He dresses like a wolf

Jammed up warm against my thigh

Him, solid, not going anywhere


He seems to know the damage

A wrong word can do

He chooses with care his

Or, says little at all


His silence says nothing significant

His uncomplicated presence soothes


But  *see title


I close my eyes and

Leaning back

I listen


Frank Whats’isname

—Hey, Frank’s on the phone!

-Frank who?

—Frank O’Phile. The Irish fellow who drinks like a fish and digs French chicks

-Does he speak the lingo?

—Like a native, yes

-Lucky bastard. What does he want?

—Wait a mot. I can’t understand his accent. He’s asking for:  du pain, du beurre and du Bousin ….wtf!….. ‘scuse my French, mate

-Do what?  What ‘s he on about?

—I think he thinks we’re a restaurant.

-He’s probably been on the whisky again. Hang up


Tumble of Loose Parts

She’s unpinned as an itch of wild

without a stitch, she tumbles in

she’s become to thin, too sculptural

to capture in shifting brilliances


She came in on that

light, soft of night with

a moon caught like fruit in her teeth


She came in tasting of tangerines

and midnight oranges drenched her breath

sounding like rain or winter thaws


She came in on a

steady lash, a summer down pour

steeped in sky-dipped juices, the colours of bruises


She came in on that

tide, alive with stings of wasps, her

raspberry rich perfume invades the room


I came too


Same Sweet Magic

Lose what needs to be lost

the cost is too great to keep

shit, on a stick

even if it smells pretty pretty

slick, life is not about events and circumstances

that trap you, that trip you

but how you chose to respond to those same sames


you see what you already hold

change what you hold

change your glasses, wipe the lens

let go, let up

everything changes, look

to the present

not through the lenses of the past that shadows

shift and warp

the future is brighter magic magic

sharp as breath

the past is lost


this is where you

you were


A for Apple and other fun facts

I can’t believe this is the last day!! I’m on-my-knees exhausted and nearly out of words, but what a blast it has been. Here’s the last one, I think…  A prose poem. A postcard. Almost Again.

hashtag with blue background behind

Hey, Sweetie, you can put a stamp on, although many have tried, you can’t order me — alphabetically speaking
the longest word I know that does that is — ALMOST, ordered correctly A-Z
and you almost can, if you reverse a bit and look me up back to front. (see details on some website or other, btw)
A bit obscure, for you, if not almost for me — try looking up this apple, honey

1% of all women can achieve 100% orgasm just by stimulating their breasts can I be one of them?? Almost. I’ve tried. I’ve fiddled with the knobs, but I just can’t get off —
(tried for 37 minutes which is the average for any sexual experience)

That’s not working. Wait, babe.  I can’t find the hashtag button on my Apple Mac either,
(which is called an octotoph in any man’s language.) Why don’t I have one when 99% of the population seem to have access?? I can’t type octotrophmetoo, can I? Sounds cracked.
metoo metoo metoo
Another fun fact — A duck’s quack doesn’t echo and though they’ve tried, no-one can figure that out.  Sounds quacked. Quack Quack Quack. Lack of interest? — how about this chestnut?

An estimated millions or precisely a more or less of trees are sprouted from the nuts buried by forgetful squirrels. Bless their cotton socks, the furry nut jobs! Or, are they on a mission no-one knows about?? Almost, I imagine. The bees can’t do all the work, honey!
There was that Johnny Appleseed, of great and noble deed, who planted appleseeds and grew trees too. He only did it though so as folks could be pressed to distill apple juice to cider and get pissed. weird. I almost bless him as well. For the moonshine, hashtagCheers!
Sweet Sweet Sweet!

btw 30/04/2018


Napowrimo Day 30:-write a poem that engages with a strange and fascinating fact. It could be an odd piece of history, an unusual bit of art trivia, or something just plain weird.



I grabbed for a warm hand

ful of cherry blossom, shoved

it in my mouth, impatient

for the fruit

I couldn’t wait


there was no juice or blood but

the petals stuck pink and delicate in

and around my mouth in

muted protests  — too late

I sucked escaping perfumes in

to my nostrils to taste them but

in return I got a mischievous tickle

then a revengeful sneeze


flower matter fell in

patterns on the grasses, rosy in

against the daisies and dandelions

a mess? a waste?  — not a bit of it!


