Returns(for Bill) Slit eyed cherub marks time;drills his heels like a drunkenflamenco dancer – arm in armwith snare & hi-hat bluster. He’s shouting at thunder;swiping at air with steel batonin the purge of a moonlit hour. Merlin’s on stilts with menaceand puffed cheeks – gangly armsslash & grind, swinging overthe din of hammers. Fingers bouncingContinue reading “Returns”
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Coming to the Point
Coming to the Point(Choka for Geoff) It was like joiningup the dots – a hard nosed roadof finding loopholes;of liquid nights down amongstsharp thorny tussocks;hell-bent on the art of war,like a drunk pokiemachine with an axe to grind. Basho doesn’t wastehis days – he makes lemonade,plucks tart cherries fromsprawling temple tree blossoms.I see him watchingfromContinue reading “Coming to the Point”
After the Wrap
After the Wrap Call it the hypnotic pullof icicles holding courton a frigid window pane.It’s like watching time dissolveinside a Rothko expanse;a wordless haikuthat requires no translationin any known language. A speechless actordoesn’t need subtitleswhen zoning out with eye clouds;It’s a final print in empathy.A quiet affirmationof all that is understoodthrough the hushed crescendoof time’sContinue reading “After the Wrap”
Postcard to Rachmaninoff
Postcard to Rachmaninoff Her arpeggios are up tothe task, precocious in theircarefully weighted precision as she segues into theswelling ache of the largowith it’s ambiguity of meter. It’s dissonance panningacross her lobes like 70’sprog rock in hi fidelitygrinning from ear to ear. She teases the grand finalelike a well schooled vixenwho’s mastered the part. SunkenContinue reading “Postcard to Rachmaninoff”
Visions of Orion Poetry 