Hello Ma, how’s things?











Are you there now?

In your place of dreams

Where the others are

and spoil you still

In your place of smiles

Of fancy fit

and flare and

snake charm gold

Of giggles and

girlish things

Is your Ma there too?



Chasing you with time when

He left you home late


31st January 2020: 4th Anniversary. Rest in Peace, Detta.




It goes by many names, the space invader, the infiltrator, the head fuck, to name a few. Arrives unannounced and unexpected, taking residence in your comfort zone, droning on incessantly with negative speak, the stuff that hurts your head, while you hover uncomfortably in your own space, out-of-place. Welcome overstayed when none has been offered, sapping strength as the clock ticks and panic builds because you have things to do, life to live, but you can’t turf it out because you don’t know how, and you’re not that strong anyway. So the invasion prolongs  and it grows darker and your brain grows numb with the pointlessness of it all, and your chest hurts, and your stomach feels hollow; but finally it grows tired of your boring, catatonic company and you brace your exhaustion against the portal through which it slithers away; the portal that opens ever so slightly to let the light in. Sighs of exhaled pressure leave your chest and you swear that you’ll be ready the next time, braced and protected; but that’s all just fuckery thinking, and well you know it, for it will be there when you are not looking, when your guard is down; when you are content – or think that you are. It will come again alright, but you just hope that it won’t be for a long while yet.

The Memory Wandering…

I don’t claim to know that much in regard to all things poetic, and would never describe myself as such, but occasionally, in moments of emotive thought or reflection, I jot down what comes to the page and let it be.

The Memory Wandering was written some time ago and is themed around forgiveness and letting go. Common enough themes for humanity, but often the most difficult to get a handle on and more than often, unresolved.

Director of IN RIBBONS, Marie-Valerie Jeantelot, read the poem and decided to include it at the closing of our film, and in a wonderful gesture, her father, Charles Jeantelot, has translated it into French, that most beautiful language of the romantics.

La Mémoire Divaguant
La mémoire divaguant de la conscience
Et victime de victime demeure
Dans la suffocation
Dans le gris assourdissant
Et quand ils sont partis
Et quand on ne se souvient plus de ce qu’ils furent
Mais de ce qu’ils avaient fait
Cher cœur 
Les larmes s’en vont divaguant a leur tour
 Not many of us can walk through life without heartache, or the lingering weight of it, so, I’m putting The Memory Wandering out there, as a gift to anyone, whom in any way, might find it helpful. PEACE X

IN RIBBONS https://www.facebook.com/inribbonsmovie.