January 11th + 12th

writing cheap poetry

at the end of a weekend

head stuck in words


juggling stories

voicing adding verisimilitude

to an old favourite


plus all the corpses dressed in tartan


the bears, horses and witches

with all the old gods of hearth

and forest and frost

in deepest darkest, Russia


and so I travelled

in a sweat box

waiting for the cool change


dismayed when only showers

passed by quickly


I was only an acolyte

to showers and whirling clouds

and quick winds which blew away my cobwebs


still leaving the earth thirsty

my head buzzing with stories

and a pen limp in my hand




Copyright January 2020







Running away does not involve feet

Feet are good for winning

And running to

Away requires a sleight of hand


My feet are still

My hands grasp covers

Turning pages into others

I flit from death to love

And back again

A cartwheel of bookends

Upside down in print

I run

And run

And run

Through plots thickened

My feet do ghost cartwheels

My hands talk

And talk

And talk

To nobody

A sign

Of my times



Copyright March 2014

The Process of Reading

Advent Poems Day Two


In a cocoon made of paper

I hide from myself

Banished from the flesh

I resonate to the rhythm of others


As I journey along well trodden pathways

I explore a few tangents of my own

For even as I hide from myself

I bring myself along


I soon go barging in, forging ahead

Moulding paper wet with my own tears

Into a Papier Mache Mishmash

A monument to the crossroads

Where Author meets Reader meets Story



Copyright December 2013

Parallel Cowgirls of The Sunshine Coast Sierras

Through the windscreen I watch
Dust bunnies cross the ecru sky
Beyond the traffic lights
Permanently set on red
My elbow waits impatiently outside the car

The Bride of the Sierras
Lands in Mexico
A plucky Scottish Lass
About to fall in to a cunning trap
Laid by a woman thoroughly scorned

I drive nonchalantly
Down the dusty road
A metal drover herding
Cattle shaped cars
All seemingly silver grey
To market along Nicklin Way

Kidnapped by a bandit
He who loves the cunning queen
Flora escapes with the handsome James
She doesn’t trust him really
It is for Ian that she flames

I park my metal horse
Hitch it to the steering wheel lock
Mosey on inside the discount store
See what bargains I can rustle up
{The chocolate coated gluten free fish
Just might hit the spot}

After many wild adventures
And a crushed to death white horse
Flora rescues Jimmy from the well
Watches as Ian {the two-timing bastard} dies
Scores herself a job in town
Makes plans to travel home only
To be kidnapped once again

The hazy façade of the shopping centre
Under noisy reconstruction
Adds a false second storey
Reaching high into the desert dust filled sky
I’ve had enough of all this Big Smoke hype
It’s time to unhitch my steed and head on home

To summarise the ending
Flora marries Jim
The bandit marries the minx
The unknown identical brother has died
In a Mexican type stand off
The Once upon a Time in Mexico
Is now lived happily ever after in a small town named pulp fiction

I park the car in the cantina garage
Make tea in the pot
Slip off my floppy sandals
Rest my weary cowgirl head
Take a trip to a 1930s
Made up Mexico
With The Bride of the Sierras
Time to read it real slow

Copyright October 2013

Thanks to The Bride of The Sierras by Wallace Q. Reid {1933}