It’s called Spring because it lifts us up to Summer before Winter lets us down

The heaviness has


Whatever made the beach sand pound has 


And is now ebb and flow

In softer

Dapples to the livelier light.


Then the grey torpor 


Sifted through Day’s warm mesh,it


On the bottom of the sea waiting

To be ground

Again by Winter’s deepest tide.

The world is so loud at night

I hear Morocco pulsing

In my feet and Hong Kong

Twinkling in my throat


Montserratian and Barbadian lapping

Ears over to New Orleans,

Rolling down to Acapulco


Further down Columbian greens

That heard my father’s

First word to the world


Now I’m flying high above

The deep giant squids and

Corals, fighting and fading into blue


Back to Europe, Corfu

Familiar pieces of the jig saw puzzle

Curling at the edges, many missing


Do of it what can be done

With what is left, before

Some breeze, dog or toddler gusts it apart, unthinking.

Marbella Booty

Sugar daddies, the

sea is blue beside

the twos and twos

of sweet neat men

two feet shorter,two

feet wider,two feet



Sugared daughters, arm above

arm, two feet nearer the

Sun on brown pins in

Platforms,tall blonde

Or brunette,stupid or

Cruel, slurping cocktail

Sized dogs.

Let’s go down to the sea, like you used to, with Grandpa

We stretch for blackberries
In the sun, walking slowly
Along the bay, here to commemorate
But bereft of memory
The chilhood talks, the driftwood fire,
The sausages and sticks
Were too light to sink and
Be saved for deep sea divers
To find.

One lone tanker
Heaves past as we
Leave. Do its crew
Marvel at the sunset?
Probably not. Do we?
Yes, in our minds eye,
But our hearts are
Elsewhere, trawling,
Water and memories
But the catch
Is empty, the
Hoped-for treasure,
Through it slipped,
If it was ever there.

The Birthday Girl and the Lost Boy

Trapped in here,

This head of mine

Fringed with hair –

Bad cut, don’t

Mind. Trapped in

There behind a

Card, the face on

Which we set the score. How many

Looks taken beyond

The casual glance

Can we reel in

And feel, use

For energy and

Self esteem. None

It seems, for me

Except my self,

Glancing at windows

As I pass,peering

In at the stock

Behind those

Bags, saddles

For the eyes,


Bearing them on,

This new day,

24th Birthday gone.

Taped up

He was


His mouth


Sounds fast, on the phone.

Quick, professional

Like someone

In a hurry.

‘I’m sorry

Did you

Have a





Behind the scenes

The sets were

Moving his

Mind’s Eye in the

The dark, no

Light back there,

They knew the routine, blind.

Get up, eat,drink.

Play football,

Score, eat, drink

Water then something

Stronger, stronger

Stronger till the

Drum stretched tight

To numb the eyes

With a dull thick

Beat bump heat

Bump heat bump,


Go out, get up

Get up go out

Out out to the

Girl he lost somehow,


On on on

To the pub’s

Strong arms,

Blue awning, benches,

Tables , gables

Green with evergreen, all

Greens and blue

To him, no more

Definition, only drink. On breath,

On toes on feet,

Aged four

Again, finding a

Way, feeling the


In he goes, head

To the bar , order

More if he can.

Drink more if he dare.

He does, the part

That’s survived the

Tide of liquor.

Awash, lone survivor,


Bewildered, lost.

He wades from

Bar to shore,

Where the natives

Are feasting,

Warming the

Pub’s wood


Do they speak


Do they understand gesture?

Will they eat

Him alive, stirred

In their Pad Thai?

They pound with

The music, these

Questions unanswered.

He sinks down

Like and animal, neither feral

Nor domestic,

Slumped, hunched,

Stooped, even while

Sitting, laid low,

Still reeling

From Exposure to the Sea’s

Blue gin.

They decide he’s

Inedible after

Little discussion,

Having glimpsed

Him and smelt him,

The liquor then the

The sick. Sea-

Sick he explains

But they can’t understand,

Hes forgets again and keeps

Talking, waving  his

Story, weaving

Yarns between mumbles,

Got hurt at football – some fool,

Something dribbled.

Out, outside,

Hurdle over, trip, the

Menu, a black-board

Trap the natives

Set. But  he

Succeeds to shelter

By the plane tree,

Native too.

Leaning there

He has a thought.

It passes like a ghost

Visiting from Before.

Come back, he thinks

With his shipwrecked brain,

Come back, come

Here, lets meet again!

Alone again, he leans,

The foreign tree bark

Wont respond his plea.

Forward, through sound

And sand. Up, down

Up, down, people


Feasting still,

Chatting on, a gurgling,

Almost painful.

He makes out a figure,

A She-one, carrying water,

He sees through the glass,

He holds it, drink, heavier than

The tree to lean on, he thinks.

She proffers him a seat,

Looks more like a wall,

He accepts, no offence,

And sinks onto concrete,


Arms wreathing ribs,