A poem from my first book, Something That Comes Close. Illustration by Spike.

A poem from my first book, Something That Comes Close. Illustration by Spike.

The spoken word. A friend recites the title poem from my book: Something That Comes Close.

"It could not be dangerous to be living in a town like this, of simple people," Marianne Moore, 1921

I am pleased that I wrote and published a book of poems. I like what I've written. I hope people will buy my book.

An "Author's Proof" arrives in the mail.

Matin's birthday. Remembering this force of nature with another poem.

I may need to get out more.

Not long after you break your neck in three places (in a not-swimming-well-enough accident) people tend to ask a lot of questions.

Last days of primary school, I think. Maybe 1968 or 69. Look at those ears and the ginger hair!!! The past is indeed a foreign country.

The hero's journey ... Or not. And not quite Dante either. But, you know, IKEA on a Saturday?

Thistle The Cat sleeps soundly. I was in the mood for the bleakness of 20th Century Modernism. Go figure.

Anyone who wins the best dressed man at the Galway Races, -- without knowing that's 'a thing' -- undeniably has sprawl.

New Year's Day. Dooralong, NSW. After the rain.

Down time. Sunday in Spike Deane's garden. Work can wait. We'll shake some different tree tomorrow.

Today -- after six years of being apart -- I sat with my mother, Betty, for a few hours. My life and work in Australia kept me far away...