15th January

in my neck of the woods

nature has settled into a rhythm

sometimes typical of January


clouds but no rain

humidity but no rain

heat but no rain


one day there will be rain

the monsoon will shift south

or a cyclone will travel down the coast

its tail curling and shedding as it goes


until then water is something to be treasured

short showers, no hoses, don’t wash the car


but after the deluge

we can dance in bare feet

mud between out toes

and a sigh of relief

that for a short while

we can stop worrying


but not yet

for today it does not rain

nor will it tomorrow

not even next week






Copyright January 2020




In my bathroom, directly under the exhaust fan switch, lived Bobbie, a Daddy-long-legs. We would converse when I went to wash my hands or clean my teeth. He became quite agitated whenever I turned on the fan, twirling around in a fit and, I imagine, hurling curses my way. He lived happily for a couple of weeks in this prime position.

One morning I awoke early and entered the bathroom to find that Bobbie had been eaten, only the legs were left.

{See bottom Daddy-long-legs above}

There were two cannibal culprits. One was of a similar size as Bobbie and the other was huge…mega daddy-long-legs.

Now my money was on the mega-daddy but the smaller one was closer to Bobbie. It was hard for me to deduce just who the cannibal was. Until I could charge the culprit with murder/cannibalism I had to watch them closely and see who would benefit.

For two days they stayed in the position I found them. Like many a detective before me I began to question my reasoning and turned to drink…tea.

Finally, the hierarchy changed. Mega-daddy moved into prime position {see above} and tiny-daddy hung down lower, halfway between the switch and the floor. And so they will remain until tomorrow, when I clean the bathroom, and remove them both outdoors.

In the meantime I’ve called mega-daddy, Blake, and if you’ve read Jack Heath’s Timothy Blake books, you will know why.

The End.



Copyright July 2019

sans pen sans paper sans hope

i’d really like to write a poem

it wouldn’t have to rhyme

i’d like to write about fear

about ignorance and greed

and that curious ability to decide that someone else deserves no pity or help or respect or even the slightest consideration

about how children are left to starve on cheap empty food and cheap empty television

bare walls and violence and old clothes and shoes

i’d like to complain about religious folk who blame the poor for not being pious enough and that is why¬† god has not delivered food and riches and shelter

conveniently not looking at themselves or inside themselves or anywhere but their bank accounts

i’d really like to write a poem about the stupidity of allowing self centred fools to decide the zeitgeist of now

but i can’t

my poems are sad and have left me alone to rot

sans pen

sans paper

sans hope




Copyright May 2019

I’ve Stopped

I don’t want to read anymore

for the wind blows

and the rain falls on hollow ears

I’ve stopped listening to the trees


my skin itches as the ants creep

circumnavigating the house

intent on a mission from gaia or god

I’ve stopped worrying about the ants


a single drop of sweat dances

erratically down my right thigh

it’s the humidity, you know, not the heat

I’ve stopped thinking about climate change


my heart still beats despite the years

sending blood to lost extremities

my gaze has centred somewhere within

I’ve stopped wishing for better days




Copyright March 2019