If the sky should fall

And leave the brittle bones of our living

Shattered

Like teeth in the blackened angry mouth

Of a hag

What then?

Do we weep salt tears

For that which is lost and cannot be found

Raise a fist in anger to a savage God

Who will not hear our cries

As we wander through our ruined lives

Looking for salvation.

Do we bend our backs?

Put stone on stone on stone and build a wall

Make it strong

To foil the ravening wolves

Of fear and cruel self doubt

A solid moat to keep them out

And us within

While we begin

Again!

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

February is a song of wind and rain

The sleeping giant of spring

Is not yet awoke.

February is the watchman

Silent and grey

Waiting for the smoke

Of green shoots and new life

To creep under the door

Lonely donkey
standing in a field
munching words
not quite fitting in with the herd
all the other beasts are brown
he is green, with stripes and one ear
braying out poems
that noone else can hear
he isn’t unhappy
as he chews in the sun
but it’s hard to be
the only one

That great blue ocean dog
bites and snaps and roars around my feet
eyes fixed upon my grassy throat
yet resolute I stand
resilient coastal land
above the ever shifting sand
while that relentless cur
which howls and moans
chews slowly on its chalky bone

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

An aeon I have waited
for sea to grind the rocks to sand
reclaiming fertile pasture land
where once I walked
an armoured tank
of smashing tail and deafening roar
now far from what I was before
a pile of bones this fossil beast
waiting still to be released

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

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

I will walk barefoot and bow my head
along the winding path that leads me through the trees
to where the nightingale sings
her notes so pure and so beautiful
that you have to follow
yes I will walk barefoot
leaving as I came in
crossing the boundary
that leaning picket fence
which marks the end of all journeys
to what lies beyond
leaving only my footprints
and the echo of a bird

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

Winter has decorum
unlike his sister Spring,
he is slow and ponderous
but she's a giddy thing

Ash
falls soft
upon the name of love
the game of love
the eternal flame of love
which cools until
through burning embers
one remembers after all
how sweet it was to fall

Take the long road
walk in the woods
feel the grace of trees
consider each winding turn
bees hum
plainsong in the heather
drowsy as the passing day
do not wave
make the final corner
close your eyes
and rest

Bird on a winter fence
all frozen feet and frosted wing
scans the sky and wonders why
crows don't fly south till spring

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

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,

Easter already
this year has slithered down the drain of time
where it will hide until Christmas
and have its babies

Come sleep do not avoid me
I am not your mortal enemy
as you are not mine
let us shake on it in darkness
and meet again when it is light
without this constant restless fight
of turning pillows in endless night
visit me, comfort me, set me yawning
we can talk some more, tomorrow morning

My fern child
a little frond all rolled up tight
forever hiding from the light
why is it you are not like the others
a clever sister and noisy brothers
some of us find we can thrive in shade
I guess that's just the way you were made

Time is a thief of youth and love,
undoer of locks and breaker of promises,
she is the rushing wind
sweeping all before
a restless boiling sea
crashing on an unknown shore

Here on the roof of the world

Fog curls

Obscuring the land below

No glow of lights to drain the sky

The air is thin and sharp

Broken glass with every breath

Damp and clear

Crisp as night falls

We watch the stars

Lost in silent wonder

Weary soulful sound
The chime of a city clock
Nick heard it calling

The embankment is a river
of bottles in the sun
I've held them and I've kissed them
every single one

End of the food chain

Tasty for lunch

There's a good reason

We swim in a bunch!

Chinese harbour junk
sold me a boat load of dreams
then it sailed away

For those who rise to seek the morning

Joyous airy sprits sing without words

A lyric tune so old

It tells of trees and the endless shifting sky

Warm earth and the clean dry whisper of grasses in the wind

Long before the restless hum of man

Drowned out the forever-song

And the rushing world forgot to listen

In time I will become a beach
an hourglass of falling sand
when eighty tides have washed my face
my youth will be a foreign land
and the laughing girl that once I knew
will be waving from the distance
across that sea that joins us two

Hospital coffee
hopeful light
mixed strong with wanting dark
a bitter longing blend
which burns the mind
but does not seek to fill an empty cup
stirred with memory
amid the bleeps and whines
of a machinery heart
truly a mocha morning

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

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

A tiny feather small and soft
makes little impact
when it floats aloft,
ten thousand feathers
make a bird
which sings out loud
and can be heard,
it’s hard to be a single feather
but we are strong
when we fly together

We close the curtains on a world less sure,
than yesterday, and all the days that went before
evening comes, and with it falls the night
unyeilding darkness drinks the light
and in its presence fades the sight
of garden gate and fence and lawn
in an anxious world which waits for dawn

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 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

You are lovely
full of birdsong
and not much dew
was there ever a morning
such as you

January starts its journey
as a wet and sorry thing,
a limp balloon in a leafless tree
and a soggy bit of string

Tears of the world
a salt tide that floods
feeding the marshes
windswept waiting places
sentinels of the hollow margins
lonely but for the cries of birds
wading the cracks where land meets sky and endless water
at the edge
of something and nothing

Sea winds throw each care
take each heavy form and toss it in the air like it was light
give me brief respite from all that weighs me down,
send it soaring out of sight beyond my knowing
set my mental laundry blowing, and refresh my head,
far too much is laying in the middle of my bed
and piled upon the floor,
open all my windows, wedge the dusty door
and pin the shutters to the side
dear ocean fling them, sling them from me far and wide

If my sky should fall
as one day I know it will
let mosses stitch my winding sheet
wrap me in a willow shroud
shot through with camomile
bury me in starlight,
six hands deep beneath the trees
for I always was romantic
then let me rest and take my ease

An octopus is a cephalopod
they are as a species
delightfully odd
an eight legged squiggle
with a wiggle

A rare and rather precious bloom

The shining light in a darkened room

Someone special

Now and then

Gets closest to a perfect ten

The rest of us live in their shade

They never last

All flowers fade

Phenomenons are born not made

Silken spider thread

Cobweb soft

A whispered sigh

Hanging on the breeze

Silent song of hard worked creation

Strung like pearls to catch the morning

Intricate patterns

Each tiny artist works alone

Beauty on the wire

A gallery of infinite variety

Faint breath flutters the curtains
in the pale green room named spring, we wait
certain that it will be tonight
still he hangs, a torn fingernail
catching sharp on the threads of the season
each wheeze falters, weaker than the last
he rallies and falls,
each stuttering fail
leaves us poised and frozen
still as rabbits on open ground
waiting, waiting waiting
for the sweet and silent sound
of winter’s passing

The sticks and stones
of ancient bones
are seen beneath the skin
a mushroom scented dying
as the year is growing thin
sing requiem for Autumn
so that Winter may begin

Fling wide the curtains
kettle on and set the table
open the door in welcome
spring is just around the corner
she apologises for being late
winter kept her talking