In the chilled air.


Waiting, wrapped in the silence

of an empty station at night,

just the lights of the platform

to bring some semblance

of comfort in the chilled air.

Can't smoke now, no chance

to light up and ease the pain

of the evening and dashed hopes.

You and me, should have been

alone but there were three.

You spoke about him so much

I felt invisible. You were out

with me, not him. It wasn't fair.

Now, I'm standing here on my own

waiting for the last train home.

You made it clear, you're still

in love with him and not with me.

I let you go though I love you

but you can't see me, just him.

I'll get over you one day I know

but, right now, my heart is breaking

So I hope the train's not late,

I just want to get home and shut

the door and lick my wounds

and try not to be filled with hate

for that bloke who you think

is so great, but who knocked

you about and used you,

so I don't know why you still

want to be with somebody

like that when I would have loved

you, and never ever hurt you.

I can hear the train coming now.

Perhaps you didn't love me

because I'm just a nobody.

Something I'll never know now.






The world spins

My mind spins,

My thoughts spin

My heart spins


The world turns

My mind turns

My thoughts turn

My heart turns


The world whirls

My mind whirls

My thoughts whirl

My heart whirls


The world churns

My mind churns

My thought churn

My heart churns


The world seethes

My mind seethes

My thoughts seethe

My heart seethes


The world sighs

My mind sighs

My thoughts sigh

My heart sighs


The world evolves

My mind evolves

My thoughts evolve

My heart evolves


The world rejoices

My mind rejoices

My thoughts rejoice

My heart rejoices.




The Weed


The weed is humble, forgotten,

rejected, neglected and usually

pulled out if near a cultured

flower. Like the runt of a litter,

the weed is rarely watered

or fed, so it either lives or dies.

If it survives it's rarely welcome

but, give it its due, it really tries.

If there's a flowerbed around

it will sneak in and start to grow

wherever there's some spare ground.

It pushes its roots down deep

so that nobody can come along

and pull it out. It's determined to keep

its hold on its hard won space

and establish itself until strong.


But, give it a broad patch of land

that's wild and free and the weed

has found its home. All kinds expand

over the fields, some delicate

some small, some large, to seed

with exuberance, and dedicate

itself to spreading far and wide.

Over the Spring and Summer months

it adds dashes of bright colour,

frequently as beautiful as a cultured

flower, but often missed or simply

not seen because classed as a weed

which makes it invisible to all

but the most observant, who concede

this humble plant needs raising up

and be recognized as precious

for the weed is the true herald of Spring

with its dazzling array spread out

as a carpet fit for any king or queen.




After the Rain


The sweet smell of the earth

after rain rises to greet me

like a lover who has bathed

in scented water, and I breathe

in deeply, falling into her

embrace full of flowers,

warm soil and leaves on trees

washed clean, now gently

spraying a fine shower

with each rustle of the breeze

down to the floor below,

to nourish saplings and life

at the base of trunks gnarled

with age but tender in their care

for all sheltering around them

in their rich leaf fed ground

surrounding each and every one.


And I tread softly lest I crush

a life, and recall the beauty

of the woods when rain has fallen

when all is refreshed, renewed

and imbued with a sense

of a new birth, of a new day,

for this, I thank the Universe

that guided my feet to walk

this path and smell and see

what few will notice, and I rejoice

in the peace pervading the woods.

It was not my choice that brought

me here, but a small voice

who called and I answered

‘I will come to you and we will

talk after the rain, my sweet love,

and we will embrace in the scented

air without concern or care.






‘How bad is the pain?' you're asked.

‘Relative to what?' I ask, tasked

to answer this innocent question

with honesty, but find I cannot.

The excruciating pain of the past

makes all pain of the present

seem paltry and unable to be cast

as really pain at all, rather discomfort

in degrees from one to ten as requested.

Thus making me feel dishonest,

because not in agony when I should be,

for I've asked for attention and wanted

to be taken seriously, but that would mean

I must be genuinely racked in pain

if I'm taking up the time of medics

who could be out there treating the sick

and the dying, instead of bothering

with me who is merely hurting.


In the end, I say ‘Maybe a five or a six

for the pain, but the lethargy is a nine.'

And then I'm not exaggerating.

The latter is a knock out drop without

a pill, a brain blast that refuses to go

and makes my eyes close and me

drift into a dead sleep as if anaesthetized.

That fact eases my sense of guilt.

I have found a genuine case built

on solid ground, and now I can

let go and give myself over to be cared

for and treated, because this lethargy

is not construed as pain, but something

intrusive, unwanted, and involuntary.

I can be honest now and relax

for this sleep will sweep me away

like a narcotic's dream while the cause

is a mystery that seems here to stay.




A Little Bit Extra


Time ticks away,

once so slowly,

now, oh so fast,

and another day

bites the dust.


It's not just me

who is aghast

at how quickly

it flies by, now

I'm over sixty.


And yet I can

recall a time

when I longed

for it to fly by

so that my life

could begin.


And I would sigh

because it was not

and then suddenly

I was free to play

and have fun.

Something till then

I'd never done.


Now, I'm thinking,

please slow down

there's no rush,

take your time.

I haven't finished

having fun so let

time be vanquished

for a little longer

and then I'll go

when my life is over

grateful at my age

to be able to stay

for a few more

years of joyful play.




You're Mine, all mine


It takes a little while to register

but I'm most definitely in love with you.

It's not your looks that excite me,

not your body that turns me on,

not your height, weight or anything

that you can see immediately.

What I love is what's inside.

A big, big heart, a laid back

attitude to life on the whole

but a passion as well for things

that turn you on, like music,

women, life, your wife, your son

and anybody else who comes

into your world for a short or long

while, so I take comfort knowing

that you are mine, all mine,

you belong to me, most definitely

mine and I'm never ever going

to let you go for as long as I'm alive.

What happens when I'm gone

won't matter one little bit to me

so long as while I'm here you're

faithful to me, you can chase skirt

for as long as your legs will carry you

when I'm gone, but do it while I'm here

and you won't walk for very long,

because you're mine, all mine,

you belong to me, most definitely

mine and I'm never ever going

to let you go for as long as I'm alive so there.




