Sunday, April 13, 2014

Jealous Cat

Make noise.
Lots of jangle.  Bang.

Strut about.  Headbutt
Protected only by persistence.

Phone.  Splat of postie's drop.
Arouses more than catnip.

Dinner.  Feign disinterest.
Hope for eager pitch.  Sale.

Evening fare coaxed.  Bowled.
Listen for full exhale.  Then?

Lap is occupied.  Go.

Curl the coat.  Sleep.
Dream unused lives. 

tk/April 2014

R.A.D. Stainforth calmly considers a pussycat: 

*The King of Cats, 1935, Balthus

Sunday, April 6, 2014


O! claustrophobic air
apparent and busy in the sun.

Dust hangs in waves of spring,
a universe from the bliss of nowhere.

What fallen star, what robin,
what powdered sooth plays a second chance?

Follow flotsam to the horizon,
cross the bridge through gathering cloud.

Inhale motes and flutter-boats
the balm of dusk explodes a single sigh.

tk/April 2014

Sexy read by a springy R.A.D. Stainforth...

Thursday, April 3, 2014


Windows open,
flags unfurl merry
for the drone parachutist,
fever on wings.

Global-scented lines buzz
unsucked and sweet;
constant as carrier pigeons
in the Great War.

Pollen is everywhere;
impeccable flocked spring,
piled high and yellow
for the taking.

Accord awaits, honeyed,
barely breathed,
motionless with yearning
little sins madden the sting.

tk/April 2014

R.A.D. Stainforth adds a little stingy-zing... 

*photo by Francesca Woodman 

Sunday, March 30, 2014


Bows and arrows rise
in blue-painted memory,
whisper secrets in a language
that no longer exists.

I am compelled to tattoo
Pictish letters on my skin,
preserve the modern heir
of a distant arsenal.

Midnight ink voices
another century,
another continent;
marks my rite of passage.

It tells the story of us:
connections and parallels
in endless equinox
a barcode to identify me as yours.

tk/March 2014

R.A.D. Stainforth considers a tattoo...