poetry, trails of thought

Today’s gone and done 

As I wander through my thoughts 

My wandering makes me 


At loss over loss.

And the cost has been essentially tremendous.

And my innate cautiousness 

Has made me loosen myself from so much 

My life could’ve provided me with.

But no matter:

For that was a yesterday.

And today is tomorrow’s yesterday.

And therein lies –

And therein truths – 

The grandest of 

The grandest of 


I did so much wrong through inaction, 

But now can do no more than apologise –

And then change where I am able.

And always remember that

Today is tomorrow’s yesterday.

And always remember that 

Yesterday is today’s 

Well gone and 


poetry, trails of thought

#Pride [in] #BelfastPride, #Belfast

I repeat myself and

find myself and

see myself so happy.

And as I successively saw

on the streets of the city of today

the generations and recreations,

and genial joes and

junior gals, and

toes and legs and smiles and eggings

on, with nothing lost and nothing

gone, I realise now

why life itself I find in the

wondrous of


of all its land

and once sorely banned.

Above all else, I see at last how true

will be

the sexuality of any gender cool,

conceived as it should be in utter liberty:

and how such an inception must necessary

lead for

thee and me

and you and we, and

such as now,

to wisdoms of all our realities.

For the freedom of the few

never is freedom for the few;

for the only freedoms worth fighting for

are the core humanities

of liberties for all.

And only when we each may fuck

the duck we cherish

and love in luck

will heaven on earth replace

the hell they asserted – so

bald and crude and

lewd, you know! –

as future punishment

and awful threat;

and yet, in truth, reserved

quite wilful for current

hell and spell.

No surprise they wish

to impose

regime as hasty as they deny:

when all is done and seen, the love they reclaim

only maims and resigns

the kindest of moments for the bitter

and the broad of hurtful guilty read;

of all that terrible instead,

in fact.

And when all is been and dreadful said,

and time it is for head – yessir! –

and evening sex

and morning told

and afternoon romp at office desks

sustain our desires

to pursue so grand the wisdom of those fires

so fab

which drive us all this




remember this thing and remember it fine:

I prefer to admit how I covet your ass

than be an ass myself!



poetry, trails of thought

Wisdom / Desire

A man I once met,

a man I met recently in fact,

asked me – by the very by! – which I valued more:

“Wisdom and its logical progression, dear man,” he enquired

not a little stealthily, “or

the emotional explosion of a desire properly expressed?”

And it’s true that in that instant of its initial bad posing –

and posing he clearly was,

this man I met then –

I might’ve been heard to reply in favour of the former:

for which sensible, rational man like myself

would dare to decant for the irrational?


But I then had a real, a very real,


to reflect in profound intelligence, as more and more lately

such reflection is my thing;

and precisely via the rational processes

this man had clearly suggested

were infamously disconnected from the desire that

drives our crazy sex,

I came to a new conclusion, quite radical

in my mind; radical at least

for the man I have been to date.


For it’s become clear to me

that without the drive of desire

the reality of true wisdom can never be acquired.

And whilst – for the minute! – my opportunities to express

my own honest-felt emotions

are equally radically truncated

by curiously unsubstantiated circumstance

and expectation, even so

I no longer will ever give up on the thought that has

emerged today:

in order to achieve a state of kindly wisdom,

all human being who wishes to remain the human

we’ve always seen and been

needs a full and honest, even as gentle, channel of expression –

an expression as much of their fine and unabashed sexuality

as of the content and texts of their undoubted intertextuality.


And whilst it’s just as true that we never can know

when love will touch again

the skin, surfaces and depths of our souls,

at least let us stay open to the fact of its former reality;

at least let us remember when the stories it told

so fine and


narrated our daily lives,

and led – as they did! – to wonderful moments

of such fabulous cool.


And who’ll be the next to embrace our still

shivering, tender bodies?

And who’ll be the next to hug hard and soft and

then everything between, and then

kindly and driven, and then


filled of scream,

and then slowly recovering

and then boldly returning,

and then finally becoming of both sides of this equation?


“With the right support everything is possible, ” they tell us.

With the right support,

and the wisdom of this

honest, never tiring

desire of a very humankind 

… which finally we recognise to be this grandest of the grand.


poetry, trails of thought

It is.

It is a tad lonely being on your own.

But then some ready I now believe myself true,

Where clearly I once was not.

And if someone kind appears one day

And maybe likes me as I am

And allows me clear to like them back

I’ll not justly be together as before I awful wasn’t,

When alone I was in cold cold bed, 

So bad-shared sad and hard it was …

… so hard and sad 

bad-shared that bed …

But also I’ll become sure happy as never.

For I live in 


And love in 


That such a been 

I’ll one day scene …


And if you asked me …

And if you asked me 

If I knew

That precisely by this not seeing you 

I would receive my due

And that such a due – thus weirdly gifted – 

Would in curious time make me curious happy,

Then I would’ve called you mad

And sad as bad,

And felt quite kicking against your tad,

And truly had,

And never had,

And never fucked nor pleasured wild.

And if you’d asked me – as in fact you did – 

To leave 

You be 

Forever, and that way,

And never return at all, at all,

And never darken those doorsteps and that wine

So red, and 

Of beautiful embrace, and thine, and thine,

And never harken back to gorgeous kindnesses, in place –

To thus and to this,

To thrust out of 


Love –

And finally never to see your face

Nor eyes lit up – like candlegrace! –

That time upon time,

Why then, and all that exactly right now

Would be left for me to say, and say,

Is to proclaim so extraordinary:

I am happy in Belfast, 

Alone and by myself

At last. 

And so, at last, I guess it’s true: I loved you total fine.

Without that deadly rancour awful

Nor crude pale anger of previous day.

Neither measuring mind

Nor requiring bind. 

Neither registering that weight 

Of the dearest 

Of …

… dearest mine!

reviews, short short story

Kane [and Welles]

I am sitting in The Estuary Kitchen and Grill at Liverpool John Lennon Airport, writing this brief review, whilst waiting to fly to Belfast.  It’s my first visit to the city in thirteen long years.  I hope I shall revisit more often now.

I ordered a large americano with hot milk on the side, as well as a pain au raisin.  The lady who served me was efficient and helpful.  The americano was hot and strong as I like it.

I sat down at a table and took some photos of my surroundings.  I saw a young man talking to an older man.  They were working and talking. They had a good relationship.  I felt relaxed by the food and the music and the gentle exchanges I could overhear.

A few minutes on, they went their separate ways.  The younger man came up to me and I gave him my tray.  I thanked him.  Then he started talking to me.  His nameplate said he was called Kane.  I can’t forget the name.  My favourite film of all time, by my absolute favourite genius of all time.  Kane and Welles could be a comedy troupe.  Or maybe a department store.  Or perhaps a law firm.

But not here.

Kane made my day.  He talked to me about this and that, and made the modest café shine.  A word here and a word there is all it takes.  Thank you Kane, and thank you to your employers for encouraging you to do what you did.

Hope to see you again, soon.

Take care.