The Affair


Two bikes lain side by side,

oh what fun we had this ride.

We sneaked away before the dawn

pushing our bikes across the lawn,

and then we mounted them to sail

through dew kissed hill and dale

as the sun rose, cycling along roads,

passing still silent curtained abodes.


Would be a while before all awoke

and the dawn through soft clouds broke

to welcome in a brand new day,

while we lay side by side wanting to stay

knowing soon we'd have to return,

but for a little longer our hearts would burn

with passion and love amid the spring flowers

then leave having relished these two hours

before we had to pick up our bikes

and get home before misfortune strikes.


For our love must stay hidden from sight,

and must never come into the light,

for neither of us is free and fear to hurt

our dear partners so keep our love covert.

But, once in a while, we take a ride

and pretend that I'm her husband, she my bride.

after that we go back to married life

where I'm a good husband and she's a good wife.




A Journey


A walk, a talk, a reminisce,

a memory shared

with smiles.


A joke, a mimic, a giggle,

a moment shared

with laughter.


A life, a dream, a hope,

a celebration shared

with love.


A body, a mind, a heart,

a spirit shared

with generosity.


A birth, a death, a loss,

a tragedy shared

with tears.


A world, a planet, a Universe,

a mystery shared

with gratitude.


A journey, a path, a chance,

a decision shared

with acceptance.




A Rash Decision


In with a splash,

out with a dash,

I've got the cash,

blow being rash.

It's good being flash.

with a certain panache.

I'll spend my stash,

nothing slapdash

or rudely brash.

My gear won't clash

nor my moustache.

I'm no trash.

Flutter an eyelash,

oh a whiplash

with no backlash,

I'm all of a mishmash,

down with a crash.

This is a rehash,

I've run out of cash,

gone is my panache,

even my moustache

has lost its flash.

My wife's tonguelash

my ego will smash,

I really must dash.




The Art of Communication


A turn of phrase,

a tone of voice,

a slip of the tongue,

a malapropism

a verbal exchange.


We all have a choice

between pragmatism

or idealism

when expressing views.

Neither say exactly

what's in our heads,

sometimes sounding

like nihilism,

at other times

existential absurdism,

or so practical

we sound like automaton.


Can we ever express

what we really mean,

or do we stumble along

tossing out words

strung together

with many a conjunction

and lots of punctuation,

hoping they'll make

sense to someone

with the ears to hear

and gifted with the art

of verbal communication?


I hope so, because, if not,

I've wasted decades

expressing my ideas

mixed in with banality,

but with a few gems

scattered in just to keep

the neurons firing,

and the wish that somebody

out there understands me

just a bit more than they

did before I opened

my mouth and spoke.




Simple pleasures


When a child, I would sit on the grass

and make a necklace of daisies,

I'd wear it around my neck with joy,

something so simple but possible

even in the heart of the great cities.

Wherever there were parks

so would grow these sweet flowers

turning their heads to the sun

each morning, awaiting small fingers

to come and gently pick them,

make a small slit in their stem,

and, with patience and care,

thread another through

until the chain was long enough

to go round a small head and sit

with pride on a summer's dress,

or, occasionally, like a tiara

on a head of soft hair.


Those were days of simple pleasures,

rather lost in these days of machines

to fill the time, to stimulate the mind

or entertain instead of looked around

and seeing what's on the ground,

in the trees, what flowers are growing,

where that scent is coming from,

and feeding the ducks from the pond

in the park with a bag of stale bread.

Another simple delight and looking

with unalloyed joy at ducklings waddling

along behind their mother, or swimming

in a row across the pond or lake.


Lovely days of sun and memories sweet,

mostly gone now, but still for some

the simple pleasures are there

when grandparents take their grandchildren

to the park and remind them of how

things once were, and hope that they too

will find joy in those gentle activities

so fondly remembered of old.




Can you hear?


Can you hear the shrieks and cries,

the moans, and wails, the laughter

and sorrow, the cars and planes,

the storms and rain, the thunder

and lightning, the breezes

and gales, the tornados

and hurricanes, the birds

and insects, the tubes

and buses, the lorries

and vans, the kids

and babes, the teenagers

and adults, the talking

and shouting, the bombs

and guns, the lies

and deceptions, the mines

and grenades, the streams

and rivers, the waterfalls

and weirs, the volcanoes

and geysers, the televisions

and radios, the world

and noise, noise, noise

everywhere spreading

through the Universe

broadcasting our presence

crying out for acknowledgement,

to be heard by others

out there just so long

as we know we're not alone,

not alone in the vastness

of space, in time, wrapped

in matter and making

our presence felt loud

and clear for all to hear

somewhere out there.




The Human Mind


Positive thoughts abound in a mind

that has found peace and contentment.

While a restless mind flies to and fro

between highs and lows from moment

to moment. An angry mind though

pursues negative thoughts like a cat with prey

unable to see the light or find rest,

torturing itself with rage every day.


Most minds find they become depressed

from time to time, then it passes by

to a quieter time when life just flows,

and little or nothing goes awry.

Only those with festering memories

find their minds full of anxiety and pain,

haunted by unresolved and bitter furies

burdening them with the fear of going insane.


How complex is the human mind,

how fragile its contents when hurt.

So sensitive to autosuggestions,

so liable to be corrupted by covert

memes passed through generations,

and subject to extreme confusion

when faced with multiple choices

leading frequently to self-delusion.


Taken as a whole, the mind

is a precious gift full of hopes and wishes.

A place where knowledge can find

a home, and ideas can bear fruit,

thoughts can come to maturity

where all that causes dispute

can be solved, and all the beauty

in the world take root in the human mind.




