The grave
a quiet place of tumbled stone
which covers cold and ancient bone
which once was warm as you or I
and in our turn we too will die
fragile life to fragile dust
we live as every creature must
fixed in time of certain span
and then return whence we began

Do not talk to me
or claim a previous affection
we had nothing but a tenuous connection
do not press for friendship in my name
I do not wish the bond or seek to find the same
so leave me in the same state as you came
now get you gone
forget
move on

Soft falls the light upon your face
shadowing each trace of sleep
who am I to know or see
the secrets that you keep
we give our minds
to flights of dreams
but only to ourselves it seems

Just for today
I have cast off the cares of Winter
and tied them in a cloth of April green
I hid them on my hope shelf
where they cannot be seen

When you were bold Sir Lancelot
and I was a lady fair
we cast our fortune to the wind
and love was free as air

When you were old Sir Lancelot
and I was a lady fair
I never thought there would come a time
when you would not be there

When you were gone Sir Lancelot
I missed you being near
you left a sad and grieving maid
your lonely Guinevere

Come sleep
kiss me gentle
lay yourself upon me as a lover
thou art more lovely than a summers day
or indeed those darling buds of may
and thee would be more welcome

To be a poet
is to recognise words
as knotted strings
they come twisted
coiled into bundles
which must be undone
with questing fingers
so that naked language sticks
waiting fresh and in the raw
to be joyously unraveled
that's what poetry is for

You cannot waste a word
it is made from breath
released as an airy nothing
an elusive shy and singing bird
that only lands
once it is seen or heard

The past is a smell of gently frying bacon
in a house with a green front door
you were too young to remember much
except a dog named Sandy or Rex
it licked up the ice cream you dropped
and someone kind
that you cannot bring to mind
wiped away the tears
from your sticky infant fingers
the memory is gone
but the perfume lingers

Curious clever beings us
blessed with the gift of reason
an ability to sit and think
and that is what has brought us
to the very brink
our talent for deduction
and logical construction
may ultimately sow
the seeds of our destruction

When the mind lies fallow
do not weep
or think all birds have flown
from bitter dying earth
where nothing grows or ever shall
calm yourself
your barren land is merely sleeping
thoughts like seeds must wait
and feel the warmth of spring before they flower
they will come again
to drink the light and taste the air
green shoots
from roots you never knew were there

Poem
a drink of words
sometimes shaken
stirred with thought
the cocktail
is you

It's hard to chase the shapes of sleep
those grey elusive foggy sheep
who graze upon the fields of night
they wrap themselves in dreams to hide
while tired eyes stay open wide

what work is this
who spoke with warm and loving breath
to charm the birds and wake the trees
who stirred the breeze
on bleak and barren land
who turned a skilled and knowing hand
to thaw the frosty frozen ground
who cast the springtime all around
and caused the sleeping plants to grow
who's work is this
I do not know

Adrift on a rising wave
not made of sea
or silver hum of distant bees
nor wind
or leaves on waving trees
not earth not sky
nor singing birds
but movement made of living words
that float and curl
and dart and hide
strange fish to catch on a poets tide

Peace
that shy elusive beast
a spotted doe or hind
hiding deep within the forest of your mind
which makes her difficult to find

If you follow in my path
tread light in my shade
excuse the faltering steps that I made
if I left my heavy footprints showing
the damage I assure you was unknowing
erase my dust
walk with care
make it look
like I was never there

Come spring
extend your hand
caress  the waiting warming land
give us singing birds on green and leafy trees
swap gale for breeze
soft light and scented air
disperse our shivering winter cares
and bless each fertile blooming day
through April and then on to May
please stay

Winter you sneaking thief
explain yourself
you stole the sun
to leave us with much colder days
depriving us of warming rays
replacing skies of white and blue
with others of a greyer hue
a world of ice
what did you do
I know the catalyst was you

Remove the waking winter sky
the stars and moon above
take them all
but leave me something
I am vulnerable to love

You can cherish a dream
but there may be other rivers
other lands in which to seed your hopes
don't turn your wishes into ropes

star above the trench
hanging in a cleaner place
that this endless war

your old winter robe
shaped only by memories
still hangs in my heart

Open a book
discover a landscape
waiting for you explore
your map is made from footsteps
where the writer walked before

