As Leo Sayer Sang,

“You make me feel like dancing,”
yes, I feel like
I have become a part of the rhythm
that beats down from the speakers,
through the head and through the heart,
I feel like the sway of hips and
the harsh thump of feet on floor, the
slur of drink and the sweep of skill,
yes, I feel like
you are there somewhere in the riot,
other feet and other eyes,
other hands pushing through and seeking,
finding, joining,
the clasp of a warm embrace,
and the slow, stuttering swing of some
long-dead bandstand audience;
and we are there, too,
in the courts of old Europe,
and the fresh-born bustle of Kingston and
everywhere in-between and apart,
and you
make me feel like dancing,
like the first dancing around a cave mouth to
keep the demons of night at bay,
you make me feel like dancing,
like something primordial and natural,
like something eternal and refined, oh,
you make me feel like

a life lived in shade

What shadow is cast by the light of love?
and what people live in it,
unlit and beyond reach with
eyes rimed by darkness?

What worth is a life lived in shade,
hoping for a break in the sky,
aching for the hurts of adjustment?

What object can block the light of love?
some foul demon with
wings that span the sum of sky,
or is it merely the heart?

scraps and thrifts

these are the scraps and thrifts of us
given softness and comfort
by prior use;
these are the rare finds
carelessly lost, the
choice picks in the bin-bottoms,
these are the memories
we’ve rediscovered, memories
we’ve built from
old wood and bent screws, and
still it is livable,
still it is lovable,
still it is sturdy and
still it is.
these are the scraps and thrifts of us
gently disassembled, inexpertly
renewed into something precious;
something that will never be cast away.

Love In Multitudes

There is love that you welcome in and
reheat the coffee for, and
love that flies in through an open door and
builds a nest in the upper corners of the room.
There is love that stings when you find it clinging to
your sleeve, and
love that smells as fresh and sweet as the second snowfall.
there is love you chase away with a broom,
and love you sit on your lap and pet until it purrs,
love you cannot name and
love as vast and cryptic as a carving in a British hillside,
love we all know and love known by few,
all valid, always valid,
the love we pat on the back as it vomits and
the love we watch sunsets with,
love as thin and concentrated as the point of a needle and
love that spreads through your arm like medicine,
and love that pounds inside your head like flu.
There is love that sounds like music and love that
sounds like pots being knocked from the top shelf,
love that watches you undress and
love you undress yourself,
Surely there is love,
Surely there is love,
Surely, there is love in you.


We want to shout our love in languageless terms,
Caress with appendages not yet evolved,
Wed at a monument constructed
and destroyed for us.
We are stranded at the mountain’s roots,
believing that love springs forth
like a crocus from the soft earth,
unwilling to imagine the hard bulb beneath,
and sure that a passphrase known by all
(at least in part)
cannot be secret,
cannot be love.

Kiss Like Cowards

I wish I could apologize for tomorrow,
But my lips are dry, dry as winter air,
The sparks between us now are only static
surging from fingertips, bursting onto hair-
So let’s just kiss like cowards,
Let our hands roam free beneath the flagwhite sheets,
Someone else can worry about the fallout,
The someone born from a shaking sleep.

I hope I won’t hurt you when you hurt me.
Can’t stand these tiny shards in my lungs,
You hear the hollow rasping of my breath now,
Aching for the whole thing to be do done.
So let’s just kiss like cowards for a moment,
Pretend like there’s no mines left in the sea,
Let me stay a while at your fingertips,
because tomorrow you’ll be done with me

After the Flash

We walked through the woods with our hands in our pockets,
Alone with the rotting ash trees,
And the air between us was a riot of rockets,
When we realized what would never be.
We could have parted as calmly as cowards,
But you’d always wanted the last word
With your face twisted up like a brute
You slipped love from a sheathe in your boot,
Jammed the word through my ribs,
and left me here
to live.

That (National Poetry Month Day 13)

coy glance, that
brush of hands, that
electric moment, that
spreading smile.

casual yawn – that
ol’ move – that
arm draped over
her shoulder.

sideways look
(you know the one), that
hammering heart, that
eccentric joy, that
chorus swell, that
starlit night, that
sense of wonder, that
soothing light.

movement closer, that
tiny distance that
bridges bodies, that
brings together, that
energy mingling, that
dance of eyes, that
sweet release, that
first kiss.