Posted in Lies


Memory – often tempted by remake
revision, clarification, polishing
excision of truth and fillings of fiction
smoothed by self perception.

She had been on a holiday
free from the borders of respectability
a holiday fling turned to almost romance
young and cute
he would be a trophy – for a while

Used to having her way, she will
visa refusal becomes defiance – then marriage.
Some would have settled for memories
and a T-shirt.

They had hired him
a guide
an emissary to envy
easing affluent pilgrims to mountains
where climbers are found legendary, or out
adventure – vicarious – amputated of danger.

Three weeks long enough for
contract to shrink to comfort
and what was thought exotic …. turn erotic.
Should she? The Devil wins.

the plane landed at the high airstrip
haloed by the light – a shining moment – there he is
as if he had been – all his life.
She knew immediately
an aligning – two souls orbiting in synchrony. Destiny.

A decade passes
as have they from each other lives.
A mistake. He was so inadequate.
She had always known that.



Most of my life has been spent on the bench, occasionally called into the game by extravagance or attenuation. Waiting has turned a loner into a recorder - nondescript and inconsequential, more not noticed than overlooked - the non-vantage point of children not yet considered old enough to understand. Orphaned Islands (Un)poetry is a lifetime of picking anecdotes up and not throwing them away. Stories collected like odds and ends placed in a box in the basement, the garage, the garden shed - uncertain as to what their use might be but knowing that one day there might be one.

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