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Toast To Authors


Fruits fresh from much foraging
Picked out and picked over
For browsing, brooding, brewing
Through fermentation, evaporation
Concentration and distillation

The initial insipid tipple
Of the mundane commonplace
Emerges new born from the nib
Or more likely these days
The fingertips and screen

Fortified and now 100 proof
So savour slowly this potent elixir
That our writers have pored over
And now pour for us freely
So pause and drink their health

Calliope’s Children


You stoke and provoke
Open up countless chasms
Too vast to orate
Conjuring such wild answers
Few are they who dare reply



We each swim through time
Spewing words like light and dark
But what do we build?
Illusions and delusions
Glad to have encountered you

Two-way Street


Creation flows forth
In fresh illumination
Out there; in here too.

Forever Amber

……………………………………………………………………………………………………….For Roger Z
Seeing nothing
Beyond pattern

Do I care for you
Or is it I care more for
My caring for you gone?

Proceeding unhindered
Playing a game
For a while

A different game
A different while
The same play

Where an author lurks
There are no accidents
But pattern-spun plot

And shadows …

Meeting Point (Reposted)


Mythmakers all we are
And so meeting
Compare our mythologies
(Like so many have before)
Inner fire and heirlooms
Bounced cheques and littered highways
Dream rivers that disappear into the sand
Heartflow that stops and starts
And the long work of reconstruction

Artists all we are
And so meeting
Compare our artistry
Plain talk with rich recesses
Nuances to old questions
The curl of the cry
At the wellsprings of voice

Hunter at bay
The poet crawls and capers
Across the carnival and charnel-house of life
Fractious fragment of the Creator
Who hath made all things well
Adolescent loneliness
Adult uncertainty
Menopausal anxiety
And senile decay

Actors all we are
Though no spectator views us
And so meeting
Compare our pasts and futures
As all our heres and nows come down to one

Everly Blooming

Featured Image -- 8800

Cherry blossoms spring
Showering us with petals
The wagon wheel turns
Arriving then departing
While the static hub sits still



Another page then
Savaged, ravaged

No pristine virgin
No fallow field

Tell me for why
Is it just rattling

The bars of the cage
Of this our language

Busy busy restraining
Our breathless words

For after all, for after all
Who was it, who was it

Put the me in meaning
Or the em in poem?



Old as I am
And olderness coming
Day by day
Vocabulary rotting
Wasting away

Detach, detach
Who needs the grief?
The foolishness
Of vain denial

So much of life
One brief foray
Mainly wasted on

Sat here now
In mid creation
Tip of the tongue
But spittleless

There’s a good word for it
But what it is
Is another matter
Sit patiently



Your mind gate opens
A story flows forth, liquid
And sound as a bell

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