It was a yellow-spotted frog
Skin bedecked in splashes of black
In the middle of the road
It’s guts spilled out.
Boys played at their game
shouting, sulking, rejoicing on the road
A pigeon’s wing, torn, lay toward the side.
It matters not how one lives
Each soul is a temporary blemish
whether unnoticeable or remarkable
upon the face of the earth.
The crow, its neck bent
A rat, a clump of nuts by its side
Crushed, its long tail laid out behind it
Heading to its nest, probably
The Universe doesn’t notice.


I clutch a book-binder’s scissors in my palm
I think of Mo
I feel the leather, to put upon the spine
Leaning in, burying my nose between the pages
I inhale
I don’t know what comes next
After the dressing of the spine in the leather
Because I’m not a book-binder
Though Mo once was. Still is.
I’m a reader, dreaming about my bookshop.
Mo’s bookshop.

A thread cut short

Transported by a photo, a mark, a song
to that day, that time years ago
When you laughed along
made promises,
wove dreams
intricate and oblong.
Shattered promises,
a life stolen
an infant’s, a boy’s, or a parent’s
Time stands still
You endeavour to understand
Why, how, what could have been
Words unsaid,
Memories unshared
Belongings locked away,
Names made taboo
Aspirations half conceived – the womb snatched away
Empty sentences left hanging in the air.
The world moves on; it cares not
For the gaping hole is visible only to you,
The interrupted fire tangible only to you –
A candescent forever agleam behind your eyelids.

They attempt at change.

They have lied, deceived, stolen, coveted
Avarice and amour propre bleed into them
Their souls are fragmented seas
A number out of seven sins drift across them.
We looked at them and judged
Expert fabrication might have been what we saw.
A whiff of innocence, a child’s gift
A breath of fresh air, an open book
A friend’s trust, a fragile concern
A smile of encouragement, a proud look
Turn their eyes inwards, or maybe not
But they might will the shards to stitch together
They could try and keep hold
But the make-believe needle, the traitorous threads
They give way at the first jolt.

A black cannibal at the summer fair.

I danced my harsh dance,
sucked on raw meat
A black cannibal at the summer fair
I clutched my hat full of pennies.
I care nothing for the gallows, nothing for the law
Vengeance, nursed by every passing hour
Cutting through men, like stalks of wheat
Not a shred of mercy, my conscience to be paid no heed.
Led behind bars
My bloody soul dripping
I sleep, drifting away from the laughter
Caged forever,
Liberated at last.

A Memory

The sun shines across her lips
curved upwards,
a mystery unsolved
The stars twinkle, caged in her eyes
a light coming through, from miles away
Rainbows squabble in the lilt of her laugh
A sound bound to welcome you home
She holds an ocean, laughing in her palms
An eternal elixir of life and beauty
Aged and wrinkled,
She gazes at the sky
Her heart in tandem with the wind’s sighs
Her son’s laughter echoing in her ears,
She smiles up at the rain, a flame in her eyes
She watches him walk into the frolicking moonlight,
Twilight rushing after his fading form
His smile, more spirited than ever,
Encompasses her in its untouched paragon.
She takes him in, fingers reaching out
grazing his brow, to caress him once again.
The memory of his love glistening in her eyes
she turns away from the window,
More beatific than ever.

