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.

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.

In loving memory of our mother.

For Betty. 16 January 1931 to 4 February 2025

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

A good read from an excellent writer.

I may need to get out more.

It can be odd the ways in which one's mind plays tricks on us. My mind certainly. Today is the 25th anniversary of my arrival in Australia.

I've made no plans which is simultaneously liberating and -- possibly -- the daftest-plan-ever in a long life of Dougie's daft plans.

They grant us power to see the fairies ... allegedly.

I see how it geta its name.

I resist the impulse to offer advice. I know my limits.

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.

They do say ... write as if your life depended on it.

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.