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Lopsided breath showing me up,

taking shape away and laughing

and giving lowered eyes; trained.


Look, you damned scenery,

[for mocking me into submission]

the bridge listens only to hope

casually grinding through the sick

spokes of my racer, a bike of champions

I found just last September


by the labyrinth entrance: that hospital wall.


It was left for the next rider to manage,

to cross colourful and abiding bridges

or to rest by the river

paying lots of attention to the trees.


We will cross you now, Bridge, as tourists do without fear

to claim our holiday, riding sideways, to the other bank.



Thank you Walter. Inspiration has had its way with me.


Root bound. Charming little shoots in a light-restricted world, doing their job of strangling each other instead of pushing green to the sun. This sad mantra accompanies each swig of my every-morning coffee, each drop on this surgeon keyboard, and yet I maintain ignorance. Terracotta? Garden centre-black plastic? The lettuce grinds farther into its inappropriately constrained housing. Baby vegetal screams are not a stretch of the truth; it is a verdant horror.

The weather is fine, suitable even, for further growth but a dire shift needs to take place. A cracking lieu, a substitute mentality needs to rainstorm into these tiny planters and, finally realising the right to Life, the lettuce topples in an attempt to shock this poor gardener, a maintenance gardener, afraid of propagation and the trembling earth of Spring. A simple transplant would offer the grand stretch of vegetation in soil; it is nothing less than liberty.

The lettuce eyes the beauty of its inner neighbour, anemone, fading…

slowed in its stance to still
between pictures & ill-placed
centre pieces, indigo sticking
out like an ostrich feather boa
in a round party bowing down

down over Her altar of word
gone is the fist whore anemone
leaving fourteen more behind it
to attend to the patternless wall

Wooden box. It has been decided.

Time Off and New Perspective

The holiday is done.

“Who took the ‘L’ out of Lover?”

Back to the discovery that my jaw is slightly clenched and another guilty coffee rests in my blood stream.

Red sky at morn? Neh, it’s good to be back and Santa’s sack is empty of its contents, but full of memories as the Christmas tree has yet begun to rot in the yard.

We don’t get snow where I live in Israel and so, to arrive back to this here blog and discover that the virtual flakes are no longer falling across my screen, well, that was disappointing enough to make me want to upgrade – almost. It is a low realisation that I haven’t enough interest in what I say to keep up blog posts! And here I thought I was so enamoured by my own voice that I could carry on, even in a nonsensical fashion if necessary, until the breath would fade to grey.

Well,¬†apparently¬†I just don’t have that much to say. I’ll leave it for the poems to speak in my absence.

Ha! I do love the evolution of things… monthly blog it is. Design is fun, and I will bring more essays that get turned out daily.

Beautiful – let’s continue riding the turn of our world and the newness of our reality; FRESH.