Posted in Rituals


No one remembers now,
how expensive and temperamental infant PCs were,
especially printers
not unusual to take the laptop or floppy to
uni, school, work and print there
even then the perversity continued
hit print
and out came 50 pages
not just the warranty on page 1
no stopping
only one way, pull the plug, literally.

He was standing alone, a small kid amongst little kids
waiting for chance, or sympathy, or generosity to offer a turn –
They left the ball lying on the grass
I motioned to the bat and picked up the ball
he is delighted
something moved, wind, bird, and animal?
“Careful he’s fragile ” –
his mother
suddenly there, not quite in my face, but almost
saying she has to watch, constantly
right from the start
from the moment he was born she just knew ….
50 pages ….
…… stopping.



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.