Posted in Love


Tertiary education was smaller then,
colleges and classes pro rata –
10 – 12 – 15 in a graduating year.
Perhaps the bonds were more intimate,
in those more intimate times
or he impressive –
in the prime of youth
doing what he loved …. in the mountains.
His classmates commissioned a work
1 m x .6m watercolour on canvas,
blue and white
moving boldly between
ascending infinity on double ropes and vertical ice
mounted on the library wall.
above a plaque proclaiming his passions –
life, climbing and science
perpetual memory and love by his classmates.



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.