I always loved the sound of gulls in the morning.

My father complains. They no more shatter the dawn

As the arriving cars. They are the music of the sea

And the sun shines with them. Who cares if they steal

From time to time?


Share the City

I want to share the moment I fly down the few stone steps

Out of the town hall and into the cold breeze;

And when I choose whether to walk through the open square

Admiring the space, or walk hidden by the columns

And look into the windows of the library I’ve never been in.

I want to share the moment I sit by the fountain too early in the morning,

And people are rushing into the jungle of cafés.

I want to share not knowing which way to go

With no intention of making up my mind,

Which is inconvenient when trying to find a place to stop and eat.

But maybe my confused steps are funny,

And we don’t need to plan, we can just get lost together.

Good Morning

I’ve kept the curtains open

So as to rise with the sun.

It comes cold and golden into my room,

And grows as the Mersey River runs.


It is only just gone five

And the songs of morning birds arrive,

The roar of speeding trains

Has yet to break through the tired day.


I’m happy to know the world still sleeps

And I sit in bed awake,

Still too lazy, maybe, to leap up to my feet

But pleased to steal what there is of life to take.

Early on the 13th

Early on the 13th

I heard the church bells down the street

I saw a reflection in my lover’s eyes

I caught the sun breaking through the curtains.


I thought of dedications and declarations

Hymns and poetry and movements like wine or ivy

All short enough to ensnare attention.


And I wondered if I’d found balance

Or if I’d stray like abstracts or jazz,

If I lit down in a country of romance

Would I meander like a fickle tourist?


Things crowded my mind

Early on the 13th.


Your morning soul is drenched in caffeine

And stained red with wine. Solemn cold and the grey sky –

A canvas for the motorised symphony of the streets.

And you sigh, turn on your phone, and watch the news on the TV

While you count the coins in your hand. You are sure that this

Will be a good day.

The Cat

Thin stray cat stops and stares at me

In the haze of early morning;

Car wash shower mist over the fence

And autumn pine smell in the air.

Cold eyes green and bright

Motionless limbs and twitching ears,

No lights in windows yet,

Cars have not left their driveways.

I am stood still

Been a while since I’ve seen a cat,

But I’m running late.

I take a step

Gravel dishevelled

A rock turned

A molecule or two slides to the side,

The cat lightly runs away

Into the driveway

And disappears.

Forgotten Name

Lend me orchids, show me fire

One child, cherub, lyre.

Upon the rushing foam the petals lie

Like blue fragments in a silver eye

Watching from a sun burned cloud

This heart, a column that time wears down.

Who can follow my tracks in clay?

From my birth to my final day?

I leave my name to the ocean free

Words lost into eternity.

My fame inspires a cold stone grave:

“Here lies he without a name.”

And though Virgil, angels, spirits breathe

It remains as fleeting wind through the trees.

Morning Scene

She smiled to see the sail boat go

In the fresh blue morning burned by the Caribbean sun

While lingering smoke from ashen torches

Plume like escaping dreams.

She can hear still so early in the day

The crowds of hidden people past the trees

That sway slowly in the cool breeze.

They chant prices, offer salvation,

Sing Greek songs from a thousand years gone.

She can feel the water in the air,

The echoing dew from the final moments of night.

Its morning, like any other.

Stream of City Consciousness

Walking out of a yellow stone wall bar
With a half empty tequila in hand
Ice falling out of your pockets
A serviette sticking out your pants
A cigarette ½ a centimetre in your hair
A signed Polaroid of the dancer
Who works telephone operations in Detroit
Mexican night cap sombrero slender
Cat wailing night time driver got batteries
For the smoke alarm back home
His wife is 180 pounds and works at Macy’s
He’d mow his lawn if he had one
You look at him with disdain
Ash mingles with the tangles in your hair
A gnome waits outside with a pitchfork
And the happy accident of 85 rides in
On a chrome horse
Probably out of dice again long trip Reno in the rain
Naked beat drunk midnight train
Hollering moon unfortunate crow with teary eyes
Children hide behind grit grey blinds
With the lights on watching the late shows
While mother vomits, husband cleenex drain clean
Big bop band draws the scene
Picasso, Van Gough they got change for the subway
Pop penny’s in the cracked hand of gorillas
With furrowed brows lying on the streets base feet
Lined with leather shoes on 1905 pavement
On 5th street constructed with earnest in 1886
One month since the publication of the daily paper
Rats take shelter in the covers there children
Squeal with hunger, virginal daughter makes an offer
Passing light shines dull and devilish, it’s belief.

Lonely Streets

I have stopped by the faint light of night
To see the clock face moon high above
And the rich man’s tomb sunken and dark.

I’ve turned the pages of Melville in the cold
Passing strangers with scarred hands pleading
I kept on reading, walking to echoes speaking.

I could never say goodbye to my friends;
The tap of my heel is the only sound now.
This nocturne never strays from illumination.

My need to call to those that pass me by
Intensifies with each unsure breath I hear,
Everyone is scared, a welcome hand seems cruel.

I have walked blue streets in morning mist,
Sun kissed stars fade away one by one.
All feeling of true loneliness has gone.