Category Archives: Dreams

Untitled *Biopic Poem (Draft)

Video tape is
black under music,
shut out from playing fields,
working behind its plastic window.

Soil segmentations are
aerated by earthworms,
next to pinned
flags of the world.

A cut of Schindler’s List for schools,
shook us behind our desks
in a room with
pencil crayon atlases.

I caught your biopic
by luck, in the cast net of stars,
flicking through satellites, stations,
happy enough without pause
to be embarrassed for them now,

because what a hold our new self-images had,
not yours I noticed, the beyond-wise (or a bit mad)
escaped their young shadows.

The lesson differently pieced together by everyone,
who is ever going to learn the role that
fumbled then crushed dialogue
once played in sweetly stupid

At a paranoid pitch, too,
making molecular
wildness inside
tone-blind to what feelings
seemed to scream.

I passed through an obsolete sleep
into days that test me more,
sure that you were a movie star –

what significance might be best asked of
the miscast stars I dreamt for us,
their celebrity easier
wound back for memory
than innocent as wax torches
held to faces we don’t have.

But I forget the horror of each
awkward hallway
shivering in bones,
bodies jostling for steps on stairs,
and names called to be heard.

I’ve yet to label my working title
in a smudged, thick,
left-handed daub

and almost yours,
wise and tall,
joined up and circled Disney dots to i’s of yours,
remembered only just but like
ice cream in a cone,
clever and kind,
and you would put up with
this nonsense – and more

bursting through in spits

and I remember a bit about
my better double in History.


The Evening Tasted Like Coffee

Rest your hair
and weary mind
where the neighbourhood gathers on the pavement outside,
greeting one another.

They blink at the lights,
mimic the small melodies of toys
repeating the yaps and somersaults
of puppy dogs.

In the park’s overgrown grass,
rest as if a plank
on the picnic table,
with the sky of all flavours of yoghurts
setting with the yellow egg
of the sweet desserts
we share as we remember.

The night is as old as old can be,
the night is a bright blue bow on the tree
you unmistakably took for butterflies,
you did!

The rainy world then following us
with windscreens,
then with a roof
above a rich rug in the sand,
where we sit and stir,
with chocolate leaves and twigs.

Rice-filled balloons are in the festive street.

We’re choosing which Fabergé egg
or Ferrero Rocher to take
from the shelves full of sweets,
our pockets full of

The street vendor grinding the aroma of coffee,
also of popcorn,
in a ushanka hat.

During the time that won’t be read aloud
like a book,
disturbing the peace

of the distant morning mist of the town’s asleep,
the promise of faraway birds without their trees,

your voice I haven’t decided on yet.

Untitled On Notepaper

the brown leaves blew from the doorway,
into a bowl,
and the green carpeted walls
of the elevator
they crept upon,
like small, baby
trespassing corn flakes
infiltrating a new box.

A continental breakfast
reservation for autumn.

Dream of dull lights flickering on a train,
a greeting card with a candle flame,
and for some reason – Orson Welles.

Morning or noon.
After missing an appointment with a duelling cowboy,
who is left to wonder and cast his shadow
to reach a cactus on a windowsill,

his hat, neither white nor black,
his blank-faced watch on his wrist.

Bunny rabbits looking through
glass panels of the ground floor foyer.

Someone said “you need a Twin”
I could get used to this luxury, and do.

After an exhausting swim,
dream about swimming in milk.

Where to Start, If You Want to Start, and How to Start Again.

  • I wonder if you’d like to see my poetry. Try these, if you want:

Door [-] Handles

The iPod


Those are my personal favourites, however some may find poems like Christmas and Bubble or even Bed-Time Story more accessable.

