My Dear F.,

July 4, 2010 at 8:34 am | Posted in jazz poetry, poetry, writing | 5 Comments

Just a short note to let you know
the vicar’s visit turned out something
but not quite as expected
there is something quite uncouth
in these villagers.

Still, better,
than a nunnery.

Your handiwork continues to inspire
but I must say not quite
what you promised, the antidote,
does not work. Please send more tao
haha, these strange realms sterile and
the portraits looming, and all these damn
petticoats. Anyway, have fun. I’m not.



July 3, 2010 at 5:06 pm | Posted in jazz poetry, sheer selfindulgence, writing | 5 Comments
Tags: , ,

… a reality whose connection to the actual world of the imagining reader is tenuous at best. The truth becomes gloriously irrelevant, postulations on orchids,

How old fashioned thinks the vicar, louche on Ms Helpburn’s divan. Now we are in the post-Victorian in which all is quaint decoration and pop but he remains tightlipped on the outside of whatever’s slightly outre.  Rain, he suggests aloud as she pours his tea, and struggles to find a tiny niche in which to survive like some strange insect. Happy for the shelter of a waxy leaf from which water drips, snoozing through the day with a low buzz which may just be tired lungs and excessive humidity,

She sits, decorously, Vicar, it is such a wonderful word, don’t you think. Sorry, he says, I was just looking at your garden, so gentle and pretty in the afternoon rain, Ms Helpburn. Do you have a gardener?

Which deck,

July 16, 2008 at 6:58 pm | Posted in writing | 11 Comments
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When in certain company, Ms Helpburn, says the old priest peering over his teacup at the soft pink landscape disappearing under white lace, it is important to maintain a certain manner of speech.
Of course, she replied reclining on the divan in an extravagant gesture. I was thinking for the Arts and Crafts Fair this year, Vicar, perhaps some new entertainments. Have you heard of three card monte?
No, dear, sounds awfully decadent and Italian, is it a new waltz?
Have you seen a Tarot, priest? she says, sitting upright suddenly.
Now dear, he says putting his teacup on the table and standing, i’ve warned you about that tongue of yours,

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