Flowers spread happy
Wanting little in return
It's a rare talent!

Why do we do it?

we who pluck the air

for spare and fleeting words

which do not come

although we call them

to our waiting arms

they do not play the servant

but we call them master

as we seek to turn them to our certain will

they twist us in return

riding on the freedom of their sweated backs

to have them cast us falling

to the pit below

we taste the bitterest wine

of dark despair which fills the foggy air

they will not let us sleep

and keep us trapped and tied

to do their restless bidding in our heads

although we know full well

how words are fickle fleeting things

we cannot help but wait and long for further flight

beneath the shadowed freedom of their ceaseless beating wings

Music is a joy
more pure in every fluted ringing note
than we could ever hope to find
forgetting all our own desire
on ever soaring wings of smoke and fire
it leaves the petty cares of man behind
and reaches out for something higher

My polite smile is a candle

it burns

occasionally flickering

throwing shadows

eating itself

losing form

softening

when the lights go out

there is nothing there!

The moon
a silver sixpence
loose in the pocket
of the universe

Frosty winter pond
Water glass obscured by snow
Fish dance in private

Sing like a bird in a tree
Without the rage
Of a bird in a cage

If your vocabulary is small
you can grow it like a plant in a ***
day by day water it with words
one at a time until it blooms
into dictionary flowers

We all need beauty in our lives
words or music or mountains and trees
not like a fish, they need the water to breathe
like a bird needs the air
they can live in a cage
the bars will not suffocate their lungs
only their tiny souls
they are miserable if they cannot fly
always longing for the sky they can see from a window

To live life vicariously
is to be a shadow
riding pillion
on someone else's bike

Opinion is the fuel
that lights the paper
beneath the words
that set the world alight

A candle breaks our dark

a spark to chase the shadows to their several corners

who can say where it lies

somewhere inside

every life has a glow

of what, we don't quite know

but it shines all the same

a tiny flame

radiant as the moon

or the stars that hang forever floating in celestial night

that little flickering light

I'm not your stepping stone

a safe and easy ride

to pastures fresh and green

on the other side

why should you stay dry

while I sink with the tide

you want to go that's fine

build a bridge

and then we'll see

but don't you ever tread on me

Vandalism
an angry lens
a prism
focusing
on
an eruption
of mindless
destruction

My heart is a singing stone

set by the stove to warm if cold winds blow

it hums a happy little tune

when love's kettle boils

and fills a mug for two!

Leaders are supposed to inspire

not warm their hands as the flames climb higher

on the nation's funeral pyre!

An ant based society
may lack variety
they work to the beat
of six tiny feet
but they all get to eat
ants don't hold elections
that lead to insurrection
an ant inspired riot
would be extremely quiet

We are all a part
of a universal whole
each living soul
is connected
unless directed
to be disconnected
war breaks the chains
until all that remains
are the crosses we sow
where flowers used to grow

A fish
does not want to be on your dish
for it to be obtainable
it needs to be
sustainable

Music the folder
and holder of sound

Rhythm the binder
that winds it around

Lyrics are papers
where meaning is found

A tiny trickle of sand
passing through
the fingers of your hand
that's an hour
just a shower
of amber grains
what remains
of a once mighty boulder
much older than time
it has heard midnight chime
many times
the tick tick tock
of the clock of eternity
and now it embraces modernity
slowly wearing away
day by day
hour by hour
as a shower of sand
in the palm of your hand

The little knot
you know the one
it's tied
deep inside
been there for about a year
made up from fear
sometimes you hardly feel it
other times we can't help but reveal it
hard to hide
it's a gradual downward slide
to living with the constant stress
and listlessness
that boredom brings
when our wings
have been stilled
and we are constantly filled
with hope for a time that may never come again
and yet we remain
sane but still tied
by that little knot inside

Fiery molten reds and flaming pink to make the birds weep in the trees

emerald greens and lapis blue to shame the sky,  so bright that we could never hope to see them with the human eye

Dragonflies are coloured with wonder

Pile them up
stack stone on stone
hold each one
bone on bone
feel the rocks
between your fingers
rough and smooth
the feeling lingers
weigh each pebble
in your hand
lift it from the shifting sand
let it fall from where it came
to a rock it's all the same
one tiny part of an endless game!

