Posted in Before the Rain


Every year in the dying summer
a spring tide of human flotsam
floods the harvest town.

Necessity vs intolerance
gusts of ill ease ruffle provincialism.
Razor tongued judgement = tongue bitten resignation.

and opt outs
dreamers, and the disillusioned
merge to eclectic diaspora.

Needed and unwanted
they crawl over the area,
like a goldminer staking a claim.

They know the best places,
whose wife bakes muffins
and who
and where to avoid.

There are no complications
nothing is unknown
during daylight – work….
… after sunfall
once dark enfolds
and labour has showered and eaten – ask no questions.

as autumn empties to winter,
when everything is gathered,
tolerance separates from necessity –
until next year.



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.