Time to turn the pages

Leave the book open

Scribble what you want to say

Then draw a line

Put down the Pencil

Make space for a new beginning

A fresh hand can start their story

You wrote a chapter or two

When someone moved over for you

Now do the same

Let the music fade

The lights go down

Time to leave the stage with grace

It is done

Goodbye

The rain
when it came
was not unexpected
soft at first
then larger drops
falling music
dancing puddles
ignored in a rush of passers by
I stayed to the end
and heard it all
that orchestra of sky

We knit idyllic hopeful schemes
and fashion them as garments made from dreams

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

There’s a long long trail a-winding
to the sound of marching feet
worn smooth by shadowed footsteps
their time on earth complete
although a poignant sad reminding
no one’s listening so it seems
there’s a long long trail a-winding
to the land of broken dreams
where that nightingale keeps singing
because that’s what she is for
to welcome home the fallen
from each successive war

Lost lines
withered fruit upon the vine
which snuffs a lighted candle
in the writers mind
the skull, that egg
which once was full and round
now echoes, hollow with the sound
of missing words no longer found

A tide of doubt has swept my words

And covered them with sand

A cold and lonely beach

In some forgotten land

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

Mycelium hair
frames her lovely face,
arms flung wide
in silent embrace,
fingers float
lilies uncurled,
peaceful she floats
slipped from the world

The thin bare bones of a silence that was

Shattered calm, a mirror cracked

Snapped underfoot like a plastic toy

Smashed, a fragile thing destroyed

Beauty broken by a careless word!

Time is water

An endless flooding tide

Which regulates our lives

It has no form

No shape

Beyond the ones that we give it

All are streams in a river

Which flows to a sea

When oceans dry

And weeks and months are gone

Time will carry on

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

Butterscotch sunset
Fades our walls to caramel
Sweet hummingbird light

Skin needles, made from rain
threaded hope, that stitches pain
peel away the Monday morning
a coffee scented cloudy dawning,
the existential grey clad ******
of a quintessential English summer

Listen to the silence

As the world holds its breath

And waits in hiding

Grass grows in the streets

Parking lots entwine with ivy

Around the rusty carts

And the spaces in-between

Yellow boxes faded by sun through empty windows

No breeze stirs the pavement cracks

Due for mending long ago

Thin cats lick their dusty paws

Stretching out on the hot trunks of cars

Sleeping peacefully

Until the bold rats come out to  play in the moonlight

Skipping down the hoardings

Unafraid

And what of the thousands

Their pale and haunted eyes

Looking from behind every curtain

Radios tuned

Listening

As the world holds its breath

And waits for life to begin again

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

Autumn leaves blow random wild
a Harlequin in scarlet cloak
spring and summer's fated child
he dances freely with the breeze
and does not seem to know or care
that harsher colder winter winds
will one day strip him bare

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

A whisper in the dark
heard above the rain
when everything else is gone
hope will remain

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?

If I could

I would write you a poem that speaks of midnight

And fill my pen with inky darkness and the bright cold light of stars

If I could

I would sing of the rolling moving sea that is never stilled

Cool grey and aquamarine would fill my palette as I brush the words

If I could

I would bring you lush hills and deep shady valleys in between

Pine green and Ochre are the threads in my rhyming tapestry

If I could

I would speak of dawns and sunsets bathed in infinite beauty

Hot pink and vivid tangerine silks gathered into a cloth of sound

If I could

I would write you a living landscape of colour to keep you warm on winter days

If only I could...

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

Haunted
by the ghost
of a tune that you heard
or a book you once read
a fluttering bird
that flew from your head

Japanese haiku
Distilled from simplicity
Essence of poet

Life is the threshold
existence is a windy doorway

Peace is an early morning

Dare you break the silence with your footsteps on the grass

Spiders weaving cobwebs case their industry and listen to the nothing, dewdrop heavy

Rabbits out for early breakfast halt their chewing mouths and wait in expectation

Frozen cracking trees still their restless branches for a while and the river runs slow, no trickling streams to signify its presence

Trout swim in the shallows

Gentle watchers of the newborn day

Dylan boy,
lord of all the sleeping towns
the valleys and the mean little houses,
master of the flowering words,
like best bitter they flowed
dark and ripe and full to the top of the glass,
well worth the waiting for you were,
if the masses couldn’t see it
then they too were blind as moles,
you finished up your pint
and left us, empty

You were always the fruit tree
new light of promised hope in spring
sweet pears within the summer of your days
the flowing wine of a full ripe season
and when autumn came
it reached with shadowed fingers
to pluck you from the wall
you stood alone against the wind
while we your living leaves were scattered
root and branch, stripped base and bare
it was then we watched you fall
there was heart in you my friend,
you gave your all

We don't all have a choice

A selective voice

Some get what they get

No being upset

They are the losers

Others are choosers

They pay to play

And have it their way

They will always win

With another spin

We all have to learn

That an extra turn

Will put you on top

No matter how much

You want the ball to stop

I need you

Like a summer wind that needs the rain

I need you

Like the breath of life for pleasure and for pain

I need you

Like a ticking clock that marks the hours

I need you

Like a humming bird among the flowers

I am your slave

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

Birds have no shape,
they are everything
and they are nothing
wind and rain and trees
the scent of the breeze
tall dried grass
seeds which land
on full and fallow ground
an ocean heart that beats within us all
the sound of nature’s call
whatever the future holds
when shadows fall
and footsteps are dust
there will be birds

Tofu tofu
it just won’t do
the box is pretty
with its dragon stencil
but it looks and it tastes
like it rubs out pencil

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

A writer is
A farmer of words
We sow the page
And harvest
Stories

Deep and cool green pool
Edge of the board looking down
A flight without wings

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

Willow,
I will make my bed with you tonight
sleep soft and deep beneath your counterpane
no soothing water song, will ease my cares,
for I have none to ease
sing me no sweet tune,
no lullaby beneath the trees
for I am not a child,
a man full grown am I
traveller of the road,
by choice to make home
beneath a starlit sky

Yesterdays leaf
springs lithe and green,
of promise fine and fair,
todays is dry and parched and brown
its lifeblood fled elsewhere,
a cracked and fragile brittle thing
where hope no longer flowers,
how could this be,
how came you change,
full cursed by bitter hours

A Butterly ***** its wings

Warm air stirs

Clouds rise

Temperature drops

Rain begins

Seeds move in the earth

Dry rivers fill their bellies

Landlocked fish dance to the sea

The ocean moves

Cool air stirs

Storms rage

Clouds appear

And somewhere

A butterfly ***** its wings!

Bramble king of Autumn

Swirling cloak of windblown colours

Spikes and blackberry sweetness on the vine

A talented contradiction

Who does not feel the summer heat

Or own the chill that winter brings

One alone

A blended showy charmer

With a magic only he can bring

Beware this tattered crown

For he can turn his tune to bitter-song

With freezing notes that hang upon the frosted air

Weaving seasons end of twisted fabric

Holding out a hand to cold

Signalling to all the year is  done

Sunday papers and a sit in bed
nothing needs saying that hasn’t been said
we can read the thoughts in each other’s heads
you drink your coffee, and I sip my tea
who ever knew we could ever be
happy not speaking, just you and me