Afro Beat

Watch him bounce alone on his dreary isle – nothing but the crescendo of flowing traffic for rhythm, defining his space. Those cocker spaniel eyes and that gleeful smile – his old lips stretched like a thin elastic band, hooked upon his overgrown ears. Childish knee bends and manic head wiggles, clasping his wheelie street-cleaner-bin … More Afro Beat

To Do:

  Start without stopping drag the pen over the page don’t rest until the mark is made – make your mark – scratch, scrawl, scribble so that itch is no more. Let the rhythm sink in – don’t dare look around – open the vibrations, dig your feet in the ground and let those shoulders … More To Do:

Reversible

The sun filters through the rainbow umbrella – sifting the stifling heat with a full spectrum of colour. The flat-water laps lazily at our boat as we wait. The air is still. Eyes are fixed on the horizon. Beyond the corridor of bleached reeds and mangroves are dry looking trees. Far away, just beyond our … More Reversible

Formation

It is the fire behind the screen that defines my form – like a shadow puppet gliding through the motions of a familiar play. My role changes as life’s stages shift – fallout, integrate, recreate – that’s when the puppet transcends its linear cut out. Briefly, swirling like mist from a dawn lit lake – … More Formation

Behold, the Cock

Fiery cloaks and crimson masks, they cluck, in and out – striding with claws at half-mast. It won’t be long, ‘til you find the one, he’ll be the first to crow: Cock-a-doodle-do! In and out, they mingle, heads rising above the flock, wings fluttering – No I am the cock! But until those first licks … More Behold, the Cock

The Meeting Room

A still life, of gleaming glasses – neatly squared notebooks and practical pencils – smooth table and immaculate cutlery. It’s dead but alive and I’m still… It’s the same but I’m different: It’s different, but it’s the same. Harsh breath, squeaky rubbing – give it a wipe next. Find the symmetry, set the table – … More The Meeting Room

To Capri

It skips, like a blip in time, bouncing upon the sea, The wind purrs and paws at your hair; Finally, your thoughts are running free. The golden haze on the rosy crests,  swell – and fall – Running away as though there’d never been a connect. A play-boy’s ghost ship, slicing through the Gulf of … More To Capri