She touches the ground to undo her pain
yet never the wanton Earth Mother,
having shed her tears like brushwood,
sweeping perceptions source.
Never the prophetess
self preservation is tying enough.
The moonlight runs countenance
never in congress
with those ethereal spirits
who have lain in wait, now fade
after-all its a truer life being  you.

If there was a Sidcup onimbus many eons ago
would it differ from the Clapham one?
That's how far away you are in my thoughts.
The insignifance is almost wreckless
when played such as these.
I'd rather wear my white dress
and yellow flip flops
just to spite you.
I can't  play your game
but I  convey to you
luckily your nothing but a one off
deemed quite not parfait enough

When the offspring has  flown from its  nest,
having been nourished all for the best
it will soon fly westwards
to welcome the  beginning of  its own time.
How our original plans  speck away
when we had  laden the  powder of  trust
on  its  feet
but so  often the web has run full circle
turning from purity to  false flight
the inner being of the  fledging

To thrive in your company 
away from everyday cares.
As your words sway the splendour
of wanting to feel home together
I'd picture you as a Emperor dragonfly
and I a Hellebore Red Lady
and in the in betweenness we'd win each over,
you would be the free flight
I the settled  contemplation
the still thrift of spring.

Clap to the tune of the modern thymes.
Ones lucky to get an Americano  for under £1.50p in London
It's time to count the pennies
by moving to Stoke on Trent Staffordshire
it seems to be affordable
unless all those London rehoused
are already there.
Its better than Croydon  though.
oatmeal  crumbs yo see
gives you a soft landing
safeguarding the streets
I feel a little  safer less bother

If ever a  ***** lived and tried
to steal every-man's wife,
on her  disappointment
she threaten to tear her hair,
entreat a  scene, poor lass.
How I wish  to ***** a  hedge
let them grow abundantly
just to keep her off my patch,
yes my own sense of  self
my steered sullenness
that will preserve  my catch

Fickle in self and in nature
at least Winter is giving me a stir.
I'm already seeking daffodils and snowdrops
going to impossible  lengths
trains and taxis just to glimpse
the glory of those shortened days
where my irises softened by the mild hue
gives a wide credit to the prevailing next month

As long as Jennifer  
betters her heart
joy will never wash away
for the beach will seem to part
to  gravitate
the softest  sand
from where her newer spot
will enjoin  the surest  pitch,
breathing in the long held ideal
that the good  times will surely  roll

Lady Highgate, Martha thought alone.
Death or the gladioli,
the train tracks have already taken
companions , too quick to take in the malady.
Park benches, astute cold Sundays,
but no invited parties,
suitcases increasingly deftly packed,
never staying long enough to dream
Concrete  gardens, searching the shortest rose

Caught in perpetual motion
the sounds of 1970 can never dim.
Like a colossal empire
we're the last gallant year of the 1960's
Got newbies Quartermass and Ashkan
waxing  mettle
The Hammond and blues still ooze on
Prior Bubblegum pre Decimal  Day!

When he wants to rest
leave him there
even with three strokes
you're heading for his intractable claws,
that in time you realise is more than play
but common assault, drawing  blood
His vet had at one time looked at his nose
commenting it had a bit of Chinese,
surely not siamese
an unspoken language at your peril

The wind follows  its own course
brazen it  blows
much as our fraught relationship
that simply meandered away
like Cypress's on desert plains,
ill suited for the habitat
what germination there was,
was for the wrong climes

On an endless journey
this Christmas eve train
sees loved ones texting,
amongst the rustle of newspapers
before the next days stay in.
All we need are snowflakes
like maidens tears
to lustre in the year.
Mister Robins cheerful
that he's remembered
more than those last moment e- cards

that sad sounded lady
with open mouth
espys the edge of gloom,
like a whales calling
the tide compresses
as an unvaliant chain,
the machination of cause
will not whisper sweet serande

Maybe another story  can furnish the mood
let fate wave a sensation
the passage between you and I,
its tantamount  to a  binding ;
fortuitously a  lit spark
will shorn your  withholding  the truth,
a silent  yearning reached,
long set as a promise.

Another time the stars will seize  you
parading your aspirant hopes,
first touch still bristles
that earlier shine, while not quite alone
for seeds of dreams will broaden your shoulders,
walking taller than your beckoning.

