no little lips…


Twenty six years ago, my wife and I experienced stillbirth at 48 weeks….what a shock that was. How did it happen? Only God knows…I have written about it from many angels over many years. A recent attempt at capturing that horrendous drama in a literary way.


no little lips to suckle pert nipples,

no tiny head full-breasted resting,

braille raised areole stupidly stippled:

pointless now emotional investing.


love-leeched lines, so unwitting,

senseless, night-bedding soaked:

milk drip mocks, no longer befitting;

unblessed – strangled prayers spoke.


long after midnight, starkly alone,

absent hero-husband blithely snoring,

only to God her flayed pain groans:

silent-still baby, powerful goring.


knees buckled on cold, cold floor,

head sunken on tear-wetted arms,

shaken, whip-stripped to very core –

unblessed her umbilical *tharms.


pathos prayer written, so apt,

read with sob-shaken diction,

rugged heart not handicapped:

faith-utterance vanquished friction.


no more tears, no more damn dying,

death banished by heavenly hope;

no baptism, no needed qualifying:

belief balanced on tense tightrope.

girls do funny things with feet

funny feet


girls do funny things with feet,

crazily angled, stunningly sweet;

Adam alone: incomplete.


thought-absorbed, humming heavenly,

slightly uncertain, gentle chemistry:

petite punch, winded pleasantly.


clarifying questions, heartfelt eyes:

shy and strong, womanly wise,

sunny smiles, fully apprised.


tender teeth bite lip: slight doubt,

hypnotising, hands dance, act out;

privately acclaimed my silent shout.


elegant and ardent, assured stance,

rhythms erupt, demure her dance;

rhymes paralysed, boyish glance.

Wax Disc on Base of Brass


Father once played piano jazz,

sheet music he didn’t know;

not for him that razzmatazz:

no jiving smoky pub combo.


Studio time once rented,

recorded seventy eight disc,

blues tune self-invented –

two discs pressed, little risk.


Wax grooves on base of brass,

teen pianist played by ear,

rhythm on washboard glass;

scratches make it hard to hear.


What other father on our street

recorded plaintive piano blues?

Hear him holler, stomp his feet,

stool-rock severely tested screws.


We boyish brothers toyed:

legacy platter played using pin-

pierced cone, anarchy enjoyed;

  • father would see such as sin!



let loose frission!


Wonderfully reckless wind and waves:

shoreline smashed, white fringed rave,

undisciplined salt swell, badly behaved.


Shout! Tumbling tumult makes hoarse,

hand anchored, bodies bow to force,

rusty railings gripped tight, of course.


Turbulent salt-water, surge splashing:

kettle-drum boom, cymbals crashing,

storm-battered coat-fabric thrashing.


Seascape alive, let loose drunk-frisson!

Exhilarating, forcing into submission,

sea warily watched, joyfully listened.