Thursday, 8 June 2017


Time contracts
I blinked and the future was already here
Life in brackets
Swamped by a much greater text
Science mines and searches
Common ancestor
Mitochondrial mother
Embargoed newsflash unleashed to the world
It is after seven, isn't it?
Diverging evolutionary paths
Parallel strands of evidence
Culture accumulates drip by drip
Complex social networks
Ideas that stick in the consciousness
Archaeologist burrows inside the mind of the maker
How he built up his toolkit
The teardrop explodes
Primitive accountant scratches out a living
Ancient artists and musicians daub the caves with song
They say neanderthals taught the moderns to paint
Distracted journalist looks the other way

Thursday, 8 September 2016


Nordic smile
Watching you bathe
Steam rising from your skin

Nordic eyes
Pierce with their gaze
Pale as the meltwater

Nordic eyes
Cross my heart and hope to die
Nordic eyes
Snow-blind in the sunshine

Nordic skies
Darken and fade
Lost in the pine forests

Northern lights
Guiding my way
Prints linger in the snow

Nordic eyes
Cross my heart and hope to die
Nordic eyes
Snow-blind in the sunshine

Fleet of longships
Sails before dawn
Warm my cold lips
Wrap me in reindeer skin

Tuesday, 11 August 2015


I am lost in a labyrinth
How I got here I don't know
An enormous palatial garden
Bordered by high walls of mossy weathered brick
Dense hedges of dark foliage interrupt the views
They are impenetrable
Gravel paths crunch their way through this maze
Meandering this way and that
Turning abrupt corners
At first glance the paths appear regular and grid-like
But they deceive
They lead to dead-ends
Their herrings are red
And their goose chases are wild
Just when I seem to be getting somewhere
I arrive back where I started many days ago
The hedges open out into a clearing
In its centre an octagonal fountain
Water spouting from a large Greek urn
Two heavy stone benches
Face each other across the clearing
Leaves have fallen on the seats
Leaving a design
At each corner of the clearing stands an identical rounded fir
Pointing at the sky
Four points on the compass
But which is north, south, east or west?
The sky is sullen, leaden, useless
And there are no stars at night
Condemned I am to wander alone through this web
Trapped like a buzzing wasp
Behind a pane of glass

Monday, 3 August 2015


Proudly she stands in all her glory
Framed by palm fronds
A golden crown upon her head
She is the queen of the night
Transposed to the harsh light of day
Her long dark mane sits heavy on her shoulders
She wears only a necklace of red and sky blue beads
Dangling casually across her chest
She throws back her head and laughs
A deep throaty laugh
A roar that lasts a thousand years
Beside her the sacrificial sheep
Calm and oblivious to its fate