Wednesday, 16 September 2015


Words take me from where I am.
Someone I'll never know
has unlocked the door of a house,
surrounded by trees then wilderness
and painted the colour of the sea.
The fire is lit and one I'll never meet
has left out food and drink
and a note on the windowsill that reads
Stay here for as long as you like.

Thursday, 10 September 2015

Descant on Juvenal


Those teeth may sparkle, but the eye stays dull;
smooth out the skin, the better to see the skull;
the mouth has gone, though lips contrive to pout;
scarlet-painted claws remove all doubt.

A regular taste of nothing from a spoon
and eternity's arrived, a little soon.
Now look at them dancing, cheek to hollow cheek!
She walks on air; her partner springs a leak.

Too pessimistic? There is worse to come -
grimmer than vacancy or mucky bum -
when dementia's sorted and existence without fear
or appetite, continues, year on year -

no hope, no struggle, failure, or success -
just incurable, epidemic endlessness.
Being dead is not experienced, as such,
so why are we afraid of it so much?