Poems 2019



“And Its No Nay Never”
An elegy upon the expiry of Opportunity , the veteran Mars explorer, 2003 – 2019

It is lonely
One hundred and fifty three
Million miles away

Your friends at Toyota and Amazon
But memories

Yet you roved, and roved
A long, lonely, twenty eight mile walk
Determined to do your duty until the end

Still talking the talk
After fifteen years

“My battery is low
And it is getting dark”
Your final remark
Funereally, Nasa said
You were dead

Enveloped by red dust
Never to rust

Doomed to be a metallic feature
Until far off galaxies declare you
An extra -terrestrial creature.


Viv Albertine

Viv Albertine
It seems we have parted
There were chapters to play out
Words unread
We did not go as far
As I had hoped
Our relationship had promise

You were hot, funny,

But I lost you
I don’t know how
It was not expected
Maybe I will find you again
And we can pick up
Where we left off.

At Dawn

I limp, hovering about the tree line

Barren boulders scattered carelessly above

Mists shroud the ground, teasing in wild puffs

Morning dew glistens on my weather worn coat

Steel grey eyes, stare, searching

Scanning the muscle sapping upslopes

Bark bristles in the chill

Underneath an awakening canopy

The pack beyond the horizon now

But their fading scent still cradled in the mountain air

Saliva drips anticipating a kill which may never come

How Steep is Steep?

Laser dots
Ten metres apart
Were the start
Of when it happened
Baldwin Street Dunedin
Was flattened
By the Men of Harlech
Whose angle was more acute
On the Welsh route
At Forde Pen Llech
Thirty five degrees is high
Reaching to the sky
But thirty seven
Takes you to heaven
Resulting in being unfurled
As the steepest street in the world
From Above

I was five when
I held a magnifying glass
Over a line of ants

In a white spot
They disintegrated
One by one

Some escaped down cracks
As I wished I could

When the white light
Found me

Before I
On a Beach
Me on the inside
Everything on the outside

Time neatly folded
Like an old cloak
In the corner

White pebbles the size of
Loaves of bread
Rest beyond freshly rinsed

Peeled paint flutters
Subject to capricious breeze

Jaded, weather blasted
It holds fast
Against the onslaught

Dying Like A Dog
He limped, haltingly, from the clearing
Each step burdened by the beast within
His cracked feet screaming
A whimper to the pack
Their nuzzles already forgotten
Who stepped away
Far enough beyond
Out of earshot of his final
Not quite silent sibilance
A sparse bush beckoned
A world closing in tight
Tight as his chest
Tumbling onto his side
Alone, tired
Crying for his mother
His children
For everything
Until darkness fell


She’s a cowgirl and she wears fringes.
It’s the fashion that defines her. Her life hinges on fringes as oranges on a tree.
Fringes, oranges and me.

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