Being Human


We walk, we talk, we think,

We dream, we scheme, we plan,

We work, we strive, we sow,

We hope, we weep, we laugh,

We sleep, we eat, we pee,

We shit, we fart, we burp,

We dribble, we sneeze, we cough,

We snort, we hop, we skip,

We leap, we jump, we trip,

We stumble, we fear, we dread,

We sin, we lie, we fret,

We worry, we smell, we taste,

We touch, we hear, we see,

We rise, we fall, we bawl,

We shout, we whisper, we swear,

We cower, we shower, we bathe,

We clean, we dust, we wash,

We swim, we run, we fight,

We strike, we murder, we steal,

We attack, we retreat, we cheat,

We flee, we relax, we recline,

We seduce, we procreate, we screw,

We rescue, we spare, we care,

We abandon, we depart, we neglect,

We travel, we fly, we ride,

We marry, we divorce, we betray,

We breathe, we believe, we deny,

We defame, we bully, we decry,

We vote, we defeat, we survive,

We live, we love, we die.




A Dance through Life


Light of my life, I'm yours forever

and we'll dance through time

wrapped in love and laughter

with never a care or worry

to wear us down. I'm so in love

with you, I can't stop looking at you,

your eyes, your face, your comely

body, how I desire you, so never

say you'll leave me, beloved of mine,

and we'll dance through time

forever and a day.


I swear I'll be true to you, my love.

You've given me your heart,

what more can I want in life

than a heart full of passion

and love for me. I'll be more than happy

to dance through time with you.

Hold me tight and twirl me

through the hours and years,

a light fandango or a waltz

it matters not so long as I'm in your arms,

so dance me through time, my love,

forever and a day.


We've danced together, my love,

and now we have to part.

I'll never stop loving you

whether you be here or where

I cannot follow you yet.

Wait for me and I'll come to you

and we'll continue our dance

through time and space until eternity

ends, and we'll drift together

through the Universe forever

for you are mine and I am yours

in perpetuity.




The Lovers


‘Listen to the wind in the trees.' She said softly.

‘It's speaking to you and me.'

‘I hear it,' said her lover

with his arms wrapped round her waist.

‘It speaks to me of life, of hope,

of all our deep desires, but, most of all,

it speaks to me of love.' He said gently.


‘I hear all these things too,' she sighed,

‘but I also hear a warning. Too far below

for you to note perhaps, but, for me,

it's very clear.' A tear glistened in her eye,

her lover was filled with pain on seeing

her distress. ‘What warning is this?' he asked.

She looked into his tender face. ‘It says

our love can never be known. It will cause

dire consequences if we declare our love

for all to perceive.'


Her lover gazed down at her, his heart

in agony rent. ‘But that will mean we cannot be

together.' The tear rolled down her cheek,

‘Alas, I fear it will always be so for I am

betrothed to another as are you.' She replied.

‘Then come away with me, my love.' He said.

Fire burning in his eyes lit by the furnace

in his heart for his beloved whom he had known

so long.


She shook her head in sadness great.

‘I cannot do that. You know it cannot be.

My father is the king and yours his enemy.

the two of us could have united our two realms

but war has broken out again as well you know,

so, my sweet love, we must part this night

and never meet again.' Trembling with anger,

he held her tight. ‘I'd rather die than let you go.'

‘I'll make a pact with you, my sweet,

maybe our two deaths with end this war,

and we'll be together in the afterlife for evermore.'


But she with a mighty sigh, withdrew from his arms.

‘No, I cannot agree to that. My love for you is true,

my heart will be yours alone, but I love my father

far too much to grieve him thus. The man

he has chosen as my husband will give him

strength and power to end this war,

so I cannot abandon him and have my heart's desire.

Besides,' she cried, ‘we have no proof our deaths

will end the war, it might even make it go on

and on for decades more with both our father's

racked with pain over the loss of their son and daughter.

No, my love, we must now part forever. Give me a last kiss,

and bid me sweet farewell, and know in my heart

I'm yours forever.'


In great sorrow, he agreed, and kissing her tenderly,

they turned and went their separate ways.

The wind howled with the agony of their parting

and the sky shed tears, while the trees

whispered of what they'd overheard,

and for centuries to come, their meeting

drifted through the forests deep and the pain

of their parting was recorded for all with ears to hear.

Ancient history never left a written record

of the pair, for none but they had ever known

of their love only Nature alone kept it safe

and warm within its breast until they, once more,

will be united in some other place and time,

never to be parted again.




The Muses


When the Muses choose to amuse

and comes as inspiration,

you should really not abuse

the gift by taking it out of proportion

and believe that it is your skill

that is crafting words into poems,

because that's enough to kill

the skill and lose those precious gems

that appear from out of nowhere

and fill your mind with images

forming into words from somewhere,

but never what one envisages

when all is normal in your day.


Just accept that, for a while,

the Muses have come to stay,

but could choose not to beguile

you if you cannot keep up,

because the ideas flow so fast

they fill to satiation your cup,

leaving you wondering whether

the thoughts are yours for owning

or the Muses', and that you're being used

while they are out there exploring

and came across your mind and infused

it with inspiration temporarily,

and that you must accept that, maybe,

one day they will leave permanently.

So, for now, enjoy the time you have

running with the Muses as company.




Time heals


Cast aside like an old rag doll,

I'm worth more than that, she thought.

I have my pride, won't beg him

to take me back, won't crawl.

I'll hold my head up high

and walk with courage

out the door, and hide my face

before he sees me bawl.


Oh, the shame, the despair

that what I thought would last

has come to such an end.

I've been left with nothing

but my battered self esteem,

and my self confidence has gone

it's really isn't fair at all.

this is really too shocking.


Now it's ten years on

and I'm back on my feet again.

He, on the other hand, is not.

Saw him last week looking old,

worn out and his hair is greying.

I didn't let him see me,

it didn't seem right to gloat

my heart isn't completely cold.


I heard the other day from our son,

he met someone and looks better.

I don't know how I feel,

I want him miserable without me

but since I'm happy now,

he did do me a big favour

when he upped and left me bereft,

so I'll wish him well I hope sincerely.




The Solution


‘Lo and behold, my lord,' said the magician

as the Patrician strode into his abode

and in strident tones, declared

‘I have need of your skills, so

be prepared to perform wonders for me.

