Friday, 26 October 2012

Uncle Ronnie

Uncle Ronnie cut the last stones.
Alone on the rock, the last mason,
He put a year under his chisel
Until the work was done.

Wednesday, 17 October 2012

Word Formation

Wind under a sky
With no shape
Blows in tomorrow's dust
An advance of rain.

Words cannot frame
The scant origin of cloud.
Nor moisture turn sense
Into utterance.

Thursday, 4 October 2012


What I write
In the pages of this place
As if on the walls of a prison
Is simply a poem
Or an epitaph.