Bleach. A poem.
Acid wash away my pain release me from this blinkered Bleach burns me clean and pure tear shreds off my heart and break me Down Until time bleeds on my just Reward And bleaches this world just like The All … Continue reading Bleach. A poem.
The End of the Affair. A poem.
At the end of the affair, when all is lost, was won, when the final note is written when all has come undone. The longing and the passion converted now to envy, the embers now black charcoal of fires that … Continue reading The End of the Affair. A poem.
Hangman. A poem.
I hang on your every word. Every nuance and subtlety tightens your noose and I gasp and grasp for air and the latency of truth. My limbs flail in puppet motions; I’m a paper doll with button joints, anointed in … Continue reading Hangman. A poem.
Wings. A poem.
You endow me with gossamer wings, a loving benefaction granted; a gift that encapsulates and enables flight to peregrine places uncharted and exotic. But with so many destinations and arterial paths and so many cloudy possibilities, only one makes any … Continue reading Wings. A poem.
Annihilation. A movie review.
Alex Garland’s new science fiction movie, Annihilation, is now available on Netflix in Australia (part of Paramount’s current risk management strategy is to recoup production and distribution costs in smaller markets by going directly to streaming). Natalie Portman stars as … Continue reading Annihilation. A movie review.
Night, Again. A poem.
Night, again and here I am, pondering the specificity of my unctuous requests, enraptured and Heaven-sent on the backs of clasped palms, no random incidental tests of charm. Every night I thank Him there, for faith and hope and grace, … Continue reading Night, Again. A poem.
Anvil. Part 7.
It’s six hours out and Granny Chun vomits into the bucket for the seventh time. She groans and spits bile into the foul, bitter broth meandering at the bottom of the pail. Violet is out of her capsule, sleeping restfully, … Continue reading Anvil. Part 7.
Haiku Friday. ‘Caught, Caged and Sentenced’. A haiku trilogy.
Caught, Caged and Sentenced. A haiku trilogy. Caught You have trapped me here. I once wandered, so lonely, until your net fell. Caged I am in your cage, your pristine cell; I’m locked in, pacing back and forth. Sentenced Will … Continue reading Haiku Friday. ‘Caught, Caged and Sentenced’. A haiku trilogy.
Upstart Photographer: colour is back!
Black and white photos? Love ’em! But every once in a while I like brilliant and vibrant colour. Here’s a few shots in their trimmed, yet unfiltered glory. I’ve included some narration, as I’m a big fan of David Attenborough. … Continue reading Upstart Photographer: colour is back!
The Madness of You. A poem.
My futile and unavailing words cannot express the anguished, quixotic, melancholic, mad salience and utterly unquenchable need to hold you and love you as no one ever could or would or should. But here I am, alone. Thinking of nothing … Continue reading The Madness of You. A poem.
This Oil. A poem.
This oil, viscous and thick, holding me fast in the tar pit of my black heart and head, since the very start. Wish I could shed this black dog That follows me everywhere. Perhaps soon, anon, I’ll lose my empty … Continue reading This Oil. A poem.
Subtract. A poem.
This room is overcrowded, ingurgitated hell. But just you and me, if you subtract everyone else. This room is clamorous, cacophonous hell. But you could hear me (so very clearly), if you subtract everyone else. This room is overheated, agitated … Continue reading Subtract. A poem.
Red Sparrow. A movie review.
A few minor spoilers! Red Sparrow is a harrowing spy movie starring Jennifer Lawrence and Joel Edgerton and directed by Francis Lawrence. Why harrowing? Because it includes several excruciating scenes of graphic torture and explicit violence (there’s sex, too—surprisingly it’s … Continue reading Red Sparrow. A movie review.
Anvil. Part 6.
They tramp down five flights in faulty glowglobe dimness, skirting sleeping derelicts and the occasional Verso dealer. They are given wide berth by the occupants; Granny Chun’s pumpgun speaks volumes without ever needing to bark. Eventually they reach a level … Continue reading Anvil. Part 6.
Driftwood (Beached, part 3). A poem.
Driftwood, floating on percolating tides. Saltwater soaks fossil branches. Sand embraces nooks and crannies. Driftwood, meandering, awaiting a tactile, tacit end. Longing for a final, lasting beach head. The All or the Nothing is my first book of poetry, and … Continue reading Driftwood (Beached, part 3). A poem.
