15 months after I put pen to ink and at last the new book, ‘The Outrageous Miss April Fool’ is born. On the way it didn’t help that Rosie the gypsy dog ‘bitch’…sometimes worthy of that non-canine definition…decided to ‘bark’ many a long hour. Oh, how I wish I could speak the ‘bark’ language. I’d … More THE OUTRAGEOUS MISS APRIL FOOL


The Old Fool sits on his comfy chair staring fixedly at the blue painted wall…the only wall in the house devoid of immodest art…with his eyes wide open, attired in just a manmade coal-black dressing gown that trails all the way down to his frozen feet. During his spell without an hourglass, wearing the dressing … More THE BLUE WALL


When my erudite doctor and my scrumptious Shirley both insist I should take a break from compulsive computers, endurance saunters and over thinking, I have to listen. Instead of routine I have more pills to swallow than there are pebbles on the harbour beach. So close to finishing my new tome entitled, ‘The Outrageous Miss … More STRANGE TIMES


My new book: ‘The Blue-Eyed Cat’ has finally been freed from her solitary confinement within the lonely prison cell that is my dark and empty skull. At last at liberty, the world is now her oyster…although all indications are that her ideal preference would be pride of place upon the shelf of a grand bookcase … More THE BLUE-EYED CAT


Reveil, Boulevard de Clichy – Anders Zorn, 1899 Drunk on Pernod, lost to opium and thoroughly fatigued, gifting smoke rings to ungrateful stars, contemplating an interlude with an immodest, exiled Geisha touting for business somewhere along the Boulevard de Clichy, she found me; saved me. Slapped my wrists, gave me the evil eye, even had … More THE ENGLISHMAN


how gentle was Time back when back when there were no summer rains and new-found love was both innocent and wild back when Time had yet to be wholly realized had yet to aggrieve, to exist before the epoch of open awakening Time, a mock-ruin folly gracing a veiled skyscape, emptiness reigned absolute then came … More SLAVES TO TIME


an angry night spent alone in Spartan space harshest words committed to pen and paper come first light, she casts them upon the hearth giving false hope, but no reprieve to fading embers then watches her wretched waspish, now blackened text flake then become devoured within the sooty vortex   in those times of strength … More WITHIN TANGLED MINDS