Author Archives: Bill Fitzsimons

I’m passionless, devoid of all desire, an empty vessel in the cause of love. My libido has sunk into the mire of despond – I need a forceful shove or, at the very least, a helping hand. Oh, who can … Continue reading →

“Such is life.” Reputed to be the final words of the Australian outlaw, Ned Kelly, before he was hanged at Melbourne in 1880. A life, a death. What’s one more life (or death) in this hard world? Man is born … Continue reading →

She is gone. No longer will her sleepy smile greet me in the morning, her warm arms embrace me. She is gone, yet her aura lingers in the night breeze from an open window; a soft whisper in my ear, … Continue reading →

I look in the mirror and what do I see? The image of an aging chimpanzee. Black-button eyes and grizzled face, a simian angel fallen from grace. My body hair is fading fast (how much longer can it last?) My … Continue reading →

…or some other far-flung destination is what my disillusioned spirit craves. To escape the humdrum of the quotidian, the stress of everyday monotony is, I believe, the duty – nay, the imperative – of the questing mind, the hungry imagination. … Continue reading →

Away with the mental acrobatics of Modernism – post or otherwise – and all such elitist dross. Clarity is what I crave, along with the beauty of the singing line. I do not read poetry to be puzzled: give me … Continue reading →

In the mind’s geography, there are no maps to guide you, no star to steer you home. No one has been there before you and there are no signposts. You are your own cartographer in this uncharted terrain. It is … Continue reading →

Let those who are in favour with their stars set out upon a journey round the moon; cast aside restraint, break through the bars of brittle caution. Life must end too soon and choices disappear like Autumn mist. So gird … Continue reading →

guilty as charged – kissing the gunner’s daughter without priming her the gunner’s daughter matched me salvo for salvo till our rounds were spent combined fire-power ensured this was more than just a shot in the dark! Bill Fitzsimons

Blowing in the wind, but there are no answers here: here, where the birds are silent and the forest keeps its secrets. A young woman’s body turning gently in a winter breeze; the creaking branch from which she hangs; the … Continue reading →