Posted in Rituals


Antarctica, the old salts said was harder to get out of
than into
in the 1970’s and 80’s, fable was fact.
had always wanted to
yearned, ever since very young
thought it too good an opportunity to pass up.

The reality
was a three star prison
shared accommodation
institutional food
no privacy
very little opportunity for individuality 
restricted movement
permission required for most everything
mail : intermittent and non-priority
phone calls – weekly – 10 mins – booked in advance.

opportunities –
Some coped
others moped
suck it up
if not, there were two ways out :

medical diagnosed or self-inflicted –
tricky –
the authorities had seen almost everything before.

an urgent phone call from home –
family illness or emotional crisis
intimacy requires presence. Now.
Difficult to disprove. Impossible to defeat,
just the ticket.



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.