One More Named Illness

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I do not want
one more named illness
that would be a sublime act of greed –
a selfish huzzah

In Earshot

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I stopped – I heard the playful howls –
the breaktime hollers from a school –
but my ear-to-the-past
was then frittered by the wind’s shift …/

The Orbital Road

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The bastard Surrey countryside
was our dawn-to-dusk playground
of rust-stained ditches – of new paths
set down through welly-trod crops …/

The Jam

Forty years ago
I knew boys who swapped
Tangerine Dream records
and others who spat punk …


That distant town was my playground,
at Darley Dene I scuffed my knees,
returning, scabbed, to 6, Essex Close,
Addlestone, Surrey, England, Earth,
and our three storey police house..


Each weekend was a curst return from pitch-black, boot-filled, lifeless ditches, each boy scolded for deep cuts and rips off furrow-tripped meadows. We ranged, untouchable,… Read More »Before

Addlestone Crossing

There to see my Father,
propped-up in a polished box,
one that my eldest brother,
chose, on the basis of, what