I've an enemy I want you to vanquish.'


At this the magician's knees became shaky

for the Patrician's demands if not met

incurred punishments really severe

like the loss of your head, or your heart

or occasionally the loss of an ear

if his mood was merely upset.


‘Which enemy is this?' The magician inquired.

Loathing to ask but it would be required

if his spell was to work really well.

‘My wife's mother,' replied the Patrician,

‘she's the bane of my life, making it hell

with her constant opposition to all that I do.'


The magician went pale. ‘What do you want

me to do? He stammered. ‘Get rid of her, man,'

the Patrician hammered it home with his fist

in his hand. ‘Rid me of this fiendish witch,

and you can have whatever you wish.'

He said. At this, the magician's heart leapt.


For years he had a secret desire he had kept

locked up inside, not daring to voice it aloud,

and here was his chance to obtain it,

providing he was brave and remained uncowed.

‘I can rid you of this witch,' he said.

‘Give her to me to wed, I want her in my bed.'


The Patrician gasped. ‘You fancy the witch

and you can keep her out of my life.'

He added with narrowing eyes. ‘Spell her

to keep her quiet?' he asked. ‘Oh, yes, as my wife,

she won't utter a word.' The magician nodded.

‘Then she's yours.' The Patrician imparted.


The next day, the Patrician's wife's mother

arrived at the magician's abode

spitting fury and indignation in equal proportion

in high dudgeon she was all of a motion

when the magician cast his final spell

making her idyllically happy and compliant as well.


And the Patrician was happy as was his wife,

who had been under the thumb of her mother

for all of her life, changed over night

from dour and grumpy to a beauteous sight,

while her mother took up cooking and cleaning

and cheerfully bedding her husband each night.




The Joys of Ageing


I've forgotten a time when I looked in the mirror

and my skin was smooth, my teeth gleaming,

and my body was supple with no cellulite to be seen.

How long ago were those halcyon days

now that the decades have passed

and age has caught up with me

to add wrinkles to my face, teeth that sparkle

only with Hollywood Smile toothpaste,

and a body that puts on pounds when I look at food.


Alas, I can no longer walk miles without aching,

no longer run and leap for joy without hurting,

and my long legs crinkle like an orange

around thighs once lithe with feminine muscles,

and my bum once tight as an athlete's arse

is now soft like an overripe peach and bigger

by far than it was in the past.

Then I could drink, smoke, eat what I liked

and never by a pound would my weight increase.

With a busy life of work, partying, dancing

and walking everywhere, my food was energy,

now it's fat. One cake and I'm rolling around

with love handles galore, and indulgence

has vanished out the door, I simply cannot eat

much any more, it's more than a bore,

it's a pain in the butt to be sure, and my brain

is declining as well. I forget where I'm going,

why I'm in a room, what that guy's name is,

or his wife's, and who is the guy that's wandering

around my house all the time? Oh, it's my husband

of forty years and more.


But, I've kept hold of one thing that's passed

down the decades, my humour, my ability

to laugh at the absurdity of life, and while

that remains, I've no doubt I'll survive

whatever drops off me next, what brain cells

take a hike from my head, and which part

of my body the next pound will land.

It's good to know though I can still stand,

it's when I can't that I'll know I'm up shit

creek without a paddle.





Ode to Nakedness


The feel of sun upon a clothed body

is fine, but on naked flesh is better.

When the skin can sense the embrace

of warmth like tender arms enfolding you,

giving a sense of freedom, of being ancient

when we walked without garbs unabashed

by our nakedness, so frowned upon today,

and indeed considered so bad a law

was passed banning it in public, but what

is being enforced? The compulsory

wearing of clothes, which nobody

should have the right to impose

since we live in a free society allegedly,

but clearly not that free. How sad

that it should be so, though, undoubtedly,

very few would be bold enough to go

unclothed in the world today,

we really should be permitted to choose

whether we walk naked or garbed.

So to the naked walker whose way

is blocked by the arms of the law

who swore it was not their fault,

they had to arrest him for doing

something completely harmless

and jailing him for a while

for going au naturale.

A miserable, petty law made by

miserable, petty people who believe

nakedness ungodly or malign,

hardly a healthy sign

for the young that our bodies

really are quite obscene.




The Rendevous


‘I'll show you mine, if you'll show me yours.'

Said the gnarled old man.

‘Very well,' said I, ‘when shall we do it?'

I asked wondering whether this was such a good plan.


He stroked his beard, and sucked his teeth,

eyeing me dubiously before saying

‘Tomorrow at eight, when the sun's gone down.

Be there by the potting sheds and start praying.'


A frown crossed my face at this last remark.

I was sure to come out on top so he must be kidding.

We both parted after sharing a pot of tea

and I went home to do my Mam's bidding.


The next evening arrived and I was there

waiting eagerly outside my potting shed

when I saw the old man open the door to his

and stand there calling. ‘I've just put it to bed.'


At this, I began to feel somewhat alarmed.

Mine was big but his must be huge

if he couldn't carry it about. I sighed

hoping this was just subterfuge.


I walked over all casual like and looked inside.

My mouth fell open with shock and surprise.

His marrow was massive! Feet thick and strong,

it beat mine hollow with its length and its size.


I turned to him with a shrug. ‘You win, old man.'

I said with a grin. He nodded. ‘I'm eighty years old

and have grown ‘em since I was twenty.

Maybe one day you'll grow one you can't hold.'


We shared another pot of tea as I contemplated

my much smaller marrow, no good to eat

and not a chance of winning. ‘Tomorrow

I'll demolish it,' said I, ‘yours can't be beat.'


He gave me a wry smile and then a chuckle

‘Never mind, lad,' said he, ‘it's too big for me

to get out of the shed, so neither of us will win.'

I agreed it was true, so we had another cup of tea.




It's possible to forget


On an April day when Spring

has sprung into life.

When blooms and buds abound

and there's an air of optimism

and buoyancy all around.

On such days it's possible

to forget about the isms

causing chaos round our world.

