Monday, 25 May 2015


Still life 1907 by John Frederick  Peto

Lazily left where she hung them
for this moment  home to spiders,
tattered silk is food for worms,
shredding skin in dust piles
The itch of her carpet bag
grazing my memory
sadly mournful,
inside the detritus of a last shopping trip
a broken earring and copper change
imprint fingertips now lost.
I pull  on her hat sharply
straw nibbles my ears
pass your scent to me
so I can remember your soft wrinkled hands
holding mine
and a dry lip on my cheek.

KD 25/5/15

For the other poets work go here!

Sunday, 17 May 2015


image ulrika bolenz

Filigree wings
ethereally beat.

I walk beside
attar of rose geraniums
catching still air
touch my fingers,
erase the pain.

Will your eyes
illuminate my path?
Stretching replete
regardless of my sins
I walk free
smiling inside closely.

Sable lashes brush,
high cheeks blush
you cover me
eat my spent breath
willingly, again
and again.

The swifts heartbeats
caught at the window.
I bow low
and release her,
frightened  feathers
leave oil shadow imprints
on the glass.

KD 17/5/15

For the other poets and writers work go here!!

Sunday, 3 May 2015

I pour over the details.

What if I take moments in time
capture it in the lens?
I can look back
feelings lain bare.

White skin, stretched taut
over white sheets
once starched but now crumpled
with effortless desire.
Hedonistic tendencies fly into dull corners
fading sunlight reducing their ardor.

I wanted to bring you flowers
bright dying things for the table
it felt somehow wrong,
in the circumstances.

Later over smoked salmon bagels
I picked at the bones of us
the sadness of a singular entity
assuaged by a finger touch of hope
of a repeated performance.


For the other poets work for Magpie Tales NO.268 go here.

Monday, 27 April 2015


I stood by the waters edge
pine loaded islands
low into the mist.

Climbing high up the tower
it seems my head swirls
in  a vapour cloud.

Rain drops cling
on whispy hair,
wayward in the breeze.

Startling, a distant whistle
as Lords of the Isles
thunders past
westwards to the Kyle.

Here I feel the ages
surrounding like a rough cloak,
reeking of old peat smoke
and fallen dreams.

The past presses down,
heavy as the hills,
a bruise on my heart.

KD 27/4/15

Magpie tale 267

One of the most emotionally,electrically, charged, historically,magnificent places I've ever been to, Like the ghosts of the clans are all around you. I cried.

For the others work go here.

Sunday, 19 April 2015


I watch you
as your brow furrows,
try to maintain your balance
while leaning port-side,
set the glass with ice,
a slice of lime
to bury your teeth in.
Angle yourself to see under
my skin
exposed, white on white.
Wait awhile
then come into focus.

No. 266 magpie Tales. For the other writers go here.

Sunday, 12 April 2015


        painting by Daria Petrilli

You gave me a gift,
a seashell dress,
silk, as light as the  breeze
over clover scented dunes.

As pure a blue
as  low tide rock pools
on a heavenly summers day
down by the cliffs.

A row of tiny pearl buttons
reflect in a silvered mirror
my fingers fumbling over them
in this late, afternoon, light.

You half smile at my clumsiness,
I reject your offer of help.
Holding your eyes, as, at last,
I am undone.

KD 12/4/15

Number 265..For the other poets work go here.

Monday, 6 April 2015

Coaxing spring.

take off my pristine white gloves
you will find the grind of soil
trapped under my nails
evidence of coaxing spring from the earth
the unwilling participant
sleeping yet promising much
stretch soon my beauty
and give me your all.


For other poets work go here.