Started this blog to put my poetry in one place, which would be better than on generalized writing blog. The blog’s called Poetry salad because poetry is an aside to the writing I have usually done like the side salad in a dinner of fish and chips. It’s often the revising of a poem and getting the meter and rhythm sounding right that is most off-putting. So my poetry is more likely free verse, not exactly adhering to way of meter. I write poetry with the sound of it in mind. The plan is to publish poetry on this blog from all sorts of inspiration.



Moment with you

Subtle sounds

I don’t know you, but

You slip into my mind,

A long forever in this moment,

Staring at you


From afar, life came to light my night

Mine and everyone’s

In a moment with you,

I can only think,

You came to give us light—

In the dark, dark night


Your sublime


Never gone

I was calling out, you weren’t gone;

I was too far gone,

But you stayed there with me.

Not far away, but still, right there.


I remember the day I was forlorn;

But you didn’t leave me alone,

You were always there, you were present,

Jesus stayed his Spirit never gone



These bones need calcium

Where? Is milk for the bones? Calcium on demand?

Not that I’m demanding

But need some drive sooner or later.


Where to find that spiritual essence?

Am I lost searching?


Weak. Let spirit come to me.

Inspiration for the bones in a single touch.

To make me more than I am. Lost, but needing to be found.



So not vogue;

Facing the crowds with sorrow deep in the eyes, what the camera may hide.

Something someone promised, but it died,

But broods inside, the lie.


Nights calling

In her eyes the stress of struggle


In deep purple green,

Drawn into sockets

Black rings bagging underneath

Night is calling

Save me, she says.


Nevertheless amazing

Sadness not my friend, neither death’s haunting prediction.

One’s days begin, their ending make life a flourish.

Oh death, your betrayal stings, but for the life story that each person brings.


Girl in black’s

Girl in black’s secret style she wears on herself, so some say,

Dying inside a room of sorrowful denial walking the street, happy-go-lucky like.



Clamouring crowd of thoughts I can’t hear mine drawing

me close to a street at night from where I drink

from a cup of silence and the clamouring subsides



The rancid cake in one’s well-used mouth,

A god-send in a dieter’s hardest day.

The swift, stale taste,

After months in the cupboard,

Waiting there for him to eat.