BLUEPEPPER

My Soul is a tapestry where the moths go to eat. It is a tree filled with wounded birds. My soul is not a phrase but its...

Twenty years or more it'll take There’s a pen, a book, an apple, a paperclip, a notepad, on my desk. There is a tree, a w...

not hearing myself on the radio Ockham’s Razor, ABC, May 10, 2015 after a restless night i halfwake  hear a man’s voice  a...

Biographical Hands I visited the great tombs of Switzerland. No, it was Egypt. No, it was Rome. They swirl the same, embarra...

Captain Garibaldi of the Trader Carmen in 1852 ‘Yes men. Here on the Pacific we are becalmed. But our luck will change, our ...

Your grandfather and winter trees in London (For the Dutch poet Joop Bersee)     My dearest boy. My sweet child. There’s a  ...

Cruzen Rum Shack  Sunday. Well before Happy Hour. Palm trees sway like masts where a blackbird rides against cloudy crests. ...

hummingbird glib  sun hummingbird, if you vanish into a vortex  wherein the dibbler dines  on petals of dissolved earth, ...

Encroachment On the window to the left, the neighbor closing in.  Large vans, gas grills, overtaking with suburban life. T...

At the meter board The power is off moon less night stars broadcast, a lingua franca  in orbit of this fatal space. Yet whe...

Now that yours truly has pretty much signed off on the latest collection, I have entered that strange twilight period familiar to all write...

We Sing the Song of Terror Hey, Freedom Law. Don't talk about the springtime.  We are in prison right now!  Come and bre...

The Nest of Love The giant mango tree on the rear lawn towers above the window in my room upstairs Beneath its canopy, laid o...

resurrection body when the sun sinks, the world rises on my tongue  like a conjurer, i let memory find its way to the river w...

As I came home (for the Dutch poet Joop Bersee)     Even when it hurts like the sun. The spark     of manhood or woman-speak...

What to do with Intangibles Early morning, a little snow teases the outstretched branches with the help of the wind. It is c...

Morning Fire On The Beach looking at myself these mornings through a sunrise and morning tea close to being able to say the w...

The Blue The blue of the ocean snatched up by sky Fog smudges this perfect landscape I wait to be called by name The violini...

Bluepepper would like to apologise to anyone out there who has been unable to submit to us over the past week. The problem has only...

Night Sketching I had my sketchpad out. There had been no plan to work but I enjoyed the lines of her body. She was large but seemed in...