The slow, slow days of July
both feet tickled by grass
all the warmth of the Sun
reaches deep into your gristle
and bones are no longer cold
you imagine the small surges
of ****** desire are permanent
when really they are just old
-old muscle memories.

I know what can lurk in the depths of the heart
Heroism and perseverance in the face of all opposition
The fierce fighting of all that would have you caged
yes I know what can lurk in the depths of the heart

The growth of the Willows correspond
to the increased loudness of their rustling
reaching for the Sun
while the winds ruffle their leaves
waving to the Universe with spindly boughs
massed together like an impenetrable jungle.
How those thin and shaky trees survive winter
the battering wind and chill factor, is amazing.

The day snuck into my mind
and I rolled over in denial
unable to shake off the inevitable
a days fate unfolding out the night
where I had dreamed of ***
when I thought all that was over
it turned around and bit me
and its false poison chalice
emptied itself into my body
full of forgotten promises.

I fell in love with the devil me
wanting to share horror
I just love being scared out my skin
watching warning signs on cigarette packs
and the pictures of suffering cancerous ****
all go to 'make my day'

conjoined to all else
even the thinnest of threads
you will never be completely severed
and if you should enter The Dark Night Of The Soul
where you and all else seems lost, still you will not be alone.

Horizons whispered seduction
is ever present
when I look up
from momentary
distraction
The voice of eternity
demands my all

The Blackbird scoots across cut grass
beak full of rain given plenty:
Doesn't know he is into
my beloved garden worms

How many crimes has government committed
with the help of all your paid taxes.
Guilty by association, arms trade, a war machine , the wringing of hands with inaction.
A poets breath on the window does not count for very much but unless a young bird tests its wings, it will never fly.

it has already happened on this timeless line
you are either queuing for heaven
or waiting to be saved from hell

Lit up by the Full Moon
our Island surreal landscape
Sailing sea and sky
invites the mind
to listen to the heart
and fall head over heels
in surrealist love.

a solitary Seagull sings into the sky
while the daily chirrups of Sparrows
fills the air that I breathe. My constant
neighbours all of a flock feeding young
these little companions on the way. A
slow summers day, to sit, and melt into
the open spaces of the spirit world, and sing
the occasional poem that flies around the room,
and from whence it came I know not at all.

when living outside the box
everyone is unaccepting
and suspicious and yes
if there were a killing charge
like witchcraft of old centuries
that's the one that would do

but I would not conform
and I will live and die
a poet of no renown
but a poet free a poet
outside the box a poet
a poet a poet a poet

you tripped into my dreamy

with no LSD on my tongue

you clicked switches

while I perused your form

a deeper me held your inner

and the inner me responded

writhing words
snake eyes

a hissing tongue
a snake stomach

unhinged jaw
poisoned tooth

patience
ever patient.

Rainbows are sexless and belong to everyone
gay or straight
they look much better in the sky
and not hijacked as a flag.

The Old Testament declares God hung up his bow in the sky for all time
as a sign He would never again bring a flood onto the Earth.

A much better story from the ancients than this political movement trying to force public bodies to hang a rainbow flag from public buildings so as to be seen in some form of acceptable political correctness, I am sure there are many who do not agree with my position.

the sound of a grass cutting
now a helicopter

Boy, that fly is the size of a man eater

now the lightening is over
no more bolts out the blue, black

is the storm all finished
the poetry of thunder forever gone

at times you feel full ready to fly
to choose to leave this nest

but you have to trust
when the time truly comes

it will not be your choosing
and patience will get you there.

you can take a seat around it all
in a middling-kind of mushroom circle
pretending you are a fairy story
but its much more exciting to be in a nightmare
brings it all so up close and personal
all the primeval living alive and well
a tribal shared scared out of your senses
to run and hide to run and hide to run and hide
seven eight nine ten coming ready or not

unravel from bed
pull on jeans
brand new day

sailing down the eve of years spent
I set sail again
the horizon in my spyglass
up anchor
steer full speed ahead

hot sun
the sweat
heat on
full blast
the sweat
losing weight
re-hydrate
the sweat
the sweat
the sweat

I could see the hermitage from afar
and the years of struggle for my heart
had started long before I could accept it.

