A poem from 'Sketches (preface to a Jazz Painting)'.

An immoveable companion, a symbol of strength

It's dark out here, I step inside, Shut the door, Creeks are left behind. I hear a noise, what can that be, scouting around, but I think it was me. It is pitch black,

Chapter Seven ‘You told him that you’d go. Look at last week, we had all this before we set off and then, when we got back, you were raving to the neighbours about how good you felt.’ ‘It’s raining,’ ‘It’s drizzling,’ ‘I’m tired.’ ‘We’re all tired.’ ‘I’ll mow the garden.’ ‘You’ll climb a mountain.’ ‘It’s barbaric. Let me be.’

Children often have imaginary friends, but some just stay around in adulthood and never go away.

A short poem about loss of a child.

I do seek respect in each current flow with fins so sleek and strong.

To forsake a nice dry pub for an alley in the rain...it must be love.