UNDRESSED, unshowered, unlikely…..
It’s mid afternoon
Cramped hands
Anxiety ignored as I continue to compile my Poetry
Into Book form
Writing my life’s work down upon the page….
Feeling stressed but exultant….
I will still have gut eating debt
My house will forever need cleaning
But, but….
What if I ignored the need….
It would be as if I never

August 2017



Not a feeling of nausea
But a longing so deep
It beats in your blood
Floods your guts
Bleeds through vein
And bone
Right to the hidden marrow
It won’t let go
And in your shell like ear
Or mind’s eye
The darkening thundrous sky
Curves over a stormy sea
Gulls wheel, and scream and cry
For teeming fish below
Not for me
Who, washed up
By the high tide
Land locked
Screams silently
As the moon rides
The ebb and flow
Within…..and I go
In endless dreams
Down to the water’s side
To swim

MA Winter 2015



She loves the afterglow….that lull, when two bodies cease the great struggle towards the “Little Death”, when the pulse quietens. Loves to explore the unfamiliar territory of his face….to go beyond his eyes, touch his still wet lips with delicate fingertips…..trace the strong planes of cheek bones, the thick dark stubbled hair around his mouth and chin, finding the lovely unknown terrain, of him…..and then returning to the pull of his gaze, his strong beautiful face, and finally at rest….looking back at him, into him. Those clear blue eyes, the soul of him.

Excerpt from Breaking Taboos

PROLOGUE……The old burial Ground

They moan and cry out, torn from their final resting place in the old burial ground, dug up from the dark earth with callous disregard for the lives they once lived, loaded onto carts by the moon’s dark, as the tired old horses hoofbeats ring out on cobbled stones…..taken from all they once knew as home…..muted by death, none can hear their troubled cries…..and way out across the waters of the Bay, the Plovers shrill pipings echo the lone piercing wails of the old woman as her grieving voice floats out across the waves. She feels the lift and shifting of the bodies deep within, hears her long dead lover, his soul self calling. “Come find me, come my love, my heart, come find my bones”


As light begins to fade

She gathers up her tools, regretfully

Birds softly twitter to each other

In the far off trees

The evening dim is falling

She hears vixens calling

To their cubs nearby

A wild, lonely, piercing cry

And feels the urgent pull inside herself

For him

Apron stuffed with fragrant herbs

Aromatics, medicinal, perfumed

Hands full, back tired from bending

She stands up, easing stiffness


Suddenly needing comfort

The warmth of him


The long days work is done

There’ll be more tomorrow

His body aches from chopping wood

He still feels the axe blade’s rhythmic swing

All the way from thigh muscles

Hips, shoulders

Through to his hands

Clenching and unclenching them

The song of steel on wood

Still ringing in his ears

So that he doesn’t hear her coming

Until she stands before him

Lays down her basket

Moves quietly behind him

Lays hands upon his shoulders

Strong fingers work their way

Deep into hard flesh

She feels him yield

Let all tiredness fall from him

Pain and aching bones

Cramped muscles

Easing, loosening

Letting go


And now as darkness closes round them

The smell of her surrounds him

Fresh, sharp, pungent, clean

The gatherings of her calling

White Lady, She

Yet now her call is silent

As she leans in towards him

As she breathes pinesap, sweat and whisky

The deep male smell of him

Irresistible, intoxicating

He gathers her to him then

Takes her small hand in his

All tiredness gone from both of them

Revived, there is nothing now but hunger

Desire, one for the other


One flesh

Beloved husband

Cherished wife

Like the auld story of the Greylag Geese

Mated for life.

Night sounds

A sudden downpour

Falls heavy on my roof

Way in the distance

A dog barks

And then another

Calling out across the rooftops

A train passes through

Distant rhythmic rumble


The rain is gone

Dogs are quiet

The frij hums

MA©️ May 2013


You big bold bird

Strutting, cawing, muttering

Fluffing your feathers

Under a tree

You don’t see me

But I see you

And laugh


You in handsome plumage

Black as night

You don’t take fright

In this concrete wasteland

I see you there

Being Crow, nothing more

As supermarket shoppers

Slam their doors

Rev their motors

And roar on by


They don’t see

As I do

I see you


MA©️ March 2016



The world turns, Autumn’s leaves lie soaked and heavy on the cold ground, breaking down, going back to earth.  She revels in the clean clear cold morning air, sharp, raw, invigorating.  The early morning ritual of lighting the fire….raking over yesterday’s ashes to find the glow beneath, the heat to bring life to her bundle of twigs and eucalyptus leaves. Smoke drifts, filling the cold rooms with the scent of forests, and within moments her thoughts float above the smoke, remembering…..remembering him.

Excerpt from “Breaking Taboos”, an Erotic Fantasy