If  the words  came out right
would  you  stumble  on glass shores
promising  never  to return as an empty shell
becoming  in turn better than you were
by captivating the glint of  fascination

I often wonder if  truth is delirious
ripe like summer ****.
I often think of  my friends as fruit
There's Jenny with peach complexion
and Ruby a beguiling plum
Maybe  one day my  lover will call me subtle
but what should I call her?
Perhaps I should call everyone  porcelain,
to jest too far, is to  personalize unthinking
merriment on the  blind side!

She needs lip balm
to soften her chapped lips,
perhaps  she's spoken out of turn too often.
pity that she should think life goes in circles.
I assure her there's  no  Karma
just the softly softly of window gazing
to pick and unravel if she cares enough

I remember my Father denying
the sense of long haired men
claiming being born a man was set
At that age  I simply admired his strong words
as though he could  thumb score the world
So amazed  I left the ladybird book on the bus
He was surprised, but  not angry
gestures of tolerance went a long way.
After all a few years  early
he berated a Sunday  newsagent for
their archaic  sales  law on that holy day.
Being a daughter in retrospect had its advantages
a  strong  Father who could  navigate  the  rivers
seeing beyond present truth

The flakes rain from the ceiling
Chinese lanterns burn,
its like thrusting  your arm
into the eye of storm.
The rub of not  knowing,
bad choices were  made last night,
try not to swelter
tired eyes take a bitter  blow;
those proverbial laughing stocks
discoloured discourtesy wiles

I recall our glasses of  hock under candle  light
you smiled, casting the probable like an ingot,
knowing the way we could take it -
the alternation of  life stories,
attachment or killing  regret 
by the whiskey wine route,
having graduated a step into  remiss
slipping in an ex,
I only realised it takes nothing  better to do
than missing things up

First light prays for me
birdsong plaintive as ever
bathing in happiness,
the crown over hill
stands aside
new life from the source
undiminished.

Raisins and pebbles jingle
in your frayed pocket
what else  have you lost?
whilst repentance is at your leisure,
the end is nye
remember the rain recounts tears
and wagon wheels ghosts memories
stand tall if you can
albeit at your own acquiescence.

even the wind chases down her cause,
sequestering at her leisure
Joanne seeks memories
beyond her highgate bedsit
she dreams of tenderness
but could never quite divulge
where it's journey ended
She thought the breeze could carry her defences
Only now, she concedes.

Wild wind
brazen stung
past dying night
indigo balm

Down forlorn cafe this sweet latino chick
always serves  me with a smile
I underlie it with an order of chicken noodles
One for me and now invisible friend

Joanne is wary
the seashells once listened
now no longer confide her secrets
the flickering candle has already cast
her life line
night times tides have peaked
the easiest of passages are lost
and as much as you meander
rest assured the reason
will one day untangle you

clusters of heaped leaves
lodge against sunsets orange hue
turning towards autumns fanfare
I sense this  time of cleansing
a shroud without a name descends
taking only twigs to ignite an epiphany
Autumn you are a cove with an argent must
whose manifest dusts rotted boughs
an ecosystem to reciprocate
considered hope

Bedsit lights flicker
floorboards  creak
the night prolongs plans
to see through the situation
An envisaged train journey to Canterbury
may just reawaken this
side of reason
realising clear thoughts  
the richness of discourse 
where I may visit some folk club
summarise these my questions
through a better door

At Junkers  yard
Aurolia and Olivia
those fallen ladies smoke their  last ***
with dropping  mouths they've tasted yesterday today
before taking to bed and resting.
Elsewhere the enamoured  trod wistfully
already their  regrets  had hit rock bottom
their wives until then convenient gaps of  memory.
Decembers  winds  took records
the  local press were having a field day
recording the gaps in descent
of past union.

