I've been to many photography venues,
the equilibrium of exposure
the trade-off between exposed light,
can't say I have made  any friends
just recommended some classic cameras
like the OM1 and Canon EF SLR
with different exposures.

Seen Dungeness twice
the first time was like early  Christmas
with a certain light quality
caressing the wooden huts and boats
but we don't have a Mediterranean climate here

Herbaceous borders way lay me
stopping for a singular rose
in the Weald of Kent
the garden of England
the native bluebells
blend in the palm of my hand

Down the Greensand Way in Surrey Dorking by Juniper house
Field studies council
I solemnly believe the simple things are the best
as is High Beeches Garden  in Sussex
an independent woodland and water garden

Like a finger dail.
The wall is shallow.
Can't find the other side
Like a passing eagle,
of childhood fantasy.

Thoughts concealed.
Head in the clouds.
Now I'm whispering.
Winter is blue.
The sap is leaning.

Autumn give me your mists
and your warm soil,
squirrel pledge your kernels
of deciduous brown,
soon tall shadows
ply their density,
whilst the arcane wind is hazy,
as it soft-pedals on the meadowlands,
time picks the gourds of Autumn.

When I look out of my window
(I see a sorry cat)
and I know Ive been heard
its verdant outside
flanked by the Sun
The urge to do good is overwhelming
I postulate who needs help?
(circles in the sand)
The liberation of dreams
brings you back

you are both moggie and
sheik rolled into one
commonsensical and nature elated
springtime forward
we follow your course
bathing by the fireplace
you are impervious to extremes
Electric 9 lives
a happenstance of excellence
loved amongst others
I call you Patrick

i wish my friend could smile at my dreams
and fortify my schemes,
believe in me as I you
make boldness second nature.

No extant postman's deliveries
No morning call blackbird
Sodden blankets blown on the vetch
No conveying telephone poles
No excitable cats eyes
The world has ceased
No sight No Sound

I sleep well
but my dreams are bad
I dreamed i was at Mafeking
and the sunrise was frail
I couldnt see my enemy
but the relief of not knowing
(was if my own measures)
were a seige too far

The unbridled duration of time
I'm stuck in Dorking for two hours
Time isn't fleeting
Instead I go to the library
and read Seamus Heaney
and admire his black currents on a tarmac road
Otherwise I do a raindance mid cycle
And reassess my needs duly

Sometimes I go to Bexhill
on an Ironhorse
and visit Cooden Beach
with the occasioned tar in the sand
I recall the De La Warr Pavillion
Thought I was smart, smart not going

Train rides from Eastbourne
I Look for shipwrecks and Amaryllis's
Every day is a beckoning one
the one that got away
in deep water

With myrtle and whispers
I undertook the words of the sages

Promises relapse in an unseemly  fashion
Man the forever disobedient

The plump moon
compromises loftily

The Dryad's harsh splendor
boasts their specious context

No morning blackbird
my words unsaid
remember there's a fall

Sleep is like sludge
once you get stuck
it draws you in.

Dreamweavers are dusky,
storm voyeurs.
You never can get enough,
once it takes you over.

Over sad and tumberous plants
I skipped  with awe.
Meanwhile at home
i hid behind the sofa
afraid of a voice

When you think about cracking an ego
You'll thinking of people's withstanding fortitude
Yet I'm tired of folks
and all their green tomato chutney sentiments

But lost in city road
Ones direction is awry
Asking profusely for directions
Everybody you met is friendly
Which goes against the grain

I'm an island to myself
Righting right from wrong
recessing the plates of your salad

Another Autumn reigns,
cold metal blue,
Evergreen Matador steps out again
looking for his Bravo Toro.
Stroppy Labrador,
surrounding you with love.
Spirits having flown,
with the Northern star.
Portly headmasters blunt with scorn.
Ravenous Ravens a plenty,
fill the void

Glimpses of oxeye daises,
crestfallen fawn limping,
milk shine on gorse,
bleaching sunlight
morning crucible patterns,
fields of spent acorns,
on sandy loam.

how can your justify yourself
when there isn't a heaven up there
be on your careful watch

When  your French teacher
threatens to speak French only
by week three
you know your own
a losing wicket
Goodbye friendliness
and a gentle flow
No humor,
No franglais.
Floats like a hurdle,
stings like a bumblebee,
in a now tangled web.

if azure skies were  for clean people
and clean people were for the Queen
the Queen was for Empire
with the Empire being gold.
Gold for the minions
and minions for the saints
what a convoluted world it would be.