To close our eyes to the killing

by the willing to die for country

and an idea of political freedom

that is new to them and old

to us, worn out by fiefdoms

of parties intent on their own ends,

spouting slogans and catch words,

whose advocates ardently defend

their short term schemes

to create better worlds for humans

to live in, while ignoring the extremes

of distress and pain they're causing.


On such days it's possible

to shut our eyes and stay hiding

from the reality outside

because we can't change

most things, but we can try,

by not staying silent, and exchange

apathy for action for a brief while,

and hope that sufficient numbers

will cease being servile,

and demand answers that suffice

instead of accepting misinformation

and humbug from the leaders

with a hidden agenda

so feed us banal propaganda

in the hope that we'll go away,

but, for the sake of our offspring,

we can't, for if we do, one day,

there may be no Spring

when the blooms and buds abound

and there's an air of optimism

and buoyancy around.




An Evening in Spring


There's a golden glow this evening,

making houses shine, streets look

like their paved with precious metal

and a stillness that is tangible.

Nothing stirs, no breeze rustles

through the peaceful trees.

All is at rest this evening, all at peace.


There's nobody in the road

just cars and, behind closed doors,

worlds unfold and meals are eaten,

work ends or is about to begin,

and sounds next door of footsteps

on wooden stairs, and the occasional

cry of a child or shriek of delight

echoes through our home bathed

in a golden glow this evening.


A solitary seagull wheels in the sky

catching the sunlight on wings

beating slowly, lazily in the golden

light. A pigeon sits breast puffed

in contented rest on a roof

before it goes to find a roost.

Soft clouds like ice cream

pepper the pale blue of a hazy

sky and the gold grows deeper

and more beautiful as the moments

pass on this tranquil evening in Spring.







The morning dew bends fragile petals

imparting a kiss, a refreshment

after the sleep of night.

Butterflies sip while insects

quench their thirst before

the dew drips down to water

the soil as the sun rises high

evaporating it away.


A soft awakening for the day,

a gentle touch by Nature

to nourish life.

The plants embrace the gift

freely given from above

as they stir, unfolding petals,

leaves and stretching forth,

reach up to the sky.


Spiders' webs with diamonds

glitter in the new born sun,

trembling on soft breezes

as their creators sit resplendent

in the centre regarding their work

with multifaceted eyes,

to wait patiently for breakfast

to come their way.


And the birds trill out their songs

as the earth awakens fully,

viewing, unseen in leafy bowers,

prospective meals amongst the leaves

and in flower beds or lawns

food to feed their young

chittering in their nests

perched amid the trees.


On such a day when peace reigns

the earth seems whole,

untouched, safe within Nature's

embrace. A moment when all is well,

an omen of what should be

and will be if Gaia's will

triumphs over abuse for gain,

a glimpse of hope for all.




The Concoction


Take a smidgen of this and a drop of that

and what have you got? A mess of potage,

or a complex brew, an interesting stew

or an explosive concoction that blew

the roof off the laboratory just now,

which has landed on a nearby cottage,

much to the outrage of its owner

out picking onions from his veg plot,

and now it's all he has got

because his home is in ruins.


So the next time the scientist takes

a smidgen of this and a drop of that,

he'd better make damned sure

his neighbours' homes are secure,

and takes proper precautions to ensure

that his mixtures are not capable

of exploding making him liable

for large insurance payments

and the end of his contractual arrangements

with an employer who only wanted

an insect spray, not one that decanted

them into a million pieces in one go.

The scientist, smitten with remorse,

had to admit it was par for the course

before he packed his things

to see what the next job brings.




The Tale of a Knight


It was an airy fairy day in the middle of May

when the knight came a riding down the lane

his armour shone in bright lit sun

and his lance was as sharp as a woman's tongue.


His steed was proud and high stepping,

haughty with its long mane flowing.

A veritable picture of chivalry were this horse

and its rider as they rode by the golden gorse.


Following at a running pace was his squire.

A well built fellow with ruddy face

and flaxen hair looking smart in his crimson vest

but out of breath now and in need of a rest.


The knight oblivious to his squire's distress,

trotted, regardless, on his way until a shout

pierced his helmet and slowed him down

‘Sorry, m'lord, but I've had a fall,' made him frown.


With armour attired, the knight could not turn

so had to make his steed go round instead,

then he saw his squire lying on the ground

with a face grimacing with agony profound.


‘Gadzooks, squire, tis not your day.'

The knight proclaimed, and ‘Here am I

on my way to plight my troth to a beauteous maid,

and you're ill disposed and in a road laid.'


The squire made a might effort to rise

but collapsed again with a loud shout.

The knight sighed. ‘Stay where you are.

I'll send help, the castle's not too far.'


And with that, he turned his steed around

to continue on his way, and the squire,

checking his broken leg, hoped he'd be quick

because now he was feeling rather sick.


The end of the tale was not a happy one.

The squire waited into the night

until a traveller in a wagon rescued him

in a dead faint from his broken limb.


The knight and his steed never arrived

at the castle keep. The beauteous maid

accepted the hand of another warrior bold

and the squire was left out in the cold.


To this day, no one knows where the knight

went but some say he rides the lane

in the dead of night with his trusty steed

searching for his squire, a tall tale indeed!




A Roving Eye


‘I have a roving eye,' said he

as he took it out and polished

it with care then returned it

to the hole before winking at me.


I like a pretty face and pert

shape and there's something

about the nape of a neck', said he,

‘that keeps me always alert.'


He gave a cheerful grin,

his eye swivelling to and fro

making me feel quite dizzy

not sure whether it was out or in.


‘Where did you lose your eye' said I,

trying not to seem too nosey

but he didn't appear affronted.

Said he, ‘I lost it being a spy.'


‘Oh,' said I, ‘was that exciting?'

He gave a throaty chuckle

‘No, not really,' said he, ‘I was

looking through a keyhole spying.


My sexy neighbour spotted me,

and, in a thrice, she poked her finger

through the hole, and I lost my eye

but she's now my wife so I'm not angry.


I took my leave of him after that,

a chance meeting of a cheery man

and as I looked back, he waved,

swivelled his eye then raised his hat.