With the support of my friend Paul I did a few, I hope, fairly interesting works for The Orchid Room, his  collaborative poetry blog.  At The Orchid Room,  everyone wrote  stories concerning or related to happenings in an abandoned nightclub. One person would continue something from the narrative a previous writer started, and it carried on like that. It’s well worth reading the site, preferably from the earliest entries onwards. I don’t consider the works I did with the Orchid Room writers  my own. Rather, it is a wonderful, many peopled literary organism. However, writing those pieces was a mind-blowing experience, they are infused with a memorable collective spirit.


A little curio that I like, composed of found images –

A while back I produced Peter And The Hare’s Commemorative Montage Comicbook. It’s essentially a visual translation of my blog, and was conceived as a souvenir for myself and visitors. It marked a concluding chapter in the history of this site, which was not an “ending” but nevertheless felt something like that at the time. The Comicbook is now simultaneously entitled Peter and The Hare’s Commemorative Collage Piano Book, in a definitive version with more pages, and exists more to be enjoyed than understood.

It is available to download directly from Peter And The Hare here, for viewing with Adobe Reader.


Peter’s Poems About Door [-] Handles appear in Issue 4 of The Feathertale Review. It’s a fine publication, I haven’t been so entertained by a magazine in a long time.

(Read the poem online at Feathertale Poetry)

The iPod appears online in Pomegranate Issue 8. Read the poem here.

As you may not recall, a while back I produced Peter And The Hare’s Commemorative Montage Comicbook. It’s essentially a visual translation of what went on here, and was conceived as a souvenir for myself and visitors of this blog. It marks a concluding chapter in the history of something. The Comicbook is now simultaneously entitled Peter and The Hare’s Commemorative Collage Piano Book, in a definitive version with more pages.

It is available to view and download here, or to download directly from Peter And The Hare here, for viewing with Adobe Reader.

Santa Fe Ghosts

The Santa Fe courthouse ghost was a purported ghost sighted on a video captured by a security camera at a courthouse in Santa Fe, New Mexico on June 15, 2007. The “ghost video” was uploaded onto YouTube and quickly attracted widespread attention, especially within the community of ghost believers.

The mysterious object

On June 15, 2007, a mysterious star-shaped object floating around the First Judicial District courthouse was recorded by a surveillance camera. The image, starting at 7:27:11 a.m., shows a bright spot of light that comes from either the roof or near the courthouse’s back door on Catron Street.[1] Quickly thereafter, reports on the event were posted on various news web sites such as,,, and Yahoo!, and promptly became a topic of discussion all over the country. Soon after videos and images were released to public, a large number of e-mail messages were sent to a New Mexico Magazine reporter, proposing various theories on what the object was.[2] Thousands of hits for the video were recorded on The New Mexican site. The video was later uploaded to YouTube and has been viewed more than 80,000 times,[3] drawing hundreds of e-mail comments.[4]

Many predictions were made about the real identity of the mysterious object. Some people supposed that it was the ghost of Andy Lopez, who took nine hostages at the courthouse in February 1985 after killing the wife of his original victim 20 years ago.[1] Other predictions included a person walking, a male’s face and a spirit. However, common theories were that it might be just an insect (later found to be true), a spider, or a reflection, as well as some kinds of light phenomenon. Vanessa Pacheco, supervisor of the court security for the Santa Fe County Sheriff’s Office, said people’s opinions on the video depended on whether they believe in ghosts.[2]


County staff responding to a water leak at the former Blue Monkey salon and cosmetology school Tuesday morning found the interior trashed, covered in vulgar graffiti and reeking of hair dye that had been splattered over the walls and floors.

“The county hates tattooed freaks and their daughters, I gave them bad highlights on purpose,” and “We put a voodoo hex on this property” were among the phrases written across the walls of the former salon. Others contained expletives and sexually explicit remarks directed at County Commissioner Harry Montoya. Crumpled beer cans, shards of broken mirrors and beauty-supplies littered the floor.


Source: Wikipedia, Santa Fe New Mexican (Article: Phaedra Haywood, Photo:  Luis Sanchez-Saturno)