Dream yourself back in the 70s
have a thunderbird wine
and recall Soho
with their ***** mac brigade
Blondes grow galore
under the halogens lights
Stars they strike a memory
Ride a White Swan
a serious Yellow Ford Cortina mk 3
and a fine mettel of a DIY  Judo book
with your thousand island sauce
served at eel pie island

Peter adorns the lounge
his slim frame belies his size
orange filters through his black slique coat
but be on your guard
in a lapse of time
his teeth will sink into your hand
no guard dog but a temperamental soul instead

Spring plys it's golden daffodils,
watching swathes of aconites from the windowsill.
The World pledges it's amen,
as February ushers its joy.

The orange tulips had a short run,
you could ******* disappointment.
The daffodils hitchhiked life a little longer.
Spring came too early,
and confused the season
and now we wait for summers grandstand.

The ground seems to be heating up,
at times caught short by the morning airs.
The Bluebells their defy age,
Pale like wading, waiting to flourish
in the sometime soon

i don't read fanzines
i hold my fame to myself.

Ketchup those delirious feelings
play to the soul's groove
Nothing is baffling yonder that hill
it plainly exists for those new feelings.
Criticism is unfounded, no parley
Why because we persist beyond
yesterdays hesitancy
Our minds seeded on mighty euphorias
dynamos of times fast forwarded

A father returns to his birth country
and enjoins  the garden  route tour
from Johannesburg to East London by plane
we enjoyed our Koeksister biscuit on board.
On the road, we saw a Scottish man
with his native maid
sell tartan rugs in  the middle of nowhere
Then  to Plettenberg Bay my parent's honeymoon  abode
where we saw the August Whales at the lookout hotel
through the telescopic lens with a Canadian's Canon  F1  
The waitresses were no more than  16 years
laughing  profusely amongst themselves
We traveled to Cape Town
But I was in  no fit state to join another wine tour
I was “  moeg”  - tired   from the car ride

The sublime was playing sax
as super creep waddled into town
with ill matching socks

The Fruiterers had overfed this
fine young man
into a well-figured gent

The Cigar dropped its ashes
forever figuratively,
pumping his diesel
for a Mercedes experience -
cruising on the top


The Summer Party
Why'd and what'd
they sought LIBERTY
their feet dancing
to the final whistle

Say I was wise and different
who has three German penfriends
who only wrote in English
We write about photography,
be sent photocopies of Black and White montages.

I  own about  30 Cameras
cursed not to be photographic each day
searching on meetup for courses
Someone suggested West Brompton  cemetery
Tried Macro photography
Bon Soir to Landscape
I'm on the verge of a buttercup
prosaic in my newfound world

What a friend we have in time
all the gifts to be foretold
I have seen the Northern star
from an alleyway
and chased the phrases lined from your lips
and ushered each syllable
We can make a reason for laughter
but if you go, alias
like a dried leaf
floating neigh  on the riverbed
I have only one wish
like a falling teardrop
to wake at nine
coffee in bed with you

Lilly is different from other girls
her black cat
has something of the night
Lilly doesnt care about her figure
shes size 10 and knows no better
as for dates she rather eat one

It isn't easy to know
what to do with such unhappiness
I waved my battle plans at them
They paraded in their midnight striped pajamas
We decided it was a drew
Until they put bubble gum in my lock
I bleached their door mat
We agreed weren't good neighbours

Night time pensiveness on dry tethered hooks
Carrion birds ditched at noon
Could have been a contender
In marigold fields of Heather

