judith cockman


Joker’s Wild

my lips have gotten larger
my eyes smaller …
memory re-weaving my face

The wisdom I have achieved with middle age smacks of hypocrisy
The little pearls I have strung along my necklace of experience
proving to be mere costume
The water gems roll along the depths still
shifting with the tides
a pitiful game of hide and seek

a mockery of my self esteem

I discover,
like the ancient ordinary that have gone before me,
that I know even less now than I did when I was young
My bravado is Made In China
a foreign garment
shopped out
and ill fitting
I know that, even as I model its gaudy cheapness
and yet
what choice do I have

life must be achieved (more…)



You look beautiful tonight.

Candlelight is so forgiving.

Pecking at your food becomes you. It serves the haunted hollows of your eyes, your cheeks … thinly veiled.  Tiny veins peeking through, hungry for love.

I love holding your hand. Its fragility reminds me

Reminds me of the weeks and weaks, months and moths
of your labour

of your throbbing patience. Those tiny veins alarmed in response. (more…)