Writing

for John and Henny

Today our gold is mixed and made
As we kneel and wash in this stream
That runs like breath across this glade
Into our common dream

And all our gifts are assembled here
On this day in the sight of the world
The ardour of our age grows clear
See the banners unfurled

Sing me for you and the wind blows true
Sing you for me and the wind blows free

The cycling craze is upon us.
Living in our skin of Lycra,
Therapy in repetition of our knees,
The road’s song and its scholar
Teach us a halt

Is not acceptable; for if you stop
You have only your legs,
No matter how shapely, to fight
Inertia.  The lead unto temptation is inevitable
Running lights, runaway, through
A mechanical economical gradient
Down to imaginary equilibrium.

Punctuated.

for Donald on his 60th
Every child is an oracle
Telling the present;
While you rub the sleep from your eyes
They park on your chest.

Great Big New Tax
Great Big New Tax
Great Big New Tax
Great big new dacks,
Cape, wig, shoes, slacks.
Eight Whig nude cracks.

When I think of poetry I reach for magpie song
Muddle monkeys waddle below

Spelling.  I’ve always regarded myself as a good speller.  Certainly adequate.  But converting The Weird Colonial Boy from an old

I’ve decided to post my earlier work under a Creative Commons license. First up, The Weird Colonial Boy. Will upload

Some might have heard that Jill Sparrow and I are writing a novel. (Don’t ask me what it’s called.) Friends

Well the novel’s finished. A draft, anyhow. It took almost exactly two years to write the draft and a couple