Posted in Passages


The townsfolk said thank God,
thank God for regional development
and government catalysed industry.
Jobs, services and contractors,
three shifts a day, seven days a week
for at least 50 years –
flow on.
Extra teachers at the school
more nurses at the hospital
increased payday spending for merchants.
What a great use of that wasteland out on the coast.
Win. Win. Win.

Tourists said thank God
thank God it had closed
no more smoke smudged skies or
neon arc nights
the sooner the damn thing was demolished the better
an eyesore
a carbon burping dinosaur
closing – 58 years too late
the site could be made over
and returned to beachfront.
who the hell would ever turn a view like that over to industry.



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.