Posted in Rituals

Log Cabin

He was one of the country’s richest people –
maybe the richest,
proud of his place of birth
loud in its praise
shy of its tax rules, he lived abroad.
An entrepreneur
and deal maker,
from humble beginnings, very humble.
Before he was a millionaire
he had been a builder.
Before he was multimillionaire
he had been a painter.
Before he was a billionaire
he had been a labourer.



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.