Posted in Lies


Scepticism often attaches itself to a photograph labelled iconic
Old Glory raised on Iwo Jima
MacArthur wading ashore to return
an exuberant V-J Day kiss in Times Square
a loincloth waiting to vote in an arid ex dictatorship.

Ex post facto?

Authenticity is absolute – verifiable by God
the most characterful photographs ever taken
chapter one verse one emotion as subject.
Disappointment. Five men. Defeated. The South Pole.

It is unfaceable – a Norwegian tent
a camera and piece of string
capture rawness for posterity
they leave only photographs and diaries.

Death by starvation. Malnutrition as accomplice
ambition the money man paying for the hit
a brutal quotient too many miles not enough food.
Double or quits?

Everybody is a winner
except the one who did
glorious failure trumps flawless professionalism
to history Scott is a legendary figure
Amundsen a footnote.



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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