Pisces visits Aries


ahh, coffee time
candle lit, tobacco lit, light lit
(kinda red and covered with Springgreen flowers)

tonight, predawn i hear/see
God’s Learning Channel admit
their God knew what they were doing
when they sacrificed the lamb
the Egyptians would know they were killing their God Aries
and that all of the plagues were aimed at their other Gods
and they, the Egyptians, would set them free…

but here we sit dear Aries
tiny mythos in the sky
reminders one might say
Gods are myth —
they are not killed by their symbols
wantonly destroyed
get over it
Spring will arrive
in 24 days
here or not here
Shooting Stars
here then gone

Equinox Eve is coming soon
now my dear ol’ man
tell me what your love will bring
whisper if you can

Front Page by Gillian Clarke

from the chapbook “Making the Beds for the Dead”

Front Page

It’s the photograph that does it.
A man howling for his child.
You can’t forget it
despite a let up in the rain,
sunlight on a river,
a flight of geese over an estuary.
It’s a rucksack of sorrow
on your shoulder, on your mind.

Try leaving it on the platform
to be defused like a suspect package.
Try leaving it on the train,
personal belongings
they remind you to take.
Try to lose, bin, burn it,
indestructible as polythene
of flowers in a filthy stairwell.

Maybe just this once
we should forego the minute’s silence.
Maybe this time, in supermarket,
street and school and public square,
studio, station, stadium,
standing together, eyes closed,
we should throw back our heads
for a one minute howl.

Carcanet Press

My race is the Melting Pot

i lie myself prostrate before you
face up, sincere,
whoever you are that are
that view yourself as the
superior race

for i am
of the melting pot
the lowest among you
of many races
know good people do bad things
we save our scorn for the bad things
we still love the people for
we are all one
when you join us
“hate” will be eradicated
dialogue will be pleasant
and so, what if, as if,
we never find perfect
we will have created
a more perfect union.

Mirror mirror on my wall


what is this/that face reflected?
right, so differently marked
than the left
turn to the right
see the crying left eye
tears withheld
streaks run
from cheek to chin
turn left now
there’s still a question and love
eye that winks itself
a slight tip of the eyebrow
below a cheek a mosaic
of words unspoken

look away look away
it’s Sunday morning
somewhere may there be peace
he said, “If you have something to say
you can say it now instead of later.”

well later is now and i can understand
deeper than i knew you suffered
for your sanity

they tell me you lookin’ good mi amigo,
strong buffalo heart man
thank you for the bird flutter
i held
o so short of life time
o so long of sand time


if you would love let go of hate

21 days till Spring

“watch your vocabulary,”
Greg poemed.

words were
in the beginning
and when a word became a common word
via enough people using it, it
became written in a great book,
the Dictionary.

forsooth and why not
everybody stop! what’s that sound?
hate being deleted from the Dictionary
as it fell and fell from use
to the ground
fertilizing something new like maybe,

Just like a muscle and/or brain,
if we don’t use it we will lose it.

Now is a good time to stop using/thinking the word “hate”

Note to Nature Program Editors


firstly i love You
for bringing me et al
nature and life in all it’s glory

i love you not so much
when you tell us something
we find hard to believe you know

like tonight
saying how much pain cranes are feeling
flying over the Himalayas
please forgive me for wanting the facts –
and/or do you have a scientific way
of measuring cranes pain?

lastly i love you for making the point


And who did you think was buying the sex slaves?


not India
they have turned from their Sacred Cow
to Sacred Gold

how many bastard children
did jolly ol’ king of England have
mothered by his servants
force fed
The Frog and the Prince

jolly ol’ kings
are the 1%

poor thangs
these days
the servants are not so Seville
in Sevile

don’t it make your stomach wanna gush

And who did you think was buying the sex slaves?


it’s good to know evil


the poet said,
“Evil must get tired sometime.”

of the eons of life on planet Earth
evil was given personified,
two thousand twelve years ago
or +five thousand depending
on who’s measuring,
unlike Prometheus
this personification
of evil
was given
the hour
of it’s own dissolution
something burning in the kitchen?
someone smoking sulphur?
hell no, it is not the Earth and everything in it
it is evil remembering
the trade off
but yet
where there is life there is hope
to every season
change, change, change, change
at time for tears
a time to let go
turn, turn, turn, turn

shake hands with your sister Kate
my Jake
shake hands with your neighbour Sam
welcome back as the flowers in May
dear ol’ country boy