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

Tell Me A Story


all her stories end with death

and a loneliness full of desperation

so quiet that the chest pains

can be heard as they crush the life

out of all the joys enclosed in bones


sometimes the story teller lulls me to sleep

on bitter sweet tales of sex and love

and all the indistinct possibilities

that abound in words and rhythms

before they turn and become sour to the taste


for a while there her tales were muffled by a fog

a brief reprieve where life was lived without sound

and taste and touch and imagination

where words were only words and not pictures

and the shades of life were never heard


way beyond the tales I sense a life unlived

brief glimpses creep between The End

and the raw beginnings of Once Upon A Time

but still her stories end in death

I follow them in quiet desperation



Copyright April 2017

Mixed Up Mind

Advent Poems Day Nine



My mind

All the people

I have ever met

Yammering memories

With a neural hammer

Much to their chagrin

My synapses grow

Creating connections

Where none existed before

People who have never met

Now argue

Or fall in love

Babies lecture adults

Moralistic tones

A story unfolds



Back to front

All ganging up

To guide a future path

No wonder that the light

At the end of my tunnel

Leads only to


Copyright December 2013