For Nancy and the late wives of Namibian kings
It’s nothing I’ve done. Certainly I affect no dignified gate, wear no burgundy cloth, breath no rarefied air. But how I flutter when I consider all ...
Category: Humour
A bit of cold hard reality for those dupable dreamers – and a warning for the rest of us
Have you had it up to herewith all those creative-come-mystic types going on about the quiet wonder of the quotidian? Do you, too, cringe when you read the revi...
Summer holidays–over the shoulder
Sun rolling over boats in the bay, the lake like glass under a lone rower, the scull, a thin watery wedge. Breach of rainbow trout, screech of an osprey, wind o...
Rutabaga–roots poetry, commuter poetry
Due to overwhelming demand (a request by a friend I’ll call Jeff), and because not all Grow Mercy readers (the throng in the phone booth) take the bus or ...