a Madeleine Moment


I was reading a story by Kevin Barry when without warning, the central character eats a sausage roll.

It a Madeleine moment.

I had not eaten a sausage roll for decades. Not since I was a kid. We had them at picnics, children’s parties, celebrations. Even my 21st. Oh, they were glorious.

But I was taught they were decadent things, like pies and pasties.

Suddenly this urge for a sausage roll overtook me. It was all I wanted.

Have you ever had an urge for something so badly you could think of nothing else?

Well these sausage rolls were like this.

I could feel them in my mouth, my stomach, the rich pastry, the minced meat, the tomato sauce, the sheer unhealthy wholesomeness of it all.

I had to go out and get one. No, a whole packet of them

But then I remembered I’m going to my daughter’s for a BBQ in just over an hour’s time.

It’s a big hope, I know, but maybe they’ll have sausage rolls on offer to complement the rib-eye steak.


That Little Light of Faith


Look at that little light of Faith


At the bottom of the bowl

Like a light at the bottom

Of a deep well


In that vast ruby immensity

& I guess

Hope must be like this too

That it never has much to go on

But something still fuels it

That it keeps on burning

In a naughty world

Long after everyone has called it




Frissons are what you get when you ride the ghost train

Or rush out wheeling in the sudden summer rain

Or whenever an idea hits you high in the brain.


Frissons almost always go against the grain.

It’s the feeling you get when you take a big chance

And it pays off; or in the hey-days of a romance.


It’s the feeling you aim for when you write a poem.

Frissons are what keep readers turned on.

Two Pockets


The mornings are still cold.

I like to walk around in my dressing gown with my hands

Buried in my pockets

But my dressing gown has only one pocket.

What use is a one-pocket dressing gown for a two-handed man?

What is one supposed to do with the other hand?

The same for cargo pants, chinos, shorts.

Two hands. Two pockets.

It doesn’t get much simpler than that.

I’ve heard that shrouds have no pockets.

I don’t intend dying anytime soon.