Monthly Archives: March 2014

British Summer Time

Night’s new roster has been agreed and
implemented, though I note
she has yet to respond to the
round-robin email.

Her duties have not changed, so we
anticipate no need for any
upsurge in imposts, overall hours
remaining roughly the same.

P.R. and H.R. should be aware that
scare-stories are circulating of Night being
under-staffed and over-stretched:
firm denial is the line to take.

Point out that, although it is true her
watch correlates with
low patient outcomes,
Night is not a nurse, and that the

demands from the young, ABC1’s and
even poets for Night’s services has
been in steep decline,
year-on-year, for some time.

And can whoever sees her next please
remind her that we in this service see
Night as merely an extension of day
but with less light.

The Queen’s Intelligencer

The Queen's Intelligencer

I feel like a spy in my own country,
snapping secret photos full of
operational intelligence:
how wide is that river? how deep?
is that mud or will boots grip?
is the bridge defensible or
easily taken in a coup de main?
if tidal, when is high, when low? are there
fortifications? landward? seaward?
are they expecting us?

Wait a minute—us?
For every “us” there is a “them”.in which
category I felt ensconced,
so when exactly did I step onto the
slippery slope between
“them” and “us”?

The White Ship

The White Ship

The boy strode down that
stolid hill in that
ghost town towards the
white ship, expecting to sail
fully-armed, knowing the
sugar-sandwiches in his satchel, the
book or two wouldn’t
add much to its arsenal, but
trusting to his wit and spirit to
pay for his passage.

Blackbird War

The blackbird war begins before dawn with

chorales we find beautiful, but to them are

battle-cries, marking territory,

asserting rights, fighting in-comers and

feisty females, claws hammering onto my

fence until one flees, one

raises her tail so the

fighting might stop.



Earth, water, sky sublime each day
in the Sun’s cruel crucible, then
slither back to sodden nature as
Sun sets.


We’re trapped between know-alls and

Know-Nothings, when

however much we try we cannot

know everything and

however much we

might wish it we can

never know nothing.



A zigzag of tidewrack,
fragile fossil of the sea’s last
demented assault.

Horatio, Abridged

I am the dull one, the

boring friend, overlooked

bearer of bad news, repository of

sickening confidences,

soaker-up of blood, testator,

greeter of invaders,

teller of tales at their tables,

my place getting farther and

farther away until I can

barely see the crown I once

nearly touched, a relic

embalmed in aspic,

forever denied felicity.

Sara in LaLaLand

Welcome to my world.

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