By Chance

I would have liked
to swim with you
just  one  last  time.

I guess, the sea and sand will wait
another million mornings
of the sun. Another million sunsets.



1954 and On

When night time
silent comes
I try to call your name.
But scream instead
at all the things
that might have been.



Kaxxa tal-hadid
hadt u xejn ma-tidhol.
La Aids
is-suwwet mejtien fuq i-rammel ul-blaght
jew int Ras.
Fejnu l-bambin
u l-imhabba tal familja ta din id-dinja?
Fil kaxxa tal hadid


Today and Tomorrow

vainly trying to touch each star,
living life.

Just living sometimes.
Mesmerized by the dawn
until the music fades again
and the warmth of sunrise calls.

To just living sometimes.


Ground Zero

Even the warmest day can turn chilly suddenly. A hasty word or act blowing hurricanes of ice.
The most colourful garden erupts into a dark and desolate moonscape.
The wonderous earth itself spins and spins to nothingness.
What kindness there once was or may have been
fades fast to dis-interest and games
of how we like to hurt ourselves,
and so hate that tires love
to emptiness grows,
excelling empathy
to nothingness.
To a hollow


Have a nice day

He paints women in his song
birds of paradise
warm sands.

He knows what he’s saying when he talks about the waves
the rhythm, sound
the weather and the seasons.

He chooses colour like a master
with each hue and shade so blue
translucent moods revealing all.

You’d think him a philosopher, preacher, a debater among men
ha, Joe’s just a fisherman
so walk on if you wish and have a nice day.

Or stay and hear the man who’s travelled through Gallipoli
and parts of Flanders to be here today
to tend his nets.

Listen to the horsesmith to the guns
or the baker of men’s bread
and admire the subtle textures of his canvas spread.


Big C

Have I contemplated murder?
Yes, and once agreed; it is extreme.
Impossible in fact when one comes to that very edge.
Deciding should you? Would you?
Yes, I would, and nearly did.
I’ve seen him struggling through the pain.


Wrong time in a perfect day

Wrong time in a perfect day
saw you
trying on those heart shaped glasses
in 66, or was it seven.

The union-jack pin
glinting on your left breast
with sun rays catching my eye,
a Lennon and McCartney ballad in the background.

‘Just lost the man,’ you said, in Nam
trying hard to find the way to the green,
to the silver speckles of the lake in the park.

Sunshine reds in a perfect day of blue and pinks
and Beatle’s apple green,
somewhere in south west one with Carnaby just done.

Bathers at the Serpent’s edge,
silver paper cards reflecting shadows of their faces
on your thoughts, your longing, and your hunger
a million foreign miles away.

The reds and greens and blues of sixty-seven.


The Ghost of Apartment 12

She sits upon his blue bed
scanning all he owns
a rubber plant and a reflection in the window that he doesn’t see.

The saxophone player reherses in ‘B’ flat.

In the street
black cabs weave
in and out of red squares and green triangles.

She turns as many times before
to leave a memory upon his pillow
an imprint on his life.

She isn’t really there
but is
as once she was, before she left.

He returns the instrument back in its case, the reed’s all wrong
the notes, this room
his life
too cold to play.


Why always boxes?

They keep putting me in boxes mum.
Only they don’t fit and I keep breaking them.
They all have boxes
for everyone
for them as well.
But sometimes they sneak out of theirs
do silly things, and then sneak back again when no one’s looking.
But I know what’s going on

Do you?



I shot you In different lights and moods.
How I wish I’d caught you in your sleep
at an angle in your bed like a landscape angel
and at the end a tangled rainbow of your hair; a silver waterfall.

I’d look at it and sleep untroubled
to think of you like that
some miles away
each night.

But I’ll have to do
with ones walking
silently on
on black and grey cold beaches.

Always away.



Sits in the burning sun
and smiles all day.
The tube?
That’s depression
a day to day obsession.
Fast glare
Don’t you miss the sun?
You travellers of the shadows.


Down in Flames

I lacked
the confidence you didn’t have in me
would have made a man so kingly proud
I dreamt of nothing else
not money
or stocks exchanged between
no banking on extremes
emotion just careered
and here I am
an apprentice once again.


Soppy Card

(OTT Productions©) Scribble in doodle.

I hope the pain diminishes
that there’s a light for you to see
that your path is smooth and flowing
and that all your dreams will be.

I hope for you
each moonlit star and galaxy
each heaven cloudless mile
that soon you reach your destiny

and the journey brings a smile.



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