Sixty suns have shone their light upon my freckled face
sixty years have bathed me with their time and infinite grace,
sixty falls and winters on a planet slowly turning
sixty springs and summers have forged me in the burning,
sixty poems times sixty more the authors of my learning

All power is fleeting, none of it will last
look at the dictators we have buried in the past,
those excutive orders will be shredded and torn
burning in a heap, upon the White House lawn,
America will rise, after you have gone
your name will be a curse, when its soul goes marching on,
images smashed, tinted rubble for foundation
trodden in the mud of a bruised but recovering nation

Windows out,
touched by time’s cruel mouth
nibbling smoke blackened corners,
wheezing gently
whittled roof long gone,
bound by tangled thread
drawn from the looms it held,
past is present, present is past
forever intertwined
memories lost, unheard stories
former glories
very rarely brought to mind

Rough wind on my lips
but no words will stay
I think my poem blew away

Scented change perfumes the breeze
nesting birds fill the trees,
warming earth turns the plough
winter makes his final bow
the pulse of spring is quickening now

The year has turned,
time to plough and plant and sow,
on what seemed dead and lifeless
just a week or two ago
all manner of things have begun to grow,
a spectacle, a carnival, a riotous sight
a free-fall jump to returning light,
the showiest of mummers,
a costumed cavalcade
flowering minstrels
a harlequinade,
life as we should live it,
a wild abandoned dance
nature will lead us if we give her half a chance

The sound of busy wings in flight
sweet song in mellow April light
carried on an early breeze
which shakes the limbs of new leaved trees,
pleasure after winter’s sting
a simple yet essential thing
we could not start the season
without the birds in spring

We have this need to know
what makes a river run
or whips the wind to blow,
what lies beyond the stars
and makes the flowers grow,
we investigate our world
from the sky
to the seas below,
mankind in all its ferocity
has an insatiable curiosity,
we are bright and questioning creatures
one of few redeeming features

We will not walk again
eat or drink or laugh,
love or **** or sleep or cry
it is the end
when we say goodbye,
all that we were
or could have been is gone
only memory carries on

Ploughed fields
stark after rain
standing proud, brown and plain,
this year's crop will be planted soon
on corrugated paper
in the steamy water vapour
of a spring afternoon

So dies the day
In chilly silence with a promise broken
falling night, drinks the light
and pulls the curtains on our words unspoken

Secrets never aired,
have painfully awoken,
although we dance on questions
hitherto unspoken,
the trust that once we shared,
is vandalised and broken,

Spring tide
deep and wide
sweeping clean
the beach where winter once was seen

Spring it’s great to see you
so glad you came my dear
it hardly seems a moment
since you were here last year,
we’ve had enough of grey skies
slush and wind and snow
if winter keeps you talking
say you have to go

Bellbird,
purple cloaked
soaked, in sweetly echoed tones,
these days you are rarely heard
above the din of mobile phones

Torpid sea, of stone cold blue
and grizzled leather gray,
It looks like you can’t be bothered
to rise from where you lay,
if you won’t make an effort
I’m not prepared to stay,
now get out of bed stop moping
and send some waves my way,

Harsh is the morning,
its promise still unspoken
a sea of toothpaste white
scrubs a beach not fully woken

I cannot drink you,
or eat until I reach my fill,
I cannot savour every rise and hill,
consume each circling bird that drifts in flight
or charge my glass with graceful morning light,
I can only hold you,
fold you as a memory to keep and put away,
and promise that with luck I may return one day

Milford Sound,
how can I hope to chain you
contain you with a word,
captured like a beetle on a card
for other souls to marvel and to see,
that’s patently absurd
how could pen or brush or eye
portray the loveliness of thee

Where on earth did you come from
what on earth have you seen
so many things have happened
since you were young and green
flowing seas have washed you
smooth on a foreign shore
what places did you visit
when will you see some more

I cannot paint a sky of blue or verdant leaves of green,
the shapes of plants and flowered heads
are pleasures left unseen,
I cannot draw or sketch in place
a glorious mountain scene,
this path is closed
but I have words
to show where I have been

Waving sails in red and white
catch the breeze and early light,
shiny rich men's toys of the ocean
dance in lazy undular motion

Spoilt and pampered season
indulged and petulant spring,
please don't pout and drag your heels
we need the light you bring,
the birds and bees are waiting
so could you make a start
be a dear, stop sulking
it's time you played your part

If I were to end it,
pull the cord and douse the cabin lights for good,
it would be here at the high bluff
salt tang in my hair blowing free to the lighthouse
the blue blue gem of the sea below
this is what I want, if I should ever choose to go
It does not mean I will
just that I might like it to be so