He gifts them Summer fields
and even fetches them twilight sun
stinting over rows of trees,
where  fireflies hover
and in the midst of paradise
you realise his regimen is familiar
he has already sent multitudinous pals,
adorned in grey and tarnished buckles
into fields of blood red poppies
and vortex craters filled with iron oxide
no greater love than scarred sacrifice
to perfect his  own dusk

Between the space of nothingness
your narcassistic  streak speaks
to my sincere wish to scratch your face,
almost to imperfect you.
You look tired venturing for a fall.
but otherwise you hide it well,
that arty look and swept back hair
there is no other love than your own
drown and follow your cause 1975

Desperate Dan kissed Linda Liu
and the Moffat brothers went in hot pursuit.
Rita Redford had seen it all before
that dog pained look for Liu,
although she's never had her two cents of love herself
heres her chance
to smooth and balm
poor Dan's unwilling lesson.
the plainer gals are steadfast
their roots  are manifest
they know how to tame those tempest hearts

I've both toasted and buttered
having been served equally well
with marmite and marmalade.
I've dinned in Brugge and Halifax
trod the true path of kings
in places of requisite legend
still flavour claret
in truer climes
and tried to sting like a bee
composite and true living
slight of hand yet self assured

The morning brings the moths
her cupboard bare,
she attempts to prise the day
what to wear?
snatching thoughts all is  balance
nasturtiums or foxgloves,
crumbling trellis stakes
she wraps a blanket around herself
and sits in the garden , guarding motionless

ramshackle emotions linger on in buildings
permissible tears stain window sills
the white lady admits mea culpa
she's untrained but in need of love
azure dreams will follow
but never can she be a tiger
her flame is stronger

its the civil service as we know it
counting blocks of years
for a gold plated pension methinks
and watch before your eyes
the transgression of the soul
taking orders on rank Mondays
and progressively suffocate till Friday
week and year once over again.

I like the way Peter is sitting,
his eyes are very expansive
he reminds me of a solo climber
effervescent with pride
joyous on his return
His gist is simple Buster Keaton
with a straw hat
and there is  always Sunday theatre
to gallivant to
with my earnest Friend.

I am gallant in another world
the girl with rimmed glasses
and partisan polo top
in white slacks reading the guardian weekly.
I have no need for men
they are too needy
who trip over in the firmament
unlike my day dreams
of calico cats in the shade
and friend Jane

i am gallant in another world
the girl with rimmed glasses
and a Parisan top
in white slacks reading the guardian weekly.
I have no need for men
they are too needy
who trip over in the firmament
unlike my further dreams
of calico cats in the shade
and my friend Jane

the tip of sensitivity
more like a bruised arm,
and statistics their own measuring scale
what is imperfection if the keystrokes
show otherwise?
and is relegation rolled up sleeves again?
who serves the relish
that delights in fallacies?

I'm floating on a web of my own making
and yet for me its only half conceived
turquoise shafts of light
flicker through myriad happenstance,
as transient thoughts ebb and flow
like swarms of butterflies
cascading against an invisible wall
where I first spun my fate

we hear the dancing men giggle,
**** cloth comedians
two Tarzans twittering
like nightingales singing in berkley square
their female wrestling partners
as bereft as any whale
longing for ruby rings
to signpost the hell out of there.

For therapy i call the fire brigade to
to inform them Westminster bridge
here i come
and daydream of pushing  nannies
and their charges towards  tumbling waterfalls
and with my friend Judy
we watch tall men jump over ditches of dahlias
in the foggy dew
for no other reason than
we want to be amused.

I am only in it for the  vanity
herein lies a heart that cannot sing,
yet watches over puddles of incessant rain,
and sees mildew sprout on cupboards
in north facing rooms alternating  between
cold pockets and erstwhile sunlight

earnestly he tells her from deep inside
the night carnival knows no slow of hand
love cannot be whispered
its as strong as the night is long,
a seamless canopy
a lichen bed  made under moonlight shadow
and  just three simple words
as tall as the sometimes mountain

at 39 she tended to over dress
her red coat and black denim trousers
tried to hide
her pelvic pain,
only her doctor seemed to care,
her once boyfriend was nowhere to be seen
she knitted time and handy was she
wishing good tidings to all
suffering brought the tendrils of understanding

the night shoals of city lights,
where stumping feet
gives their own interpretation
to the baseness of silence
nothing is serene
just marked time
with feral pride
stretching into tied darkness.

Dusk will wash away hope
as sometimes day labels lives journal
as the eloquence  of fools
but the nights emerald light
will chide the constant promise for resolution
permanently unfinished.