The Shot

The Shot

Sometimes the camera loves you: lines of light
form poetry of their own before your eyes
and capture in image all you thought to write,

and like the poet tracking all his thoughts
across the page and screen, your well-timed shots
preserve forever what your mind has caught:

No Filter

No Filter

Not black but grey: all monochrome, a scar
of livid streets and faces. Not sepia

in memory tinged by rose, but raw and rough
as present, here and now. In these, a life

An Even Shorter History of Metaphysics

An Even Shorter History of Metaphysics

Two spools, with one unrolling as for age,
one rolling up to represent the growth
of memory (as consciousness), both truth;
no two successive moments are the same,

and Heraclitus’ river cannot save.

Epilogue

Epilogue

Maybe our paths will cross
when this universe folds in and makes another.
Maybe, at the point

The Climber

The Climber

Big-sister energy can shape you well.
The space to grow is where the mountains are.
Even the bravest are afraid: the will
to overcome your fears is how you soar.

Breaking the Ice

Breaking the Ice

To break through nature’s glass door was the one.
That first hit, as the cold embraced your skin
and made a warm cocoon, was like a sun

forged from the iciest glaciers. The river ran in
to drench your every inch, a cold caress
that flooded you with heat. As midnight tolls

Step Back Turn

Step Back Turn

The body’s grace is magnified on water.
To turn or pivot quickly yet with fluid
motion, keeping your dominion over
both board and waves, requires studied

Martini Sonnet

Martini Sonnet

Long dream of summer in short skirt of glass.
The glass as prism: multiplying all
colours that meet it, sunshine, a right eyeful,
rendering all beyond it meaningless

at least for now, for this moment, more or less.
The eye is blind to what the mouth will feel:

The Projection

The Projection

Tiresias models what he’s told.
What nostrum dramas then ensue
he neither sees nor seizes hold.
Someone else has the costs in view,

Daedalus

Daedalus

Here at Camicos, you can be free, at least.
Back on that island, we were prisoners
at the request of the King: no way out.
But amazingly we found our way out,
and flew as fast as our feet would carry us.
Wings? No, you misunderstand ‘flight’.
We were on the run, after all.