*Such a Beautiful Place

After the rain
during the silence that follows
in that cool calm moment
when sodden the earth retreats
and all is still around your feet
where there is no time,
just space
a thinking place to listen
the cicadas of memory start to sing

I shall not come this way again,
I cannot hope to travel on the time I borrow
so I shall seize the chances given me today
and cast away the worries of tomorrow

Leaden angry sky, why wear a sombre suit
dyed lantern grey to match the ocean’s roar
a shredded howling wind completes the set
it stings and sings a siren song outside my door,
be off, be off with you I say
go find a better attitude and temper
I do not like the mood you bring today

You and I can sit
Joseph Gerry Moore,
to watch the little boats
upon the rocky shore,
no one needs to speak
it’s only you and me,
let's spend a peaceful hour
with the ever-shifting sea

Not exactly floating
not completely sinking
I have reached a place
where there is no conscious thinking,
it’s a liberation
to be free on the blue and wide
just a piece of driftwood
taken by the tide

We flew for a while
and shared the same sky
with modest results
but we gave it a try

Winter crows
who cling to stalks of freezing  corn,
bathe in better times to come
and drink the glow of summer not yet born

Life is a bathtub
stay too long
and you get wrinkles!

My cathartic heart
threw away the finished leaves of bitter autumn's burning
I brewed myself a loving cup, made sweeter by my learning
tansy, bay with chamomile, bright meadow flowers to sip
tastes better  than the poison to be found upon your lip

Winter sun
kissed by the breeze
shakes the limbs
of starveling trees
wakes the bones
of each bare bough
and tells the spring
it’s not long now

I cheered for the President
and raised my hat to the great man,
he promised prosperity
for all his supporters,
then he started a war,
when the rockets came
they did not know the difference
between me and my neighbour

A walk
to ponder the nature of it all
sea and sky,
the tumbling waves which fall
gulls that call on outstretched wings
none of these are separate things

Winter's cotton collar is white
spring wears muslin sprigged in green
summer is floral poplin
and autumn cinnamon bombazine

You cannot conjure love at will
capture it like rain and drink your fill,
there is no pill to ease the pain and make you whole
no balm to calm the lonely soul,
for love is a seed we need to sow
and lasting flowers take time to grow

The rain is a ****,
she regularly pounds the streets
and plants wet kisses on all she meets
so different from her sister sun
bestowing favours on everyone

Walk then,
touch the silent acres
dew pond wet
and shining grass unbroken,
a day still new
wrapped in promise newly woken

Butting heads, locking horns
the difficult child of three
if any one was causing grief
It was always going to be me,
a stubborn chip
from a stubborn old block
never at ease we two
so I left and made a life for myself
far from the one you knew,
you pushed too hard
to tie me down
I went and you felt betrayed
you never saw my need to go
I could never see why you stayed

Never flush
not tight fitting
a little bit out
not quite sitting
right with the world,
I always was an odd bit of knitting,
two plain stitches instead of purled

Four hundred years I stood  
a mighty oak of vast and stretching limbs  
until I fell, and then I lay,  
the home of scurrying beetles that you see today,
an old maid with a cap of spider lace
quite peaceful and content within my resting place

How many dreams,
how many wild and uncompleted schemes,
how many words
and the infant ghosts of poems I will never write
do I leave on my pillow at the end of every night

Depression,
a dark and empty place to fall
a tube of silent closing walls
which sneak on in and wrap you tight
they **** the air and drink the light
to leave you crushed in body and soul
a resident of the rabbit-hole

The woman in the wheelchair
still finds you funny although her laugh is silent
it is lost in shadow and smoke
hid beneath the cloak
of her stroke,
you can tell her a joke
she will probably get it
although the speaker may have gone
her sense of humour carries on

What am I ?
not wind nor rain
nor endless rolling sky,
I am not sea
or green and falling land
not trees nor beach
nor endless shifting sand,
not sun, not moon, not stars
so help me now,
to understand
if am fish or beast,
or calling bird which sings
which part am I
or maybe I am all these things,
as for why I came to be
or when or what or even how
I do not know
but call me nature
just for now

Today I will hang my winter curtains
thick and soft as a cat's full belly,
December throw your gauntlet
full blast the rain, the wind can roar
they will not step inside my door
for every sound becomes a purr
once I have donned my seasonal fur

Head first down the rabbit hole
and into the labyrinth,
we could only follow behind you
winding the string and hoping to find you,
through all your various twists and turns
that lamp was bright and still it burns
the monsters fed till you were gone
but the light within you carries on

Morning beach
flat calm but bright
sips with ice the winter light
glass reflected rockpool puddles
fill with tangled seaweed muddles