Tag Archives: poem

‘unfurling fronds’ translated into Chinese

unfurling fronds
my digital legacy
in the cloud

Gratitude! Originally included in Robert Epstein’s Beyond The Grave: Contemporary Afterlife Haiku, 2015, this haiku
has been translated into Chinese by Chen-ou Liu, 劉鎮歐 and included in Butterfly Dream!

Chinese Translation (Traditional)


Chinese Translation (Simplified)



‘Seferis’ Houses’

My longer poem Seferis’ Houses, republished in Little Eagle’s RE / VERSE, April 9, 2015. To read the poem, please click here

Little Eagle RE / VERSE






Artwork by Ralph Murre, after a photo by (or of?) Giorgos Seferis

Little Eagle Press presents poems previously published. Well worth another look, we think

Paying homage to Seferis, the poem directly refers to Seferis’ ‘Thrush’, a poem he wrote in 1946. You can read the poem on the Poetry Foundation site.

For information about Giorgos Seferis, see the Wikipedia entry.
You may also want to take a look at this longer, Princeton Uni. entry with photos, or at Edmund Keeley’s interview with Seferis in the Paris Review.

‘on home turf’ and other winter poems

on home turf


on home turf-
feeding watermelon seeds
to the hens


“On Home Turf,” Haiga, in “A Baker’s Dozen,” issue 4, 15 December 2012



a fig is not a fig without your mouth

a pyromaniac’s dream on top of the world

In “Bones: Journal for Contemporary Haiku,” No 1, 15 December 2012

at the bottom of the sea the bottom of the sea
raining stars
how the begging tin
in “Presence” #47, December 2012
past her nails
a truth worth
holding on to


in Notes From The Gean, #14, p. 28, December 2012

shooting star –
a baby slithers out
of the womb

frost bite
the winter bares its teeth
In “A Blackbird Sings: a small stone anthology
edited by Fiona Robyn & Kaspalita Thompson, 2012

Happy Mindful Writing Day!

Here is my own  ‘smallstone’ of the day!














here is the now — 

this smalls stone I hold

in my hand



This is the first ever Mindful Writing Day; it is organised by Kaspa & Fiona at their blog Writing Our Way Home.
Visit them to read what the other ‘stoners’ are writing, and better still, email them your own stone!


100 Thousand Poets for Change 2012

Today, 29 September 2012, is the day when 100 Thousand Poets for Change gather online, in person, and in print to celebrate poetry, art and music, and to promote social, environmental, and political change.

If you happen to be in Munich today, drop by the Munich Readery, the largest and friendliest secondhand bookstore in Germany. They will be hosting an evening of readings and performances from 19:00 – 22:00.

In observance of today’s 100 Thousand Poets for Change, I offer the following  prose poem: The Beach at Blakeney Point, first published in the North London Writers and Poets Anthology Gathering Diamonds from the Well, 2007.

The Beach at Blakeney Point

Hard as I try, I can’t recall the beach at Blakeney Point. Images blend and memories merge – this beach with that at Holkham, with Morston, Burnham Overy and Brancaster Staith.

I only see an expanse in my mental map, the horizon shimmer, Old Lifeboat House looking stern from afar. The salt marsh carpet, creeks, dunes and samphire. Now it is summer. Blue above and below, and the sharp pinpricks of the flying sand. Now it is winter. The saltings dim grey and dirty brown, freezing crystals on the scrub.

Hard as I try. My first walk to the Point fromCleyBeach. Before I knew about tide tables, I set off walking the deep shingle spit, bruising calves and blackening nails. I did reach the end, the sea and the tern’s nests. The feeling of space and the sense of infinity. The tide withdrew to sea while I rested, leaving casts of lugworms, deserts of sand behind. Buccinum and Hydrobia shells. Leaving the bottom of the sea to me. Its cruelty.

A baby seal washed up dead, lying in pools of water, alongside sparkling stones and Flustra fronds the colour of hope. Why, where is the…, what can I…? Too late. It was, I was, too late. I walked back barefoot, the seal receding with each step, ebbing away. The boom of the sea and the spray. The wind sculpted sounds, I licked salt off my lips.

Hard as I try. Sea holly, sandwort and sand sedge cling to shifting dunes. I can’t remember the beach at Blakeney Point. Only that seal, that wind, and my impotence.


76/100 Days of Summer

For Blakeny Point, see here

The Beach at Blakeney Point, in Gathering Diamonds from the Well, ed. Brian Docherty, Laurence Scott, and Katie Willis (London: New Gallery Books 2007)