Some memorable Opening Lines


  • Pride and Prejudice: It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.
  • One Hundred Years of Solitude: Many years later, as he faced the firing squad, Colonel Aureliano Buendía was to remember that distant afternoon when his father took him to discover ice.
  • Anna Karenina: Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.
  • A Tale of Two Cities: It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair.
  • Gravity’s Rainbow: A screaming comes across the sky.
  • Finnegans Wake: riverrun, past Eve and Adam’s, from swerve of shore to bend of bay, brings us by a commodius vicus of recirculation back to Howth Castle and Environs.
  • 1984: It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen.
  • Miss Lonelyhearts. The Miss Lonelyhearts of the New York Post-Dispatch (Are you in trouble? Do-you-need-advice? Write-to-Miss-Lonelyhearts-and-she-will-help-you) sat at his desk and stared at a piece of white cardboard.
  • Adventures of Huckleberry Finn: You don’t know about me without you have read a book by the name of The Adventures of Tom Sawyer; but that ain’t no matter.
  • The Metamorphosis: One morning, as Gregor Samsa awoke from anxious dreams, he discovered that during the night he had been transformed into a monstrous bug.
  • The Trial: Someone must have slandered Josef K., for one morning, without having done anything truly wrong, he was arrested.
  • If on a winter’s night a traveler: You are about to begin reading Italo Calvino’s new novel, If on a winter’s night a traveler.
  • Murphy: The sun shone, having no alternative, on the nothing new.
  • The Catcher in the Rye: If you really want to hear about it, the first thing you’ll probably want to know is where I was born, and what my lousy childhood was like, and how my parents were occupied and all before they had me, and all that David Copperfield kind of crap, but I don’t feel like going into it, if you want to know the truth.
  • A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man: Once upon a time and a very good time it was there was a moocow coming down along the road and this moocow that was coming down along the road met a nicens little boy named baby tuckoo.
  • The Good Soldier: This is the saddest story I have ever heard.
  • Tristram Shandy: I wish either my father or my mother, or indeed both of them, as they were in duty both equally bound to it, had minded what they were about when they begot me; had they duly considered how much depended upon what they were then doing; that not only the production of a rational Being was concerned in it, but that possibly the happy formation and temperature of his body, perhaps his genius and the very cast of his mind; and, for aught they knew to the contrary, even the fortunes of his whole house might take their turn from the humours and dispositions which were then uppermost: Had they duly weighed and considered all this, and proceeded accordingly, I am verily persuaded I should have made a quite different figure in the world, from that, in which the reader is likely to see me.
  • David Copperfield: Whether I shall turn out to be the hero of my own life, or whether that station will be held by anybody else, these pages must show.
  • The Stranger: Mother died today. Or maybe yesterday, I don’t know.
  • The Great Gatsby:  In my younger and more vulnerable years my father gave me some advice that I’ve been turning over in my mind ever since.
    “Whenever you feel like criticizing any one,” he told me, “just remember that all the people in this world haven’t had the advantages that you’ve had.”
  • Gone with the Wind – Scarlett O’Hara was not beautiful, but men seldom realized it when caught by her charm as the Tarleton twins were.
  • Mrs. Dalloway: “Mrs. Dalloway said she would buy the flowers herself.”
  • Slaughterhouse-Five:  All this happened, more or less.
  • Harry Potter:Mr. & Mrs. Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much.
  • A Thousand Splendid Suns: Mariam was five years old the first time she heard the word harami.
  • The Gunslinger: The man in black fled across the desert and the gunslingerfollowed.
  • CANADA by Richard Ford: First I’ll tell about the robbery our parents committed. Then about the murders, which happened later.
  • The Tin Drum:  Granted:  I am an inmate of a mental hospital.
  • The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy: “Far out in the uncharted backwaters of the unfashionable end of the Western Spiral arm of the Galaxy lies a small  unregarded yellow sun. Orbiting this at a distance of roughly ninety-eight million miles is an utterly insignificant little blue-green  planet whose ape-descended life forms are so amazingly primitive that they still think digital watches are a pretty neat idea.”
  • A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens:  MARLEY WAS DEAD, to begin with.
  • Catch-22:  It was love at first sight.  The first time Yossarian saw the chaplain, he fell madly in love with him.
  • The Old Man and the Sea: “He was an old mad who fished alone in a skiff in the Gulf Stream and he had gone eighty-four days now without taking a fish.”
  • Alice in Wonderland:  Alice was beginning to get very tired of sitting by her sister on the bank, and of having nothing to do: once or twice she had peeped into the book her sister was reading, but it had no pictures or conversations in it, “and what is the use of a book,” thought Alice, “without pictures or conversations?”