There were,
In my memory,
jackets, scarves and another dimension
at the back of my childhood

You have to know a good recipe,
But also what can be added
And what can be left out;

You

we’re all trying to recreate the mermaid
who kissed us softly on the cheek
as we nodded off to

Now and again
I revisit the little bridge
Over the River Loddon, look down at the bank
It's where

I heard her finger
scrape the chalk board,
jarring me from impending sleep.

Phantom

The labyrinth of the unknown, the hub of ineffable quandaries,
I hear the birds sing as a feeble

The shape and size
Of the toffees
That came in gold paper,

One would be pressed
Big and

Boys are still boys long after
they reach the age of manhood,
often indulged, like children

She grips a pencil
Better than a spoon.

Slowly lifted,
Then expertly held
In stubby

We gnarled chubby knees
on convoluted trees
as we swayed upon the yardarm
sailing stormy

Dry sand running through small fingers
Breakers drumming and sea kelp that lingers
Sea breeze

We chalked out
our personalities on pavements
bright colours on grey slabs
until the rains came

The stuffy smell of car
And my travel sickness
Is parked outside a pub -
Or perhaps it's a shop

Crouched on the stairs -
The last in the house
Still in single digits -

Trying a tricky

Seeing once more the
Old friend's stitched smile
He remembered hugs
Tight enough to press

Part

The only school on Strawberry Hill
was where I learned to read and write -
between the railroad

The pipe crackled a third time
Resurrecting its undead smoker
As his head flew far away
To a land

As the years pass us by
Do we come nearer to the truth?
Are we a bit wiser than
in our younger

Hello, Dear
Do you remember me?
Your island friend –
with the twisted accent
Don’t you

Late summer one year

a circus came to the field near our house.

The large trucks filled with

Big Ol' Plane

Why am I so vain?

I'd love to take my toys

Very far away.

Big

I want them back
Laughter, pigtails and Lollipops
Bedtime stories and kisses on the forehead for

The smudged sun dips
To stain the city gold,
Anointing the little girl
With glory.

For the

He stood alone in the library
his tousled red hair topping freckles
sweatshirt, jeans and

At age 10 you see a joke
in raspberry blood so I ate
a few and smeared the rest
on my wrist and

Smoke curled from my dad’s Pall Mall
a red dot punctuating the day.
He exhaled a cloud toward

When my name is read out above a sea of red
Know that
Although I’m a fraction of a figure
A line

Beautiful, brave, buoyant boy.
Floating, cutting, slicing through the blue waves.
Strokes made

The TV set flickers
It’s seven o’clock and
Rudolf’s coming on
channel 10
My red PJ’s fit

Clouds above us, feet in sand.
You toddle beside me clutching my hand.

Bucket sloshes with

The blue swirly slide
on the school playground
reminds...

Beckoning a distant time
when the

‘Neath Beech and Sycamore,
Through the peppered shadows, flickered patches of evening sun,
We walk

I want to wake up yesterday
When the sun seemed warmer
When snowflakes were falling stars
When

Three friends came here
to this bleak and distant place
from kicking up dust
on the disused

The warm monsoon rain
Sets a tale from an African scene
A child playing by the river bank
Unaware

The dream,

An early morning awakening.

Past and present merge.

I’m in an unfamiliar