The afternoon rolls in
vast summers sky across the sea
salt air breezing through
your small bungalow windows
squat quaint abode nestled
a tiny shelter shell
like hermit ***** down the shore
snuggled in.

squirreled by unseen hands
each day a moan escapes
only to be heard when its too late
time has flown and you with it
buried under too many consequences
freedom is a leap and a gate of faith
you have to take new chances and
dig yourself a way-out in secret

whistle and tap of wood
on wood
a song
a dance
shuffling feet
in dust
tattoos
and ear
rings
bone and hide
stretched
taut
a drum
hum
favour sought
prayer
spells
anointing
paint
symbols

the spirit world is thinly masked
here in the north
sacred wells and ancient worship
go hand in hand
as natural as modern day pilgrims
walking the walk
seeking out blessings from Saints
and Guardian Angels
with Pilgrimage and their prayers

A certain safety in numbers is understandable
but I never got along much with math,
and anyway living mostly in solitude,
you are guaranteed the company of all the Angels and Saints
and believe, it gets pretty much crowded at times.

Children of our shores
visited the Main Land

What did you think
of it?

They have planted trees
Everywhere so you cant see anything

I pick one grape
squash it into wine
and drink deep
from the mystery

lifted out and up from birth
your mouth and nose wiped
of gore. your saggy bottom slapped
until you cried.  And all those ahs and
ooos its a boy, no its a girl, as the umbilical
is cut. Then in years to come your Mother
tells you, "I fried eggs and your afterbirth, mmmm"

nothing like the thought you will die
to make you wake up and live

That friend of mine
just keeps on tapping-
out the milliseconds;
I don't know why-
Or how the name
Death Watch Beetle
came to be.
Maybe I am being watched
- an intrusion of all fantasies
the first surveillance
- tapping in to the short
-ness of dreams.

There is something holy trying to reach my mind
and its called eternal freedom

a road to travel into all distance
coloured red rainbow redemption

There is something holy that touches the deep of us
every time I read your poetry

There is something holy in the way you dream
something holy each time you speak

and unfathomed holiness
in each of your silences.

Where all the voices are echoes
and all memories are ghosts.

This is a burial mound-
we call it, Earth.

I would like to meet with a victim of Alien abduction
run naked down the road, singing, together
eat chocolate without ever feeling sick
and drink alcohol without my liver exploding
all on our first date.

forever uplifted by teenage poets-
who cut to the chase-
us old poets who marvel at their grace
and try to catch up
just once would be enough
to put the smile back on our face!
so lets celebrate, the Teenage poets
who know so much more of the vibe
than us oldering poets, who marvel
at the HP torch bearers of tomorrow
and the future of poetry, Hell Yes!!
and the wonder of a shared HP space.

you could have been a flower that eats insects
or an insect that eats flowers

could have been a Bee
a Queen.

Could have been a poet
could have been a contender. (Marlon Brando)

Surrounded by sea and farmland
hills covered with peat and heather
Big skies in any and all direction
day or night makes no difference

i am tiny
miniscule
a zero in time
and tides

and this is where i fit in
and are most content

the red lights of stop
controlling
the green light of go

margin is where a comfort found
like no other
one of its own

.... seems these days nobody loves their expensive horses that much..
cant wait for a parking space... do or die.. we need to park it.... ****** or mayhem.. being human doesn't count for much..

Early Morning;
Shadows
still ,and silent,
Beautifully broken by;
Bowing heads
And chanting psalm
singing.
Candle light
Holy Book
Chalice
and Stole
The ringing of bells
Bread
Wine
Body
and
Blood-

And after
the sounds of laughter
fruit
of Children
of Silence.

listening to the wind blowing in your ear
-just because it can:
a poets pastime in action

in pursuit I travelled a long road
finally accepting the jump-off-
arrival for body to rest, sheltered
now the soul sings of freedom found
and freedom seeking and freedom won
and freedom known and freedom felt
in pursuit I travel the road of peace
found all along the Way of the Cross.

why do they churn out the " financial news"
most of us are broke
and we do not need to be told its bad
and even if its good
its only really good for the select few

Here, the geese talk all night, along the shore-
roosting on the edges of the cattle field-
just across the road, where my garden ends.
Their constant chatter is a welcome cacophony
a friendly talk amongst themselves-
no doubt its all important to the flock-
and I never knew until recent, geese mate for life
which is quite something, no divorce,-
no breaking up, no broken hearts,
maybe all that sharing conversation is in fact song
a celebration of all their love. .

the scales on my skin
rub rough against all
I am not destined
to stay here long
A spaceman is my craft
ultimate job description
I will meet you there
in the cockpit
waiting on the countdown

you wished me well with my addiction
refused point blank to write your poetry
where it could be injected medicine
distilled from the pages of history
the agony of the reality made me wander
aimless and homeless broken and desperate
I chewed on the leaves of empty pages
pretending I could hear you singing.