Evening on the Porch


In the quiet of the evening

the muffled sound of a distant voice

from a radio somewhere

breaks into music laid back

jazz to fill the warm night air.

The buzz of a worker bee

on its way home drifts

across ears straining to hear

the last of the birds' songs

while seated on the porch

with ice cold beer in hand

watching the world go by.

Kids cycling past on their way

to friends or taking a ride

to cool down in the sultry

evening while parents

sit after dinner watching TV.

Their lights flickering

through windows like strobes

flashing indecipherable codes

across the street at the end

of hot Summer's day.




Mood swings


Light, bright and pretty laid back

That's my mood today.

It can vary though right through to black


When I'm feeling bright and breezy

I'm contented and at ease

But it can change quite quickly


An underlying insecurity can arise

Rushing over me like a tsunami

Taking me completely by surprise


Untangling knots of a dark memory

Isn't something I enjoy

So make haste to change the scenery


Most times right now I'm happy

But can snap and snarl

Should something unforeseen upset me


I guess this is the lot of all humans

Subject to the mind's whims

Leaving us with not a lot of options


We have to go with the flow

Deal with the light and dark

As we swing from joy to sorrow


All the time we live in hope

That one day true peace will descend

Meanwhile we just learn to cope






I bumped into him absentmindedly

and said ‘oh, excuse me',

he smiling said ‘No, it was me',

and now, with baby,

we have become three.


He asked me to dance

I nodded my acceptance.

He whirled me off my feet

and returned me to my seat,

we married the following year.


I caught my heel in a gap,

he released me from the trap

but broke my shoe

which was almost brand new.

After that, our love just grew.


It was a blind date

but it sealed our fate.

He was not my dream

and I wasn't his it seemed

but love can't see when Cupid schemed.


So many ways to meet the one

out of everybody under the sun,

more often by chance

or a certain magnetic glance

and you've met that one in a million.


If you've found a love that's true

then sadly you're among the few,

for today love flies out the door

over countless things lovers can't ignore

but few cease their search for someone new.


It's the lot of most human beings

to see offspring as blessings

so love will spring eternal,

because Nature is basically carnal

which makes most us sing from the same hymnal.




Nothing to do


When you find yourself with nothing to do,

do you feel bored and seek to fill the space

or do you take it as a gift and sit still,

taking a respite from the rat race

and accept with goodwill

that not every moment of your day

will find you occupied and busy,

and that this might be a time to play,

to take a breather once in a while.


For without these breaks in activity

our brains would soon become senile,

and, before long, definitely faulty.

No thing on earth does not rest

from plants to trees to creatures,

all know why taking a break is best.

So when next you find these junctures

make sure you do not fret or fume

but gratefully sit back and enjoy them

and don't see them as a vacuum

but an escape from the daily mayhem.

A gift from Nature to rest our brain.




On any day


On a cloudy day you can feel

the world is against you,

or it's a chance to be still.


On a cloudless day you can feel

The world is full of hope

Or it's an affront to your despair.


On a rainy day you can feel

the world is weeping for you

or it's watering the land.


On a windy day you can feel

the world is out of kilter

or it's time to take shelter.


On a misty day you can feel

the world is hidden from sight

or it's mirroring your life.


On a snowy day you can feel

the world is wearing a shroud

or it's clothed in pristine white.


On an icy day you can feel

the world is frozen with cold

or it's time to build a fire.


On any day you can feel

the world is hard and cruel

or it's full of joys and dreams.


On any day, you can feel

complete, you can feel free

and be what you're meant to be.






When happiness is replete

life can seem so sweet,

though frequently fleeting

there are times when its longevity

is both delightful and surprising.

There has come a time in my life

when it is free of strife,

I have everything I need,

people to love, a home,

and laughter, great gifts indeed.


After much hardship and sorrow

we have space to grow,

and what seemed so far away

has arrived at last, happiness

and joy with time enough to play.




My fellow human beings


Once I looked on a stranger

as a fellow human being

trying to survive like me

whatever life sent our way,

then I was young

and had no fear.


Now I look on a stranger

and see a stranger still,

making judgements

in an instant and fear

the consequences

of too closer a contact.


Age and observation

have coloured my attitude

not for the better

but for the worse,

no deliberate turning away

but now with caution imbued.


I want to embrace all

but my world has shrunk

in size to a few associates

and one or two close friends

when once my door was open

now it's only just ajar.


If things got really bad

I know I would see all again

as the same as me,

and would open wide my door

to embrace all in need,

but, for now, I have needs.


A need for peace,

for thought and reflection

to see a path ahead

when mine is narrowing,

and walk my own way

but keep my heart open wide.






We want a strong leader,

but not a despot.


We want freedom

with no censorship.


We want democracy

with honest politicians


We want to protect our country

so will defend it at all costs.


We have our own rituals

that are sacrosanct.


We only use aggression

if threatened by an enemy.


We believe we're superior

with our long history.


We look on our politicians

and see weakness.


We look on other leaders

and see oppression.


We look out at the world

and see confusion.


We contemplate the future

with varying degrees of hope.


We consider the past

with varying degrees of nostalgia.


We regard our way of life

as the best of all possible worlds.


We consume tranquillisers

to make life easier.


We tighten our belts

when we lose our jobs.


We look at our children

and wonder will they survive.


We look at the earth

and see that it's suffering.


We look at the stars

and see that we are tiny.


We look to gods

but they don't answer.


We all know one thing,

there has to be a better way to live.


We get nowhere with despair

now we know we're alone.


We have it inside of us

to overcome all obstacles.


We are humankind,

a plague, but wondrous as well.




Cherry Blossom


Cherry blossom heralds Spring

with petalled delicacy replete.

A garland fit for the season

of fertility and rebirth.

Blowing soft on light breezes,

it sits amidst the leafless branches,

a wondrous display of white,

pink, cream and lightest mauve.

Soon to draw out new leaves

of softest green, brown, or russet

red. A feast for the eye

and food for the spirit

after long months of cold,

a glorious awakening to greet

Beltane and raise up bodies

weary of ice and snow

with the shining fire of cherry

blossom at the advent of Spring.




