Posted in Passages


Names – come and go
apart from the safe, utilitarian, the boring :
John, Peter, Mary, Sue
mark an era or epoch
the rise of royalty, the fall of faith.
He was the only Lionel I ever knew,
a name on deathrow
disappearing from birth lexicon as he came into being.
The Lionel talking to the TV interviewer was
greying and receding – but definitely him.

Cut to
2 students vacation jobbing as farm labourers
both on the threshold
status: amorphous
no longer adolescent, not quite adult
no longer university
not yet career-ed –
the days of heaven.
Golden weather, decent pay, a good boss
hard work, physical, over in eight hours, the rest ours.
Mateship and ribaldry – keeping an eye on each other
and watching backs.
Cut back
a sombre man, burdened and wearied down
talking slowly
announcing the closure, and loss of 200 jobs.



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.