I, Camera

There is in the photograph you’re holding

someone taking a snapshot

of someone else posing

for someone else’s camera –

who’s being photographed by somebody

taking a picture to post online,

and in turn is getting snapped

by others taking shots

who without knowing it

are clicked for posterity

forever pointing lenses at

others in others’ images

that reduce to a single dot on the horizon,

which upon magnification

turns out to be you,

holding a photograph

of someone taking a snapshot..


Posted in Allegory, Contemporary Society, Culture, Dystopia, Ennui, Existential, Identity, Philosophy, Poetry Noir | Tagged , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

The Statue

The city of Concepcion,

its physical parameters circum-

scribed by conjectural development,

its identity arrived at through

an intricate labyrinth of

historically determined steps;

At its heart the dominant

Plaza of the Conquistadors

abutted by an inspiring

Madre de Dios Cathedral,

lending a certain gravitas to

an otherwise lacklustre civic space;

And in the Plaza’s geometric centre,

a benignly neglected equestrian

statue of Concepcion’s Founder,

the breastplated and intensely proud

The Duke Juan Aguila-Alvarez;

the barely legible inscription

at the base of ” A.D.1543 ”

obscured by an injudicious

accretion of plentiful guano

nourishing for agrarian soil,

but not for civic masonry.

Posted in 16th.Century History, Allegory, Contemporary Society, Ennui, Existential, Homage to Borges, Identity, Magic Realism, memories | Tagged , , , , , | Leave a comment


He saw you there,

there in the magazine

there on stage

there on the screen;


in black

in white,

you filled his eyes

sparkled and dazzled them;


your form,

your shape

so casually,lazily

represented as if

painted by Michaelangelo

in an Age of beauty and mystery;



he sees you now

leaving your fancy apartment

on the Boulevard Saint Michel,

you are alone,

you are pristine,

you are immaculate;

he reaches for

the syringe


steps out to meet you..

Posted in Allegory, Contemporary Society, Dystopia, Ennui, Existential, Horror, Identity, Poetry Noir | Tagged , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Summer ’68

We wrote our own history

in an illegible script

with broken pencils

borrowed from empty classrooms;

We lit our fuses

with spent matches

discarded by all our yesterdays;

We sat and contemplated

the gathering gloom,

dark and heavy as velvet

shrouding the sun

that once shone on our

marching charging afternoons

along boulevards that we filled

with their peculiar fragrance

of tear gas and petrol.



It’s 50 years since ” Street Fighting Man ” was recorded by the Rolling Stones during the portentous summer of 1968.


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Broken Memories

The Chanteuse


crooning existential

torch-lit ennui,

marinaded in

absinthed vocals,

in the salons

and bars of

La Rive Gauche,

domicile to flaneurs

and bohemian confreres;

she is wounding

their hearts with

visceral monotonous langour;

amid smouldering pyres

of  Gauloises,

stygian-leafed frissons

of earthy odeur,

redolent of arcane

manual labour,




Posted in Allegory, Contemporary Society, Culture, Dystopia, Ennui, Existential, Identity, memories, Nostalgia, Philosophy | Tagged , , , , , , | Leave a comment


When every tale
has been told
and every story unfolded
and folded back in on itself,
we will search for answers
within ourselves
and find them missing,
buried somewhere else
but without a treasure map;

From the shuttered concert hall
we still hear
the evocative lament
of Albinoni’s adagio;
From dog-eared postcards
we recall the late summers
when time swayed
beneath the palm fronds
and evenings gleamed
with faded opulence cast
from the sea-front hotel;

( Our story arc crumbled even then )

We remember those snatches
of hardboiled dialogue
we read in Chandler’s “Big Sleep”
one about the blind not getting to see
and in all the milliard refractions
in all of time,space and history,
we sign the confession presented to us
by an indifferent Inquisition.


Posted in Allegory, Contemporary Society, Ennui, Existential, Identity, memories, Philosophy, Poetry Noir | Tagged , , , , , , | Leave a comment



The hook lodges in the mouth
of the fish,
the fish thinks the hook is the
only problem,
thinks if it can only get rid of it,
then all will be well again
in its world;
But it is wrong…
The hook is attached to a line
which is attached to a rod
which is held by a hand
And the hand is controlled by
a mind,
a mind which has been waiting
and watching and plotting the best
time and place and method to
catch the fish;
And so the fish struggles
to free itself,
but all it manages to do
is to embed the hook deeper,
And as it continues to wriggle
and fight it uses up its
supplies of energy until it
is too exhausted to continue
and then its struggles cease;
And the hand senses it,
and begins to wind in the reel..


Posted in Allegory, Dystopia, Ennui, Existential, Identity, Philosophy, Poetry Noir, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , | Leave a comment