A Salutary Tale


The human mind and body need time to rest,

to still the thoughts and activity

and allow both a time of passivity.


A mind that constantly seethes with facts,

with thoughts and recollections,

needs to unwind from these reflections.


A body that never sits and relaxes

will damage organs, weary muscles

and invite a host of troubles.


These two elements that make up every human

need treating with respect and consideration

to ensure their ideal operation.


Feed one and ignore the other

will lead to a breakdown of both

for each relies on the other for healthy growth.


And so a break from toil and trouble

is essential for a happy life

freed for a while from daily strife.


So if your head aches, and your body is weary,

it's definitely time to take that break

and drop everything for your sanity's sake.




The Celestial Marriage


The bounteous star that lights our days

warms our planet, sustains us,

maintains us and lifts our spirits.

Once worshipped as a god,

adored and had sacrifices

laid on altars with living hearts

to ensure his return each morn.


Now described in scientific terms

but never losing his poetic

majesty as he rides across the sky

from dawn to dusk to give way

each day to the lady of the night,

his consort, the pale mystery

that is the moon. Cast off from earth

aeons ago when it was forming,

but could never break the bond

that held her fast, nor abandon the sun

for, in their kinship, the planet

obeys the moon's calling, rising

and falling in obedience to her

magnetic charm, while the sun

exalts each day as he gives way

to bow out for a nightly respite

while he lights one side of the world

and she reigns over the dark

on the other until they meet

in a single embrace when

she eclipses her consort for a brief

kiss before parting again.


Then letting him take his throne

once more in the dance of day

and night across the earth,

which has been going on

since it came to birth,

when the Universe was born

and all this came to be

when a star burst into being

and a moon tamed its fiery

heart, forever united, forever

loved, for both give life

and will do so until their death.




Human Life


Inner turmoil comes and goes.

The lot of the human mind

when confronting all its woes

while living amongst humankind.


All humans are essentially alone.

The mind isolated from all others

creates a place of its own

to survive all weathers.


Times of peace seem rare

but precious and appreciated

when they are there

and all anxieties have abated.


From birth through to death,

humans cannot escape their fate

till they take their last breath

it is their given state.


Between these highs and lows

there are times of joys and dreams

bringing comfort to human egos,

one of Nature's gentle streams.


And so the mind muddles through,

a complex riddle of existence

in the hope that what is true

will one day reveal its presence.


Meanwhile all try to survive

through many a trauma and trial

grateful to be still alive,

most finding life gloriously worthwhile.




The Joys of Motherhood


A mother's love can be powerful

beyond words, or weak

to the point of being absent.

The first can be overpowering,

the second leave a deep hole

inside that forever needs filling.


With absence, it can cause a pain

that ceases only when the mother dies.

When overpowering, it can stunt growth

causing dependence throughout a life,

a way of living that is most unwise.

Finding the happy medium

is a balancing act for every mother

achieved, hopefully, by most,

but never reached by some, the result

is screwed up adults doing their utmost

to break the umbilical cord or tie it back

on again as if it had come loose.


Oh, the joys of motherhood,

how many say if they had their time

around again, they would not bear children.

How sad that the experience

can be so very sour and wounding

when it should bring joy and satisfaction.

But still the birth rate might decrease

in one corner only in another to increase,

with the desire to reproduce

far more powerful than the pain induced,

and so mothers will give birth

again, and again and again as ordained

by deities to people the earth,

and their children will love them as infants

and, hopefully, when grown to adults

love them from near or far, and accept them

for what they really are, all fallible

human beings doing the best they can

even if, in the end, they fail completely.




Pink Sky


An evening pink kissed sky

holds the promise of a fine tomorrow.

Like a gentle embrace at the end

of a day, an assurance of blue skies

to come, and we rest content

that all will be well when we rise

from our sleep, rested and certain,

when we draw back the curtains,

to see light flowing in to fill

our world with the rays of the sun.

A promise fulfilled to welcome

in a new day, Nature's way

of forecasting something to look

forward to, and appreciate

the beauty of a fleeting pink

kissed sky as we say goodbye

to the passing day.




Like a Plaintive Child


A cry for attention

like a plaintive child

rises up at any age.

In a world of billions,

invisibility destroys.

The need to shout,

say or whisper

‘I am here' stirs at times

with a clamour

that won't be calmed

until the fragile ego

is stroked by caring

hands or a loving heart.

Rare the individual

who can live

indifferent that nobody

acknowledges their being.

Most shrivel without

love or wither

from lack of company.

A tantrum often hides

a lonely spirit inside,

scared of ending

Life alone with none

to care for or caress.

Fortunate are those

who have such love.

A gift to cherish,

to share until the time

to part, which comes

to all one day,

then the awareness

so dreaded, loneliness

returns once more,

and like a plaintive child,

the cry for attention

will echo deep inside

which none might hear

when years have passed,

but the need won't vanish,

because invisibility

destroys at any age.






Often the weather reflects your mood

when grey clouds cast their shadows

on the earth and light seems far away,

stand still and ponder on all the ways

Nature mirrors what we feel inside,

be it overcast and chilled

or stormy with roiling thunder

And lightning flashes across dark skies,

or playful breezes lifting spirits

in sunlit days when all is bright

and warm, or hot, sultry times

when all you want to do is laze around,

when the ground feels hot

beneath your feet and insects

buzz in the summer's heat.


And then at other times, ice cold

and bitter to the touch, or white

and pristine as untouched snow

when you want to stand aloof

from the world and be alone.

In rain, light and friendly, a source

of nourishment for life

but also savage when pelting down

destroying all with a flood

like vitriol as Nature releases venom

on the land to sweep away

what it created only yesterday.


And then the times of mist arrive

when you cannot see clearly

what lies ahead, nor recall what lies

behind with perfect clarity,

and fogged in with uncertainty

you feel around for firmer ground

until it clears and the path ahead

is there, though not necessarily where

you thought it was, and taking

tentative steps in the new clear air

set out on your way with Nature's

moods reflecting yours and making

you aware that Nature and you

walk together in the world,

a willing coalition, a pigeon pair.






