BLUEPEPPER

The Migrant Child  I say hello to all the world's children.  I kiss your hands from far away.  I have something buried in...

Bluepepper feels neglected. There is nothing in the inbox and kids keep knocking on the door dressed like Eddie Kruger begging for sweets. ...

My Soul Has the Munchies Lately I’ve been noticing that most of us don’t even bother to paddle between the distances of where...

Corinthians  Love suffers  but gains nothing.  Bearer of flames, mysteries,  mountains, it rejoices  not in that which is p...

SOUND SPIRALS              (i) Sound like a breathing spiral moves both ways Has its all-highs and has its lows. Tight-ribb...

A Flag in Sonoma Square A flag is held aloft by a man standing on a rock, cast in bronze and shadowed by trees on a sunny day ...

Today I am the lolly jar that last one not my favourite rattling around unresolved * Loose-ends taunt my dreams learnin...

Movement Bookshelves remind me of the aloneness of thought. In the stillness of their spines  lies the essence of experience ...

Before the Dawn The cat stays the colour of night. His whiskers exquisite; his purr blent with divine harmonics...

How You Play Out The Years  The first fever you ever had the weight of a feather on your brow like circumspection gone wrong...

Persona The woodthrush using the depths of the forest as its instrument The forest giving the woodthrush a home so that the fo...

cool night observed this is the first cool night in some time not cool enough for windows but cool dark chocolate on pom...

Angels of the Night I drive back to tinsel town on Sunset Boulevard.  Hollywood---a town with its legs wide open, An American...

Depression My depression has its own voice. He wears a crown of winter leaves. He is my companion, my lover, My after-though...

Ode to the Saturn V Gravity fumbles and lets one through: a climbing tower blows back  flaming raspberry thre...

There have been a few of those hoary old rumours running north of the line that poetry is dead. These things run up there like the influenz...

Exhibitionist Arrested Again The call comes in  to the police station. It’s a small town and the voice at the library says ...

One Man's Karma The dead man sits in the small room Without sustenance or light, There are no books or wind...

Secret Alphabet The pen put to paper. Jet black ink, strips of the night sky, the space between the floors. When it was good, then each...

Beneath the folded tortilla moon trees are dreaming bent sunlight in long last summers. of mutation. tree speak t...