Thursday 26 June 2014


Mighty Oaks dwarf a secluded Greenwood glade,
their shadows dancing in the gentle midsummer breeze
like things alive, swaying back and forth
as if to pan-pipes long since ceased to play.

Five days searching Sherwood's hidden places:
the clinging ivy, the rustling ferns, the toadstools,
the ancient tree trunks hollowed by centuries expired.
Not a stone is left unturned.

By Thursday fanaticism reaches it's zenith.
With but one day left, desperation creeps in -
if mushroom magic is the only way, then so be it...

It seems the leaves and bushes begin to morph
into something tantalising, but as yet indistinct.

Sun strobes dazzle. A peculiar hush fills the air,
as expectant eyes squint into the light.
My stomach tightens: I've just seen him
rise up from a clump of briers!

Edging forward with hammering heart,
I watch him draw his bow...
then slowly turn to bronze.

A group of gabbling tourists invade his space.
Their cameras flash, catapulting primal folk hero

into latter-day souvenir...and I, too, pass through bronze,
riding in on the lightening while time is rent

to an age where he's still flesh and blood...
and I am never, never ever coming home.

Thursday 19 June 2014


It's in the silences between your words,
continually niggles at the back of your mind.

It's between your eyes and what you see,
between your self-image and who you are.

Sometimes you inadvertently stumble upon it
in the Tarot cards or a therapist's notes

on a stranger you've never known,
yet who seems strangely familiar.

You tell yourself you're blissfully happy,
while crying yourself to sleep.

This Land of Lies is where we live now
behind our black-out truth shades,

hearing a different version of events
with each news channel.

A girl is talking non-stop about her achievements:
a catalogue of qualifications, the places she's been.

Her audience is agog with admiration.
But the truth is there in her eyes...

they tell a different story, a sad one,
that we've lost the ability to read.

Thursday 12 June 2014


You would always buy me a scotch,
then squirm with embarrassment as I downed it in one.
You knew that my being an Aries female
meant I was never going to be your coveted "Barbie Doll" type.
But you took my heart anyway and owner-branded it
with your tyre tread, and mounted it on the wall
alongside your myriad of Grand Prix trophies.
But this one you crucified alive,
then averted your eyes while it bled to death.

In your highly innovative circles they never expected me to speak,
assuming the region between my ears a vacuum.
Then when their error slapped them in the face, you left me.
To this day, I still grapple with that paradox.
Did you ever really love me as you claimed?
Or was I no more than a photogenic media-magnet,
a mere sacrifice to the Gods of  fame:
a dumb, diamond encrusted stepping-stone
to all you believe you are now?

Friday 6 June 2014


An intimate table for two
in a quiet restaurant.
She sits texting on her iPhone.
All the while, he's watching her.
Neither notice the seven red roses in a vase,
nor the candle flame leaping in the draught
every time someone opens the door.
His iPhone rings.
He answers,
begins a conversation about his work.

It's your anniversary for God's sake!
Whatever happened to romance?

The waiter arrives with their dinner.
"Enjoy your meal," he smiles
and is gone.
They barely acknowledge him,
just begin eating one handed,
text and call uninterrupted.

He is first to finish.
Lays his phone on the table,
but his eyes never leave it -
apart from a split-second glance at his companion
who is still texting,
oblivious to his presence.
So he picks up his knife...
then puts it down again
to finger his phone.
The temptation is too much.
He begins flicking through "contacts",
calls a mate and begins an animated discussion
about last night's football match.

Her texting over, she lays her phone
beside a half-empty plate.
She glances across the table at him,
feels resentful to be left out
of his conversation,
so flicks through her own "contacts"
and calls a friend...

It's your anniversary, for God's sake!
Couldn't you leave those flaming iPhones at home
just for one evening?