Reading Lorca, and then reading about Lorca in Spanish Wikipedia, I think about the how the quiet poet becomes a rebel, not through any change in himself, but through his being an unchanging self while society around him changes. (photo courtesy...
My holiday readings are scattered about, and it’s hard not to be distracted with the goings on in GENIUSVILLE (which stupidity threatens to engulf us all), but one of the more gentle amusements has been cruising thru the pages of Kris...
I have made a garage recording of Accidentals with accompaniment from local wildlife. The poems, which I wrote in 2008, are all on this website. I still have some of the paper copies left. This is me in my garage studio....
Nones. No good can come of it. So here is my new poem book: “Bleeding Nose Poems”. Is that a bit weird? The acronym is BNP, unintentionally. You can buy it over on Lulu, but better still, send me a...
I recently had a clear out of my notebooks which i took when traveling in 1997-8-9 and filled with poetry and drawings (most are not publishable – but some of the o.k. ones are in the ‘poem library’ part of this...
new poems.. like new leaves on trees soon to be felled. the darkness the darkness.. what is the simplest path now? the straightest path leads into emptiness .. the vast gasp of new verbiage heaping onto blogs, spilling from pages into...
to practice meditation is to engage with a paradox for at its heart to meditate is to do nothing this nothing-doing is very difficult * meditation is sustained by an absence of effort such sustained effortlessness is exhausting a thousand teachings...
it’s ten years since i started this site. I’d made websites before, but ten years ago i started a poetry website, and then took it down and destroyed all the poems a few weeks later. Eventually I got it going again...
this splinter of time we like microbes inhabit is all over in the striking of a match a green spark flaring to yellow and red and white one renegade tongue out against the wind likes to start a bushfire – but...
– thoughts flicker through the mountain ash of my tired brain – Happy new year to poets worldwide. May your spandangles glisten with the resemblances of a fertile whimsy. i drink whisky 2u. 1 dream last nite – lung cancer diagnosis...
Readings about Corso et. al. lead me to discover Harold Chapman’s photos of the Beat Hotel. Shame they are all locked up behind a paywall, I wish they could escape and fertilise the minds of artist poet shamans everywhere. I would...
