Sunday, 27 July 2008

white buddleia my reflection bloodshot
a single magpie chatters
through dawn

Saturday, 26 July 2008

slipping unnoticed
out of the house
last sunbeams

- Blithe Spirit

Friday, 18 July 2008

The Blindside

A crack willow leans out sideways
into this hidden stretch of river
on the blindside of an unpeopled ait.

Where the sun gets through, there's
golden light at the bottom of riverside pools.
An obelisk pinpoints the old meridian.

And, each on its own orange buoy, two
young cormorants crouch like crocodiles
as the backwash turns their buoys.

Monday, 14 July 2008

a long way upstream the pungency of salt
trapped by stepping stones an old leather football
round the redeveloped dock a tern's plunge and rise

Saturday, 5 July 2008

There is a review, by Patricia Prime, of Eucalypt, Beverley George's tanka journal, which includes some kind comments about a poem of mine, at: Stylus Poetry Journal.


The conic lemon-like mountains
wrench themselves from the saurian sierra
with a gesture of not-quite-here-ness,
as if a sabre-toothed tiger
should hunker in the grass
that constitutes foreground.

No roads, no tracks unwind.
Only the glazing of the stationary sun
engenders movement behind the peaks:
a sizzle in feathery sand,
the weave and swerve of heat,
the patter of Moorish fountains.