I started as a painter but a book of chinese poems brought when I was seventeen opened up a new world of sensitivity.Started writing.I go through phases am writing again at the moment, also taking photographs.It's a way of finding out what is there.Always looking for the most concise way of saying and yet suggesting something bigger.
Wrapped in settling snow from the warm pink
Flakes upon flakes upon patterns and soft geometry
My dad pulls me and sled snow silent
Him the single shape through flake and flake
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While at Christian tea over the desk
Asked the white collared guru
So what is Holy?
The gentle claptrap of church speak
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The metal black stove
Cooled by nights decay
Forever dads first task
This cottage day reanaiscance
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Those eleven apples
A seasons festoon
Green slowly defeated
And blush triumphant
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