Her stern copper face looks down on me,
Frédéric Auguste Bartholdi’s mother?
On closer inspection, can’t help but feel
That this is the Frenchman’s mad brother.

Bearing the torch and tabula ansata,
He invokes the chain of a broken law.
I am enlightened today –
Libertas is male: in shock but not awe.



proper voice


iambic hexameters –
pentameters, dactyls
and spondees – right?
& spontaneously light

screening of Keats & Yeats,
Rumi, Joans & others
i get lost in the call,
my mind woven

strands of purple silk
deletes the technicalities
so i know nothing
Socrates said

screeching back
to the root of it all
the germ, soft touch,
your breath – – –

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Poem: the Rasta gave him rain tree seeds…


the Rasta gave him rain tree seeds
to keep in his pocket at all times –

paranoid peeping from curtains,
perceiving foes & another long night

it had just gone 12 & hearing voices
again at the window he retreated,

posturing on a Persian mat,
the tealights flickering shadows –

he picked up the תּוֹרָה & started
to read –

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Children of Babylon


In whose name have you come to be my protectorate?
From this distance your eyes may be beautifully blue,
but are obscured by those dark tinted glasses.

Finger on the trigger peering down, your weighty
sandy boots and heavy clothing (not apt for this climate
and my neighbourhood) is not intimidating at all.

I slightly freeze and am muted by wonder actually.
What really bothers me is the lack of regard
as a human being.  An embrace, a kiss, a hug –

Or pick me up and swing me round
so I laugh like a hyena as children do living
in your country.  Even the rising smoke bellowing

from the blasted rubble satanic birds scatter
with their indiscriminate load, and the close proximity
of wailing incantations of my neighbour’s grief

no longer perturbs me. I am muted by years of chaos.
What really bothers me is the lack of regard

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i sat on a swing
in my sister’s garden
an idea flashed before me
but i had no pen or paper
it was sunny

a scribe minus the tools
what a caper – still
i got an android now.
fishing it out my pocket

positioning the device
i peered over my glasses
and forefinger composed –

niece & nephew sat beside
looked puzzled –
eyed each other
& burst out laughing –


the poet said
i am not here
to teach you
or reveal

i aim to
entertain you –
chug you away
from didactic

the poet said
you can
in nature

let yourself
be lost
in your mind
& the mind
of others