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

Lament the tall sweet meadow grass
where wind no longer blows
lament the lark that’s taken wing
and left us only crows
but you and I endure my love
through rain and wind and sun
for only time can part the ways
when two hearts beat as one

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!

The night sky was pierced
We watched leaking rain and stars
Wearing a tree hat

Click
Whirr
Digital purr
Time is torn
A memory is born

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

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

You can try to capture the wind
trap the airy whistle of trees
or the fluting song of reeds on the river
yes you can try to tame the restless spirit of the breeze
but it will sulk
and sit silent in the jar
until you let it out again

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

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

October night
a strange light
the face of winter
smiling through a pumpkin

You covered me
with a carpet of flowers
clean and bright
pink and white
fragrance light
on the summer air
fine words were said
many tears were shed
but you keep your guns
and I’m still dead

Finality
is a reality
there is no endless love
no forever
even in the beauty of the stars above
all will end
we cannot transcend our allotted span
so live and laugh and dance while you can

Cool in the shadows
Tired day rests beneath the trees
Larks give way to owls

Smooth, the touch of a lovers hand upon your skin
which wakes a beating heart within
it stirs the sparks of bold desire
and fans the flames a little higher

Slap my face cruel wind
press hard upon my cheek
with fingers red and rough as any farmers hand
you bend the struggling trees
and whip the waves to beat the land
is it any wonder
that I fail to understand
how one so gentle in repose
could be so angry when he blows

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

Today
I gave away your cocktail dress
it was black and fitted
I kept it for thirty years
but I never found the shoes
they were too big to fill

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!

Yes I am greedy
for a single tomorrow
no wonderful shining moment
no rivers and rainbows
nor sunrise sunset skies of gold and cotton candy pink
just another day, like many others I have seen
a belly full of living, would be food enough I think

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

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

We have to deal with the emotion
and the fear we have built up in over a year
of being inside
the internal wrecking ball we try to hide
from our nearest and our dearest
when on zoom
as we try to pretend that they are in the room
so now we get to meet in the sun
and to have a little fun, from a distance
at the insistance of the men in grey
who are supposed to be leading the way
back to reality and some form of normality
will we make it this time
climb up and out
lose the doubt and the lack of trust
I guess we must
learn to smile
but it might take a while

This turning year  
a child of war so newly born,
could we give it a day
to dream its infant dreams,
the simple gift of a little peace
apparently not, or so it seems

The past it is no sea
no tide that breaks upon a foreign land
it is a creek, an oily little stream
which bleeds its waters on today's white sand

News from the oak tree
she sent a brown envelope
to say it's Autumn

Tend to the soul of me
that means the whole of me
feed my mind my heart my head
nourish the part that doesn’t need bread
water me with love, watch me grow
a person will flower before you know

Breakfast at my table
on a damp warm morning
with birds in the trees
each fluttering one a note which sings,
on high and leafy hidden wings
that beat to lift in heavy air
chained to the ground
I cannot share
their joy in endless headlong flight,
that freedom brought of skies delight
and so for now, to me it seems,
I must content myself with dreams

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

Crows on Autumn corn
challenge the wind
for the remains of Summer

I have laid down my life as I laid down my gun
the battle is over
I don't know who won
their side our side
does anyone care when it's all  said and done?
Long ago and far away
at very the end of the hardest day
when silence falls on the blood red, mud red, grass
will anyone remember what came to pass?
Young men die and old men weep
for comrades lost and the memories they keep
hugged to themselves till their time is done
a long life haunted by the shadow of the gun.
I have no name
war took it from me
a symbol, instead of the lad I used to be

When you go
you take a piece of me,
and yet I am complete
more replete than I have ever been,
a fuller person than the one you would have known or seen,
I am myself, at last,
no longer victim to our complicated past,
and as we part of course there will be sorrow
for you it ends
for me I will step forward to tomorrow

Sometime
onetime
anytime
does it ever feel
like sanity is dripping
slowly slipping
like an eel
gushing from the tap
of the world
and you can't get a grip
on the handle of the bucket
to pour it back in

Pallid sea all rolling smooth
milked of colour by a dying sun
brings hope before darkness
and peace before sleep,
wends its greasy way in silence
spreading slow it pools
sticky in its countenance
licks the beach with a tongue of glass
and ends a day that has come to pass

I ate a ripe fandango
and washed it down with Tango
it tasted just like mango

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

Those who the sea shall take
will be flowers
wave borne blossoms
petals of memory
do not wither
as do blooms on land
we think of them
each rolling tide
that gently kisses sand

Winter has a raw and savage charm
he will not bow a knee to Spring
nor Spring bend down to Summer
for the fertile warmth she brings
and in her turn that green and gracious lady fair
makes no atonement to the Autumn
for the fruit he bears

Forgiveness
is wine that has to breathe
it needs to sit a while
uncorked to slowly warm
so that the cloudy lees will fall
and once again the glass pours clear
a sweeter vintage overall

A fjord of tears
waters land that now lies fallow
because of the land mines
beneath the soil and the waving flowers
that no-one dares to pick
beyond the wire
where a boot is slowly bleaching
that is the true meaning of a warcry!

I see you
Laird of Tanera Mòr
shaded scotsman
misty on the dock
I hear your skirling pipes
threading salted air
silent sound which cuts
and tops each bouncing wave
music on the bridge
between the living and the grave

Can water know
when it flows and drips like rain
through the palm of your hand
does it understand
and feel for the drops that remain
to linger
on your freezing fingers

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

A sky of painted rain from custard yellow clouds, fell beyond my gallery window glass.

The grass a silken thread of cinnamon fire, vermillion and orange tea brewed strong and hot, which ran to choppy rivers damson plum and vintage flowing wine, stretched far beyond my own imagining
to boiling seas of unknown hue.

Did a morning ever dawn which held such colour and such light, If so it isn’t one I ever knew!

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