Posted in Truth


Before inclusion and enlightened thinking
she would have been called a hunchback.
Friendly with pixie appeal and fine features
the more one looked at her, the prettier she became.

Six degrees of separation has to answer
for what everybody does
donate the address and goodwill of a friend
living in the destination of another.
It is hardly ever followed up
or works.
She did. And it did.
Late afternoon …. became dinner
vivacious, I was only becoming acquainted with that term
she filled the meal with tales of exotic travel.

We shared desert of stick chocolate
instant coffee
and the washing up.
I am new to my new life I explain
and not used to entertaining.
She said she didn’t mind
we continue to talk, laughter is added.
Summer nights are long. Dark arrives by stealth
a candle increases the dimness.

Then …… she stood

“Some things are for talking about
others for doing”
clothes abandoned her.
From the floor a low tone, high in confidence
“here, I am the same as other woman, it won’t be any different.
Hesitation cues sensual feminine laughter
“I’m thirty three,” she tells the half light, “you’re not the first.”



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.