I grabbed another fistful, look

I drank a gulp of liquid sky, stuck

out my tongue and lapped at muted

blues and grays — a graze of breeze

on bare skin like breath on a mirror, look

I twirled in a blur of birdsong, frantic

with spring, immersed in all this


I grabbed another fistful of cherry babies

and jammed them in my mouth

then I went at the lilacs

still green, not quite purple

my throat thrown open

btw April 26 2018



Napowrimo day 26:- write a poem that includes images that engage all five senses. Try to be as concrete and exact as possible with the “feel” of what the poem invites the reader to see, smell, touch, taste and hear.




Fair of Face

‘I s’pose you’ve heard of that guy that died in ancient times, but I’ll tell you why…

a certain son of a …. Let’s get this straight. There was once this…’


an hombre by the name of Narkissos who

was birthed between kisses and ripples

between swirls of blues and turquoises

stilled on an instant between breaths

of a willing nymph and a river  — God! but what

he was, he is, was always and infinitely is

pretty pretty pretty, actually and definitely perfection its self

caught in a reflection of him self


he came out perfectly formed on tongues of water

he came out at himself sideways at first, perplexed

floated on a ruisseau gently filled face to face at last

and be came conscious of him self

a perfect pool crystallised to flesh


he, an apple caramelised, his admirers lyricised, hypnotised

affected by his pheromones, his dulcet tones, his astounding beauty — God!

set to sticky sweet, to salt, at addiction  — he, attracts a plethora of lesser

beings bee-wings being — as unrequited whinings best ignored but is there fault?

for who could not resist the calling

for falling falling falling

deep deep deep in love

this vision, vision vision

water falling, cascade of drops, of lost selfs, lost lush to

damnation, admiration, as sickly elixir as ever was

getting thinner thinner thin as water

‘well, that still sparkles long after the disaster

well, the myth, and a name retained, is all that remains

well,  that,  and a flower  —  an echo echo echo of this

well, ain’t that fair,’ pronounced Nemesis



NaPoWriMo day 21:-

prompt based in the myth of Narcissus. After reading the myth, try writing a poem that plays with the myth in some way. For example, you could imagine that imagine the water is speaking to you, the narcissus flower. Or you could write a poem in which the narcissus berates the Kardashians for stealing their neurosis. Or a poem that comments on the narcissism of our time, i.e. beauty and body obsession, etc.

Sid Philips lives next door

Andy doesn’t notice him, no-one does

but he exists

on the other side of the fence

Sid Philips seizes toys and re-tells

their stories in vicious bites

by plucking eye balls for their heads

hacking legs and torsos off

mix-matching to imagine monsters

for his own sadistic pleasures


skull and crossbones on his unwashed t-shirt

match his blackening young heart

sparking ambition as a future star-serial-killer

confined, for now, to his basement, bedroom

neglected back yard

but later

when it’s time for tea

and his toolbox is discarded

he sits upon his mother’s knee

kicks his little sister away

ignores her cries

that whinny insect, he’ll pick her wings off


he accepts his mother’s loving kisses

and her soft arms as a tonic to his nightmares

where no-one plays with him.

btw 13/04/2018

  • Sid Philips is the villainous boy next door in the hit Pixar Disney flick, Toy Story.


Napowrimo Day 15:-In her interview, Blake suggests writing a poem in which a villain faces an unfortunate situation, and is revealed to be human (but still evil). Perhaps this could mean the witch from Hansel & Gretel has lost her beloved cat, and is going about the neighborhood sticking up heart-wrenching “Lost Cat” signs, but still finds human children delicious. Maybe Blackbeard the Pirate is lost at sea in an open boat, remembering how much he loved his grandmother (although he will still kill the first person dumb enough to scoop him from the waves).

where Mary had a little Slam

(I couldn’t resist another one on today’s prompt! Just for fun..)

Wham! Bam! Warts and blisters…

What fairy godmothers never tell ya

Y’all get what you deserve in the


bend over Cinderella, in the es’pend, retrieve ya

own slipper, getcha feet wet, slip down and up the gutter

wipe and snipe your own damn fair

of place – mat your way out of childish disgrace, fall from enough!

eat enough!   give enough

rope enough to hang

bang!   yourself

any witch way, but loose the grimace

dance! Princess, you goose

chimes wait for no man or gander

Good! for ya, and, if you press Send

Ps. Always wear comfortable shoes

The Bend.


Napowrimo day 13: Today, we challenge you to write a poem in which the words or meaning of a familiar phrase get up-ended.