Two, young and trendy

One, in his hand a chap stick

London’s air strips him


Londoners look grim

Hurrying impatiently

Life’s relentless grind


Death message by text

Unfinished business by choice

A revengeful death


Long travelled marble

Re-used again and again

His curves adorn it


Skin so very soft

Indian hands my friends says

Caresses I seek


The mind understands

My heart and soul embraces



Gay patriarchy

Unless proven otherwise



Grow a big strong heart

Be as you wish to be seen

Loving keeps me sane


If your plan a fails

There’s 25 more letters

Trees stand, and let go


Seeking the Stone Age

Youthful feet chase Pokémon

The tide turns again


Fleeing refugees

The boy sits in bloodied shock

To have lived through this


At the grocer’s shop

I was the English grandson

Apples torn in half


Mint imperials

From tall jars on high shelves

My grandmothers treat


Patience by gas light

Blue pipe smoke, tales of New York

Bluebottles and wasps


Fun filled long summers

An old quarry, rough playground

Blacks mad bull raging


Two communities

This man has no connection

A tree without roots



Fertile imaginings

Seeds carried far away


Reckonings of life

Lives, leaves carried on the breeze

Face it, don’t look back


The mind seeks answers

Souls crave loving nourishment

Carbon is inert


What is the spirit?

A thing we cannot behold

Childish innocence


My androgyny




Gender bending men

Male dominant narratives

An oxymoron


How men think they cope

Troubling masculinities

Find that inner child


I knelt beside them

Imagining their ardour

Consummated love


They fade, loose colour

Like the love they once shared

Memories echoed


Six dry red roses

Rest, abandoned with a view

Tokens left behind


Red love tokens rest

On the edge of an outlook

Faded, dry like life


I found love tokens

Resting, left behind, marking

And I thought of you


We miss each other

Dried petals connected me

Our love reaches out


They lay on the ledge

Once blood red, filled with sap

Now discarded, lost?


Six ruby red stems

Lie in winters decaying

Ashes long gone now


First, procreation

Then recreation, ah sex

So, concentration


Chit chit chit, a wren

Robin’s solo lullaby

Lavender browning


Days grow, short again

A last bloom of butterflies

Green nuts underfoot


Late summer echoes

Red laden hawthorn boughs bend

And the sun grows cold


Convicted eyes leer

Contemptuous of our stare

Menace, starkly bare


Shimmering moist

Love and joy swim openly

The stream flows through us


Love can suffocate

My world feels a lot smaller

Autumnal breezes


The black iris chills

Their rage enhanced

The fear is in them


Sex connects us all

I stopped validating him

Relationships lie


He has a presence

His eyes smile and that’s a gift

Him revealed by it


My world feels smaller

There is less connection now

Like a lone wether


Lost and found

Coveting and loving

We need to talk, men.


Timeless weathering

Grockling rocks at bloody bridge

Cascading chorus


An otter edges

Blends in spaces, affording

Safe passage beyond


A lonely leaf falls

In my solitude I grieve

For all loves lost leaves


He said he loved me

Now he says he needs space

Driftwood & solitude


Heartbreaking is real

Heart aching physical pain

Separation hurts



Do you want cream with that?

A full carton of whole milk

Landed on the road as we arrived

With a dusting of window pane.

There was shouting, and then

A ramekin of jam followed.

Our presence is declared

We climb the stairs.

The flat’s kitchen is in disarray.

Two men sit at the kitchen table.

A, ‘fuck yous anyway’ indicates

Another in the room above.

He is sitting on the bed naked,

A tea towel covering his,

Embarrassment. Rocket

(Because we are all known

By our nicknames) edges the cloth

Up to ‘check’ for injury.

There, slightly the worse for wear

A Pavlova sits perched or impaled,

Hard to say now, the crisp

Outer is cracked and broken

And the soft marshmallow centre exposed.


You want cream with that mate? my colleague

Asked, I turned, beating a hasty retreat.




Love Hurts

It must have been some party,

Chairs overturned

A window or two lying

out on the lawn,

a disarray of bottles

and life’s accumulated


‘No nothing wrong here

Just people going a bit wild,

Sorry for any upset

To others, really

Nothing to see here.’


A friend intervenes

with words of

desperate concern.


The bruises to her torso

Are revealed reluctantly,

where hidden, is an amalgam

of so much violence.

A canvass of yellow and blue,

black and purple.

He was an artist

of such passion and

careful design and detail.

Well practiced, brutally

honest and focused.

Relying on his muses

capacity to suffer.


And she had

she did

She would.






The Dancer

A blank, pert canvass,

Save for that studded collar

And….. striking tattoo.

Pink rose petals surround

Two bold boots, alone

In the spotlight; calling?

Ballet tights envelop

Strong, thick legs,

Pumps slide on

Studded black cuffs,


A gimp mask and white pants

Complete the arrayal.

A horny prince scampers,

Strikes a pose.

The boots remain,

Silent but calling.

Flat against the wall

Posing like some punter

In a basement bar,

Graceful but desiring.

No less, and

No more masculine.

A man torn for

 A moment of freedom.

Boots on, tights off

Tights on, boots off

All off

He falls, and rises

And rolls, sweats sheen

Smears, as

Crawling, naked,

The leather boots

 Are licked.

Moistened, left

Glistening like,

An obsidian cock.