memory, worn out in places. The thin strands we clutch at, trying to recall everything about a person long gone, kaleidoscope stuttering. Sleep can be a sharpener of the finer details, tuning the colour back into the frame, restoring the rhythm. I heard your message, clearer than ever. Nine years have gone by too fast.


On the grass in between,

I saw your face;

Felt the sun

Bathing green,

Black stone wall

To place a hand on and lean

It was in a name,

The words on my mind,

Your voice and smile

From nine

Years before


Winding down

In tear-filled eyes

The message was clear


Closer in time assigned

Through sleep

You cried, happy and well

Strange the details

Dreams can recall


Blue China Cup



With you, my sweetheart and fellow mad hatter, a cup of tea whilst drank conventionally, doesn’t quite fit social norms. Sure, we have sugar and milk and perhaps cake, but there is opportunity to dance. There is always an opportunity to dance.


The china cup

You put to your lips

Blue, warm

A chip in the ridge

Handled by hands

Which smoothed my cheek –

You took sugar,

Two spoonfuls,

And a splash of milk

From the fridge

The water boiled,

And the heat in me rose

As I bent over

And buttered the scones

You asked for jam,

There only was grape;

But I scooped

And smeared it

Over the base

I laid the table,

And you lay on a chair

As the tea mashed in the pot:

I spread the silverware,







It was ready,

An unconventional afternoon

For this pair;


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Sometimes, it is the lack of feeling which is more telling. The moment, anticipated fully, has finally arrived; the moment you have built yourself up for treads empty. Now and anti-climatic, it is an under-slide of emotion. Perhaps it is best to feel less and not more.


Fixed tree,

Blind eye rooted

Under slide shot skipping


Iron cast frost,

Autumnal past


Into winter’s bowl

Welded in the freeze

The bolted fingers

Hinged closed

Against the cold


The prints start,

Return to edge,

Rebound ankle high in snow,

The message I walked here,

Breathed in my own cloud of sleet,

Prised open the bonds,

And let you go



I like to think there are illuminating points in our life, set out in a row, and that once we reach those lit up points, we can learn something which changes us. That knowledge can be positive or negative, yet still have the same enlightening effect. And also, being in darkness is not the worst place to find oneself; rather, it means once the shadows are gone, we can see more clearly.


Carbon cut dark,

Drawn out smudged streets,

Sketched skirts, suits,

The relentless shoes

Upon feet

Black line

Iron cast lantern,

Repeated rows

Measuring sticks elite,

Stuck and stark,

Ladder leaned




For the blare, the flash

Matched flames

Pinpoint passed


Coloured glow brief;

I smile, to

Know that I have seen

Shades of you,

Full relief