Thirst for Thorns
His apparent waiting
poetry
The Loon
We rinsed our coffee cups in the chill lake water
Time
When most of the casual goodnights have been spoken
The Web and the Vine
Here sitting beside myself, ignoring
A Poem
When thoughts are springs tight-wound in space
A Last Resort
Here where tides untiring pluck a fretted shore
The Bridges
How clumsy are the messages we shout
An Admiration for Dylan Thomas
Creation's Welchman walks behind his eyelids
New Year's Concert
Music filled the room with a thousand colours
Poem
Time's tom-fooling, high time's games
Pages
Current Issue: No. 302
