The Pantomime Widow


It was my energy in a long lost room
To which I thank my success today.
I gave it some; I really gave it some;
Would I could find it now in me.


The great days of the WG are gone,
The days when our nights seemed infinite,
Which they never are. Time moves, our friends move too,
But somehow we are still here, in this unchanging room.

The naked light


It is hard to keep faith in love,
Not in the dark times, where each kind word brightens,
But when lit by its electric glory
And fearing the first check of the bulb.

The night is unfolding around the tent,
I can hear banjo outside.
Your letters are spread on the canvas
And the ink of my letters has dried.



My greatest ambition is to put on a play
For an audience weeping in the stalls.
And those at the doors are weeping too
Not because the play is bad, but that they’re alive at all.

The National Bath


All England in a bath
With sailors floating through the soap,
The politicans rubber ducks,
And bath mats for the coast.

A soul in language


Is to leave your mother tongue to leave your home?
I think not. The words I heard first were merely the first I heard
And no better or worse than the ones that came,
Newer words in adult coats, who set out to read the soul.

To an angry critic


‘It doesn’t seem like that to me,’ the poet, listening, said,
‘I’ll rebel when I’m sucessful,
Until then it’s too stressful.’
– And he smiled and now he’s dead!

– So Jacques, it is many years
Since you left us to research the human heart.
– I have found hearts to be much the same,
Mere pumps, as yours beneath the Royal breast.

Five lines for S


Because the grief has to go,
You freed me with a gift,
And yet there are always words,
On the day when the heart is strongest
For the day you rejoin us again.