Light of touch, a zephyr

brushes past my cheek

stirring catkins on the trees

and rousing memories

as it flows gently on its way.

Kissing petals, rustling leaves,

a whisper of things to come

or a ghost from a time past,

a face appears and disappears,

a familiar laugh echoes softly,

a recollection of a love

once so precious now gone,

a joy embraced and let go,

a sadness recalled dimly,

a tear shed over loss

as it flows gently on its way

the lightest of touches

a zephyr, the breeze today.




Filling in Time


Filling in time is a strange activity,

it could infer nothing better to do,

or too much time on our hands,

alternatively, a time for creativity.


Whichever way it is, it could be used

as a time of increased productivity

when you realize you have time

to do something that has you enthused.


Wasting time is not the same,

but, oddly enough, is not bad at all,

to sit still and do nothing

is a most therapeutic aim.


All creatures have time to spare

to fill with play, rest or contemplation.

It seems, in the hectic world,

every living thing must come for air.


So, if there comes a time,

when nothing comes to mind to do,

just sit down and let your brain unwind

and you'll find life is actually sublime.






Sleep, the narcotic of the brain,

essential for sanity to retain.

A means of unravelling knots

and entangled neurons and lots

of other unresolved issues

that each day suffuse

the tissues of our minds

with all different kinds

of dilemmas needing sleep

to solve, providing a clean sweep

of unnecessary garbage

and getting rid of baggage

we could really do without

to prevent a serious burnout

of overworked neurons,

which took Nature aeons

to create and provided

a natural cure which prevented

a breakdown or psychosis

by not allowing dreamless

states to go on for long

leading to lots going wrong

in the area of the brain,

ending up with stress and strain

and, possibly madness

in the end, if stillness

and peace, which Morpheus

should bring when darkness

descends, does not come,

then this is a symptom

that cannot be ignored

else deep trouble is stored,

and the brain will succumb

to fatigue, and be overcome

with terrors and anxiety,

with no guarantee that sanity

will return unless the mind

has a chance to unwind.

So, praise the gift of sleep,

whether light or deep,

for without its resting state

all worries cannot abate,

and any with a brain not survive

because none could stay alive.




A Pearl beyond Worth


Tender moments make life

leap for joy and exalt

in the beauty of a look,

a touch, a smile from eyes

that shine with love

and bring tears glistening

in the beloved's eyes

when seeing with pristine

clarity how glorious

is love in a pure moment.

It etches its presence

into our memories forever

and until death remains

a sweet taste of an instant

so rare it is a treasure

sought by all but not always

found, but oh so fortunate

if seen in a life time.

No wealth can match it,

a pearl beyond worth,

a moment in time

when it stood still

and love came shining through.




An unruly Spirit


Calm, calm, I persuade myself

with cajoling tones, hoping

to soothe the wild spirit raging

inside, trying not to believe

it's madness talking to oneself.


It rises up with no warning,

all fire and brimstone, anger

flaring, and I know I'm in danger

of overreacting so work hard

to still the storm from its dawning.


And oh so slowly it subsides

as Reason restores its wise hold,

keeping the fires controlled,

with gentleness and understanding

I return to where peace abides.


This raging spirit I hold dear,

not to be discarded or rejected.

It is the urge for wrongs to be righted,

a passionate desire for wholeness

and the end of impotent fear.


It and I have lived together

long years now, and it has stayed

with me fighting its own crusade.

No longer can I discern whether I hold

on to it or it to me, a symbiotic merger.




The Wonder of No Thing


From out of a world of no thing

came all that is,

when electrons, one matter

one anti, popped into being

spreading out with alacrity

until the anti was defeated

and matter was triumphant.


With all the energy embedded

in time and space,

matter consolidated

its hold and formed

galaxies and star nurseries

filling the once empty vacuum

with a desire so ardent

to be known that sentient

Life was born, minds

so infinitesimally small

compared to it all,

but with a wondrous

capacity to touch the whole,

to discover the where,

the why, and the how

over time, and yet,

for all the immensity

of such a gift,

many minds see domination

as their goal and fail

to grasp the import

of their being, and export

war and strife

wasting their reason

for being and destroying

peace, but still the electrons

survive here and there

and everywhere, popping

in and out of being

ensuring matter stays,

and the days of tyrants

die then sentient life

can study the Cosmos

and stand in awe

at how so much could come

out of no thing at all.




The Healing


‘There's light at the end of the tunnel,'

he said, but I could only stare in dread

for all was darkness in my mind

and my guide I feared had lied.


‘You must see past the present,'

he said, but I could not look ahead.

The only thing that I could see

was my guide driving me to hide.


‘It takes courage to let go of pain,'

he said, but I held on instead,

afraid that I would forget it all

and that my guide wasn't on my side.


‘I will have to leave you soon,'

he said, at which all hope fled

I begged him to stay a little longer

and my guide with patience sighed.


‘One last look I beg you take,'

he said, and I, fearfully, raised my head

and saw the merest flicker in the dark

and my guide saw my pain subside.


‘Time to go now you've seen the light,'

he said, and I saw a new future outspread

as the flicker grew in brightness

and my guide faded as I was healed inside.




In the Passage of Time


The touch of a loving hand

restores serenity to a troubled

mind and heart.

A bond of tenderness binds

two as one after years

of growing together

until mind to mind

can meld and thoughts

merge in peaceful


To watch bodies age

with compassion

and concern,

ever watchful for signs

of sickness or ill health,

far more important

than wealth when time

takes its toll

and parts begin

to fail or deteriorate,

and sight weakens,

hearing lessens,

and mobility reduces,

but the heart still

cherishes the other,

if not more strongly

than in the flush of youth

when life was rushing by

and contemplation

of the other was lost

for a while to return

when age had begun

to wither the body,

and serenity became

embodied over time

to bring contentment,

joy and laughter

when two became one

in the passage of time.