morning commute

a stilt-walker crosses

the station -

disappears into the crowd

of dark-suited men

          careful

          don't catch the eye

          of the beast -

          who knows who he will

          decide to turn on next?

since the diagnosis

I have built

for myself

a fantasy café

beside an olive grove

Only Human Vol.01 Issue 02

Gravity

We move around each other in circles and spirals. I don't truly know what his experiences are like, how the issues he has affect him and I'm curious, but there is an understanding between us that nothing needs to be explained.

Sometimes we laugh in the way that babies laugh, until tears come, at the absurdity and the wonder of our bodies and our minds.

We exchange glances, as if playing a game of peek-a-boo, connect and disconnect, we play at the edge of loneliness and loss, just for a moment, so we can re-discover the connection and laugh again in relief and joy.

Everything is imperfect and that is perfect. Love and pain, joy and grief are all tangled up together in us inextricably. We taste the tang of salt in the sweetness and know it can be no other way.

He and I, both flawed and both still completely as we should be. We two can never be one, but only by being separate can we be so very close. 

birth of a galaxy 

the sparkle of newly formed 

star clusters 

Drifting Sands Haibun Issue 34 December 2025

Taking my time

Some call it the third age, in Hindu tradition it's the Vanaprastha ashrama. The demands of career and family are done and you are no longer battered daily by responsibilities.There is more time to rest, sometimes thankfully, sometimes with a sense of loss. Time, if you choose, to consider meaning and purpose beyond keeping the inbox and the kitchen counter clear. What shape has adult life left you in? Wrecked, broken? Perhaps with some of the rough edges smoothed, better able to go with the flow? The journey is not over, and yet this pause, this quiet beach just off the path.

signpost

destinations worn away

by wind-blown sand

Drifting Sands Haibun Issue 36 June 2026

A tang of salt

Lebanese flatbread, Spanish sausage, Greek feta and Icelandic Skyr, with a glass of Scottish spring water. I may not be a traveller anymore but these days the flavours of the world come to me.

from the quiet

of my balcony, a glimpse 

of the sea

a container ship

overtakes the ferry

Blithe Spirit Vol.36 No.3 August 2026

Witness

Weary of the news channels’ predictable narratives and relentless focus on explosions, I seek out livestreams from the Middle East. They bring me the steady beat of rainfall in Beirut, the darkness of crows crossing the Tel Aviv skyline. Once in a while, in the night, I see bright streaks of tracer-fire from interceptor systems. Even more rarely a target is hit, but most often the camera, obedient to official directives, changes focus before the strike, the view obscured at the moment of impact.

a man

meets the gaze of

someone

who he cannot help—

and will not look away

contemporary haibun online 22.2 August 2026

A gift

We are the only customers. In a street of restaurants there are only a few people in each. It's lunchtime, I'm sure evenings are busier. After our meal the chef chats with us, about how he orders his spices direct, his son who is studying to become a doctor, the regional variety of cuisine, how all meals are celebrations. 

My neighbours have their food delivered in boxes, I often see them on their doorsteps, a set of pre-prepared ingredients, ready to unpack and assemble, like flat-pack furniture. Food for two, or maybe one. Chosen from a menu offering neatly boxed, consistent, reliable diversity. Italian, Indian, Chinese, Mexican. 

The chef tells us he has chosen not to have peshwari naan on the menu, only plain and garlic naan. Western taste, he says, is to have everything sweet, but some plainness helps you appreciate the subtle mix of spices in a dish. 

under grey skies

a gust of wind delivers

pin-pricks of drizzle

a gift of 

hot chai 

Blithe Spirit Vol 36 No 2 May 2026

almost 60 years

since the first bootprint

on the moon

am I still capable

of gazing up in awe?

Blithe Spirit Vol 36 No 2 May 2026

silent
for twelve years
he clears his throat
and
apologises

Presence Issue 84 March 2026

an abandoned

building...

I play with

the idea

of going missing

Presence Issue 83 November 2026

under a pile

of legal papers

a seed packet

Hope: The British Haiku Society Member's Anthology 2025

things

my hands remember...

how to

make stale bread

into comfort food

Blithe Spirit Vol 35 No 4 November 2025

Becoming

I'm softening, letting go. Now I'm something drifting, buoyant, almost weightless, almost liquid, floating and warm. At first it's disconcerting, but then I let my mind relax too. My friend is disturbed, asks me not to go. I try to explain that it's alright, I'm not really going anywhere, just changing, that it's a good thing that's happening. He softens a little too but then resists, stays solid.

 

thunderclouds

piling 

white 

pillows

on a blue bedsheet 

Blithe Spirit Vol 35 No 4 November 2025

Someone Else’s World 

I will not fight. I reject the propaganda. They call it “fake news” now, I know, but that's just a rebrand. It's as old as war. A tale of how to be acceptable, a narrative, a script for those who find themselves unsure, confused, afraid. 

Today, I read another moving story of one who, having bravely conquered illness, is welcomed back into the world of the well. The names change but the outline is always the same: the challenge, the battle, the victory, the smiling portrait of an inspiration. 

I don't fit the role and so remain in exile, outside the walls. I overhear the questions, with their tone of suspicion. “Why won't she fight it?” “Is she really ill?” “I get tired too, you have to push through, don’t you?” “Why doesn't she just try harder?” “Doesn't she want to get better?” “It's all in her head really, isn't it?”   

I don't fight, but when this thing makes its malign existence known, with the first shimmer of migraine aura, or the chill before an advancing wave of fatigue, I give it a nod of recognition, sit down, and go on living in my peaceful world. 

contrails
across a clear sky
in seconds
someone else's world
reduced to rubble 

Drifting Sands Haibun Issue 33 September 2025