We are the fallen
bereft of life
but filled with music
we sing with a speeding bullet’s zing
our lyrics the crack of splintered bone
a symphony written for us alone
in the land where all are supposed to be free
so much then for liberty

Early morning rain
washes any weekend traces
from coffee scented Monday faces

great ship in the fog
creaks low on a rising tide
rusting whale in pain

Dying sky
painted beautiful
the Gods would weep
if indeed there were Gods to see
the molten tips of living trees
and mountains pink
reflected in a coral sea
what a mistake to blink and miss
a glorious sunset
such as this

Marilyn's easel
a Madonna displayed
celluloid goddess
of the temple of the silver screen
we worshipped
ignoring the cracks and the obvious fact
that the woman behind the art
was slipping
slowly dripping off the canvas
now she is no more
we still adore
the puddle on the floor

Our connection
is a pale moon above
and stars that shine
they are yours as much as ever they were mine
we feel the grey of falling rain
the warmth of joy and the chill of pain
we live and we love, we laugh and die
under a yellow sun and the same blue sky

dawn in the garden
fragrant blossoms fill my cup
hot tea with lemon

Hear the dripping branches sing
when the icy breath of winter
melts to kiss the waiting lips of spring

Seventy two Crows
have come to bid you goodbye
dressed in mourning clothes

Sunset lends its many shades
as a dying day begins to fade
the whites of clouds
and parrotfish blues
replaced by glorious fiery hues
colours dance in the sky's cotillion
of melting golds and sweet vermillion

Clouded cattle breath
released to this November morning
a rising sun scarce dares to show its face
no fond embrace will grace a leaden sky
no warm & loving arms
to melt the chill on lonely farms and hills
all is still
as smooth & white
as paint upon a windowsill

Do not stop to dip your toes
or heaven knows to swim
in this sea of winds
where waves are whipped to horses ears
and tails of white among the foam
foolish child go home
retreat and walk no more
upon this wild and lonesome kelpie shore

Oh ocelot sky
spotted clouds of black and gold
filled with stars
the shining eyes
of a cat
among the heavens

Make me thunder tea
brew with leaves of falling rain
use a lightning spoon

Change in my pocket jingles
I wonder how many ears
in previous years
have also heard the music
of these little clanking bells
who could ever tell
but the feeling lingers
as I move them through my fingers

To be a bird
free on the breeze
taking in the charm of trees
to feel the light and taste the air
is not a gift that we can share
shackled to the ground it seems
we must content ourselves with dreams
leaving you to own the sky
while we look up and long to fly

Faith is a fruit tree
stripped bare of leaves and blossom
waiting for the spring

Clinging spider webs
settle on the frosted tomb
of a loving heart

Margaret's fingers clasped and still
white birds upon her window sill
silent doves that came to rest
sleeping now upon her chest
each settled bird that came to land
will fly no more from Margaret’s hands

Margaret's hands are small and white
they will never hug her mother
or feel a lovers hand squeeze hers
never play piano like her sister Maud
or wear a wedding ring
not any of these things
Margaret's hands are marble still
each dove at rest upon her chest

People come
they bring mourning flowers
I don't know where the vases are
that was always your job
where did you put them
I cannot find them
not under the sink
or in the shed
they are lost
like you are
and I need them
because flowers are everywhere
and you are not

Not everyone can be a star
no matter how we wish for heavenly light
most of us will not illuminate the night
those who burn and seem so bright
will oft ignite and fall
burning cinders
merely human after all

Fate, I do not know your name
remove a star
shake it from the sky
like brightest rain
cover me in a glittered cloth
of night and fire and light
remove the dark
and let me be that spark
which sets the heavens all aflame

Rest in peace you gentle soul
your eyes which saw only truth
gave us the spirit of those who worked the land
a portrait penned with honest colour
painted as it was
and not how we would have it be

Darling clever Oscar Wilde
that Enfant terrible
a rebellious child
he was pretty
and very witty
and yes he was gay
it's a shame we couldn't accept him that way

A thin and somewhat wavering cry
echoed in the banshee breeze
as she beat upon our door with frozen fingers
heralding your birth, you child of storms
a winter babe
the fallen leaf forever restless as he grew
a wailing wind inside to blow you onward
that much is true