Dash ‘I’m sitting behind the glass, at rest, my own portrait’. Thomas Transtromer No coin in a slot, no peepshow. No flash of white light, no sticky smudged surface, or four practised faces slammed down a chute but a collison of lasers. Or, put it this way, it’s raining behind your window ; there;s usual…

Currency of yes http://www.wordle.net exchange rate rises between borders changes hands like doves do its feathers work the crowd it’s the don quixote in station back-rooms shekels for the weary dirham for the pure and the almost sane take me where the words are lead me out of the dark press with me against the…

  Once  he consented to be made into a hologram he consented to be flattened between two sheets of film to be tweaked into a third dimension   he stashed himself in the attic he was lodged between the child-seat and the Amstrad he pretended to forget about himself as the years sailed by  …

The City Bar, Inverness You wandered in to Brown Sugar: a woman in transit, soon to leave on a flight that takes less than an hour although home is a long way from here. You and three other women enticed by white tulips in tall vases to a bookies’ den with green vinyl benches. Yeah,…

Creation Myth –Un-visited I too would run, like the tiger, from the dank cave in my half-hearted quest to become (more) human. So the bear stayed; ate only garlic for one hundred days, his reward, being turned into a woman, giving birth to a child who would later become King of the Land of Ever…

I came across a quotation in ‘Re-visiting University teaching’ by Diana Laurillard : ‘We cannot experience molecules in the same way that we experience dogs’, and I asked some of my Facebook friends to respond with a poem. These are the responses so far..more welcome   Lucretius’ De Rerum Natura I • Substance is eternal. …

  Pre-flight drinks   East Midlands Airport:the bar where I’m not sitting.   I’m on a black vinyl sofa in front of a booth, http://www.discovereastmidlands.com.   Sometimes the bottles at the back of the bar glow purple under fuschia and violet spots.   Enticing elixirs. Next moment they’re coming up in blues.   It would…

Moniack Mohr Facing all directions, the croft where writers sink into their souls. Souls, yes. Even though moorland’s hard and gorse prickles and that wind spares nothing, almost tearing the grass out by its roots.