Hey I'm new around here
but I can see that you guys have plans for me
let me find my office, get a coffee
put up my wall charts and arrange my pencils
then I will look at what can be done
there's a lot of pressure being January 2021!

A stupid person
warms himself on the ashes
of his own pride

Anew
is not to wipe the embarrassing stains of the past
anew is to take them with you
wave them like a flag
wear them as a reminder of your former self
a new beginning
is often wrapped in the rags of an old ending

In the year of missing kissing

it was masks for simple tasks like queuing for bread

ditching foreign travel so we all stayed home instead

we swapped hugs for elbow rubs and waves from afar

coffees in the car instead of drinks with a friend

oh the fun of this year

Will it never end?

Unborn plans to which we aspire
broken daydreams piled ever higher
one day when we finally expire
they end up on our funeral pyre
a few lost hopes to fuel the fire!

Best and worst
words with no end
they can only be overtaken
by something else
because the future is a present
under next years tree!

Christmas marks the turning of years
the sparkle on this one is made with tears!

My poems may not be all that good
not near as much polish as they should
some of them wither on the vine
but *******
at least they are mine!

I don't want to follow your footsteps

with my two left feet in my two wrong shoes

If I take a path it's the one I will choose

my steps are my own

and I'll walk for a bit

maybe I'll find some shoes that will fit!

Winters bite

has teeth of ice and steel

polished sharp when chill winds blow

burnished white by gently drifting snow

Winter sunrise
sings of hope
forgotten fire
in a frozen world

Dry ink in my head

I have no pen to write what must remain unsaid

caged words between my ears

imprisoned by frustrated tears of rage

that grow to fill a vast and empty page

Flowers on winter wood, don't mind the dark and brave the stinging cold

they flourish as the frost takes hold

winter flowers know full well the joy they bring

is twice as much as blossoms born in spring

Release the mind and find
that earthly care is merely air
a puff of wind blown through your hand
a ripple over passing sand
for then we fully understand
our worries were the drifting snow
which covers all but quickly goes
revealing faintest hopes of spring
this final song we learn to sing
in peace that only death can bring

I want to write
to set the literary sky alight
with words, bright birds
that take me with them in their flight
transcending earth to give me sights
and views I never saw before
but I can only watch them soar,
as with other earthbound things
I look up and wish for wings

Word spaghetti, thin lies that twist and tease
studded with tiny meatballs of truth
covered in a thick sauce of deception
and served with too much cheese

Cookies are bright twinkles

fun and easy on the eye

they say 'come on, you know you want me, step up and don't be shy'

take off the lid

dip right in

everyone loves a tiny bit of sin!

The sun a golden earring
The moon a silver penny
The earth a marble
Lost down the sofa of the universe

I think I will go to the sea and listen for a while
to the roar of dark ill tempered waves and ravenous black backed gulls , ceaseless circling gods who scan the beach, hopeful in search of any offerings given, trying to outdo the wind with their endless calling

I think I will go to the sea and watch the sky,
the shifting clouds a pencil sketch as yet unfinished,
a symphony of graphite  grey and mellow umber tones,
smoothed beneath some restless artists hand

I think I will go to the sea, to feel the wind on my ears
the sharp sting of blowing sand, frozen skin nettles
as I shrink into my scarf, a futile knitted bastion against such savage elements

I think I will go to the sea, but not today!

Cobwebs hang white on the frosty air as digging begins

A lone bird on a bush makes its high call,

sharp as the wind through a broken window

a toothpick of noise

bouncing off damp bricks, that look as though they might fall softly
to the wet grass below

and lay hidden by tears

Is there anything more profound

than the mournful sound

of a shovelling ***** as it fills in a grave

and closes the ground

To change
to fundamentally rearrange
what you are,
or to alter the fit
just a tiny little bit

Lyric ribbon
dancing with words

I kept them for years
those fingerless stripy gloves
a last little link with my mother
who was a diva with the needles
the yellow strands of wool joining us together
in a beautifully knitted chain
although she is long gone from this world,
I found comfort in them once again today
although many years have passed
and I noticed her hands coming out of my sleeves

Your rock, the brick,
the stalwart mate you go to when the sky begins to fall,
who gives you tea and sympathy when you make that tearful call?
the questions begs an answer, who holds up the wall?

Today I held the ocean
measured the span with my own two hands
captured its sum with my fingers and thumb
it's very deep and blue and calm
but I held it all in my outstretched palm