The last echo of a rainstorm.
The silence which followed.
Sky shanties…
November
November has crept in through a back door. It is a strange month. One half clings on to the fading remnants of autumn. The other half…
Don’t You Just Love Maps
Have you ever wondered why men have an affinity with maps? This poem answers some, if not all of the questions.
Inertia
My walls are all white
Except for one speck of blood,
Which has faded …
Book Review: Istangrade
Istangrade, a poetry collection, begins in the middle of an Istanbul winter and concludes at the outset of a Belgrade Autumn.