As bright as a whisper
This voyage far and wide
East winds facing reason
In vast fields of thyme

If you think long enough
Spring will come
but if a windy wind erupts
from the sty of your eye
the gold streets will turn to lead
from a rain cloud that never pails

The color of  talk
with sunny chimes,
spring as a shiny fortitude
the world as a rounded dahlia.

the blue boys flounder through the town
looking for blue girls
to share a bed

The lonely boys then pick moon beams and stroll into the recesses of the night

November is our treasured month.
The sky is chilly late Autumn,
yet colours seem to prevail,
with tiny asters and
the soft hue of hydrangeas resonating
and acers brimming red like beacons
on such drear days

We eat our chopped  aubergine
and dinned on Safeway white wine
Croydon was like a civic jewel in the crown
We were the Manhattan of the South

We had our record shops Beanos and Cloakes
music was our soul
We had the renowned Fairfield Halls
saw Camel play there
and we drank with mirth
from the abundance of pubs

I knew a woman
dressed in seven shades of rain
I met her in the marketplace
She spoke softly in the morning light
Embracing shadows,
perhaps our sky broke
Green eyes, the light of skin
Painted dreams in her head
This is our tune together,
by some distant river
her face has a frown

you have been veritable and green
with a fill  of the  flowers
and a country walk with fair maiden

I talk to the trees
but the wind won't listen
I am the late man
without reason;
a rekindled spirit
with enough pride
to outlast your sufference.

Shades of Autumn
ply beneath the banquet
of a quilted leaves.

The skewbald sun,
our incandescent champion,
sketches and flows
across the silhouetted bridgehead

A broken cup
an unfulfilled dream
Lunar butterflies in a ladies eyes
Tulips beauty undefined
an oiseau taking to wing

Golden Calfs tinkling of dew drops
A way to live
a way to lie
The rain falls low
and the wind rides high

Striker are you drifting deeper ?
like a central defender on recourse !

I have set the
length of the sun
with my prevailing smile,
push me up like daisies.
I'm a fly in the ointment
of your purposeful gambit
I hear your marching song
a Panzer in every garage
you murmur my defeat
a banner at an altar
of fascism
my diesel engine headache grows
der Motor wird gewinnen
a wildebeest is in my cupboard

A Heart of stone
erupts into splinters
when acid sketchings
posits the fore.
Broken promises-barricades defences.

Yet truth is said to prevaciate musings.
When bright light is the signifier
Hope can conquer the doubt.

Those weren't  kind words,
better  suited to bedsitter land.
Never thought I needed
to be a hermit for anybody,
or suffer potted noodles.
I stay with my estranged folks
for the time being,
reside in my room,
listen to rock music.
After all that's what problem adults  do,
somehow present themselves as impossible and proverbially
be sent to Coventry on their own behest,
which is not the same as scattered in
mouse land however you call it
.

Like a rattlesnake
she said I can take you
to the last days of the Weimar Republic
I can show you discordance
or a decided lack of joy, (Mangel an Freude)
like a lizard's unoriginal tongue
her message conveyed doubt

Some teasers
What comes down faster a pound of feathers or lead
and can you tell the wood from the trees

Are you art worthy
Can I unlearn you
fortune unrenewed
just like a night in Leipzig

picket fences
cricket on a Saturday on a vue,
bashful maidens drinking pimms
schoolboys stealing strawberries
and Swans swimming around and around

From the windowsill
with a plaintiff tell to tale
I saw the tired look on your face

Rain on your souls' side
Leaving you was harder
The vacuous circle is broken now
We wept to see our goals swept

Courage to last our cords
those warring ranting days
fade away
Don't take to the clouds
before you can fly

she plays with your heart,
and on lonely days she murmurs
a lonely tune,
to wrong foot your dreams
on  drear morrows.

i will not eat your fruit, barrow lady,
you must be Eves daughter !
and you must be Adams son  !
she said with a scornful glare
the softest fruit are the devils tastiest