Posted in Truth


A veil lifts and anguish recedes
dawn streaks of resignation
puncture the darkness of grief.
It has been a long way back.

Friends have become indifferent
boredom has replaced concern.

In youth, pride cloaks emotions
insouciance and detachment project
counterfeit messages of the heart
always play it cool – never flinch.

Now truth is important
even as it betrays desperation.
Madness stalked
waiting patiently
not quite welcomed
not quite evicted. A close run thing.



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.