Pockets of Light

I knew I must be an adult when I took this photo. My first new phone in 3 years had just arrived, and I put in my Simcard and went for a walk with my wife and baby. Once upon a time I would have just wanted to sit in the couch playing with the…

Low Fuel Light

Someone needed to cry and mourn for him

And identify his remains, found in a culvert;

his car left a mile away (1600 metres).

Stolen but out of fuel, because it was so inefficient.


The hills take shapes that they desire, and pines reach tall in spite of this. Ranks of whispering green living spires that reach for heaven’s sky-blue kiss.   Between these islands green I pass, my hurry making them to blur, gaze hungrily through window glass as yearning in me starts to stir.   For when…

Growing Pained

There was, I suppose an unintentional Zen like quality to my youth. I drifted unheedingly, like a leaf in a current, or a snowflake in the wind. Plans would be made and as they unfolded I simply went along with things. That’s a charitable way of looking at thing. A more hard headed perspective would…


‘Do you really think that this is the right thing to do?’ is the question he asks me, and of course I can’t answer because I am struck dumb, by the girl visible over his shoulder; the soft peek of her midriff, and the the tiny border of lace from her underwear that renders me…


It’s the swell of her breast, there in the afternoon sun

that reminds me of a mango stained by the heat of Helios

and I quickly look away, and she realises.

Because you don’t need to know what was taken,

only see what is missing.

Beauty in a Plastic Chair

The tiles are yellow linoleum – a kind of faded egg yolk colour. Each tile is suffused with pale white and gray stripes that are barely noticeable – or at least they wouldn’t be noticeable if it weren’t for the one tile that is set perpendicular to all the others, so it’s pattern is broken….

Bitten Three Times

  The bamboo that grew was no longer just about privacy but now pain, it’s new shoots hidden like daggers the way guerrilla forces would set traps in the jungle in those old movies on the flickering static of our little silver television set. You would set a bounty, hand me a thin knife, sharp…


Water doesn’t meander, it just looks that way from somewhere above, sweeping curves all choosing (or are they chosen for?) the path of least resistance; there is no time to waste, only the scurrying voice of haste   From the hill I can see the river where tomorrow we will go fishing and I stand…

The Memory of Fabric

It’s more about the shape of a person- you’ve faded so much in so short a time that it terrifies me- you are now more concept than a reality, what if I can’t hold onto you?   Like that girl, who now rests in my past, just a name and a series of images, freckles,…

Ctrl. +Alt. + Del.

“Time was passing like a hand waving from a train I wanted to be on.
I hope you never have to think about anything as much as I think about you.”
― Jonathan Safran Foer