Posted in Love

Character Witness

Mend it, bend it, shake it,
just a little bit
so the old song said
a nickelodeon knees up sound – catchy
and risqué
just exactly what ?
The rules,
could I
mend them, bend them,
shake them …. more than just a little bit?

and …… who would know?
I said, “ leave it with me,”
had pretty much decided ….. one for the Devil.

Fiona, Second Cook
didn’t say much, but saw a lot
walked past – didn’t even break step – “she’s a little backstabber,”
flies and ointment …
“ No…
sorry, I’ve thought about it … and can’t.”
Not better judgement
but politics of offence to own staff.
I thought the verdict harsh
and wrong.
Wrong – I was. She was a backstabber, clever, very clever –
a narrow escape.




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.