Upon the West Lands.
Summer has long been spent.
The cold current of the ocean
brings the rain.
Piecing together the weather.
They have lost all hope
in better calms.

The haunting bones of the islands archipelago,
brings out the prospect of shipwrecks.
The still melancholy of moonlight caresses the fallows.
The plowed hinterlands echo beyond,
the boundaries of  saline drenched land defenses.
Celestrial sunlight is long gone,
as the gulls make their passage home.

With myrtle and whispers
I undertook the words of the sages

Promises relapse in an unseemly  fashion
Man the forever disobedient

The plump moon
compromises loftily

The Dryad's harsh splendor
boasts their specious context

No morning blackbird
my words unsaid
remember there's a fall

The days drew in,
the shadows caress my face.

As the calvary of life goes by
hearts of frankness set me free

Who wants to know,
why the black crocuses don't grow

Behind the cascades of leaves
the bald Sun has to run and hide;
didn't you  hear its arrow rush,
For this is how things are.

Assorted formats E6 C41's B/W
the freedom to choose.
Analogue photography,
so composite for the waiting completionist.
Central weighted or average metering
there's a modernist matrix too,
and manual focusing
or automatic focusing.
Selenium, CDS, or silicon photocells.
Cobalt shutters or cloth curtains.
This is the playground for  the eager:
creativity for those patient users.
Incident or reflected light meters
to avail,
country scenic views

Valentino was performing high fives
looking for the tried and tested for the night

A frightened lizard showed her reticence
whilst her brothers were rampant in their cravings
partying like  the last days of Rome

Let Peccano tell the truth
for once in his life
He could ungrow his nose
so he could follow  the nostrums

Like a rattlesnake
she said I can take you
to the last days of the Weimar Republic
I can show you discordance
or a decided lack of joy, (Mangel an Freude)
like a lizard's unoriginal tongue
her message conveyed doubt

Some teasers
What comes down faster a pound of feathers or lead
and can you tell the wood from the trees

Are you art worthy
Can I unlearn you
fortune unrenewed
just like a night in Leipzig

A father returns to his birth country
and enjoins  the garden  route tour
from Johannesburg to East London by plane
we enjoyed our Koeksister biscuit on board.
On the road, we saw a Scottish man
with his native maid
sell tartan rugs in  the middle of nowhere
Then  to Plettenberg Bay my parent's honeymoon  abode
where we saw the August Whales at the lookout hotel
through the telescopic lens with a Canadian's Canon  F1  
The waitresses were no more than  16 years
laughing  profusely amongst themselves
We traveled to Cape Town
But I was in  no fit state to join another wine tour
I was “  moeg”  - tired   from the car ride

Hearts and holograms
Snoring shabby cat amongst the rugs.
Pomegranates and playing cards
Memories are like scattered roses

A fireside of crackling antics.
A Soliquoy at its own behest.

These are your tired orange curtains,
silence after the fall,
such a pretty afternoon

She stole daffodils
from park benches
and cemeteries
She told herself she was no
Monster
but a light-fingered missus,
just after a glimpse of the next world.
Besides turning to serenity
she lied to herself
cherishing her conscientiousness

Hearts, holograms,
progremates and playing cards;
kept close to the chest.
A feral cat amongst the pigeons.

A fireside of crackling antics.
A Soliquoy at its own behest.




These are your tired orange curtains,
silence after the fall,
such a pretty afternoon,

Down the cafe
they always hear about my extended dry patch
and it's not just the staff
but customers too that aid and abet
my marooned tadpoles fears
They've encouraged my Ukrainian War poem
and developed my nature poems
from cold patches we have been having
to  near spring-like weather

No extant postman's deliveries
No morning call blackbird
Sodden blankets blown on the vetch
No conveying telephone poles
No excitable cats eyes
The world has ceased
No sight No Sound

When you look out the window
sparrows fly to the ground
I'm walking the thread from past centuries

I want to haunt Sir Walter Raleigh
make him plough potato fields
and partake in the tobacco

I want to confiscate all the assaigis from the Zulus
turn their weapons into plough shears
and grow them maize in jubilant fields
and partake in Valhalla on weekends

Have you ever kept a scrapbook?
silver slippers dangling in the sun
or have you ever seen that golden knowing

your memories could be temporal keepings,
that collage was only yesterday's decision

Those stet pictures are only a cellotape preservation away
Their meanings have been prolonged

Submerge yourself with sorrow
make every wish aloft,
cease the leaves of lead.
Soon they will be unenvied by them all,
bream like the sullied.

Grief as sure as a fired gun.
A house without windows,
and when the door opens
they glisten of earthen ware
within a cold summer murmur,
words are all the same
a tapestry for the unfulfilled
and God is weary of the rain

Autumn give me your mists
and your warm soil,
squirrel pledge your kernels
of deciduous brown,
soon tall shadows
ply their density,
whilst the arcane wind is hazy,
as it soft-pedals on the meadowlands,
time picks the gourds of Autumn.

Denizens and Harlequins doff their hats
in the bright morning light.
A lady plays the harpsichord,
where now the brambles grow.
Wild peacocks parade under the velvet lawn.
The World unchanged you said

A grass snake slithers where lovers lay,
but who remembers their story.
Impressions come and go
in the cold light of day
oh to gain a rainbow's end.

Its all my body needs
growing old,
going bald and with
Elevated Liver Enzymes
Like an old soldier
I picked up analog photography
and took pictures of the trees and landscapes
which brought joy to my soul


I have been occasionally offered seats on the bus
and for brisk walks always come last

I have a croissant and flat white each morning
but find the cafe too popular now
and vicariously listen to 70s music
as if I were someone else

In January you're planning a September recital
for your orchestra with your Son Peter.
You are reddened by the warmth,
creating sounds.
Whereas I am with my poetry
pushing the boundaries,
reading yesteryears accentuation,
shifting my craft.
You’ve liked my pastoral poems,
I await your sonic bites.
You're clearing an audible path
from another world,
pouring light into your notes.

The girl you left behind
Her demour devours from the green vetch

The boy is softening
To her door, he came
This is how it was imagined

Little by little the days grow shorter
You shouldn’t sleep with a wild one
Let the north star be your guide.

Spirits nestled in castled ruins.
Frangipani caught in the rain.
Poppy dogs with sheepish eyes
Happy as pie Larry in Lincolnshire fayres.
Dragons Tooth flowering late.
Ordinariness dressed in leitmotifs starts to fade

Dream yourself back in the 70s
have a thunderbird wine
and recall Soho
with their ***** mac brigade
Blondes grow galore
under the halogens lights
Stars they strike a memory
Ride a White Swan
a serious Yellow Ford Cortina mk 3
and a fine mettel of a DIY  Judo book
with your thousand island sauce
served at eel pie island

Like a master coat
for all occasions
you wear your school colors well
yet when the gong sounds
you stand to attention
such is your inverse discipline,
of one so institutionalized
who cannot see the woods from trees

Learning Latin as a dead language
reflects the ethos of the school
- parrots at dawn
You feel you are wearing a straitjacket
when outside in the real world
and your dawn swims
don't inspire confidence
like salted caramel
as an after taste

I wish I knew moonflowers
they seem to strike an accord
like ambulance chasers
perhaps my gardener could plant them
if failing that some narcissus
would sound fine
Yellow seems the color now
it bleeds a wide field
as an avalanche of people
evacuate their once proud country
and the new barbarians
foil human corridors
as we face a precipice
of Moonflowers waiting to wilt away

In a road with endless rows
Where do I begin
Forever waiting
I talk with words I have invented
The Suns yellow light
and the God of the night
will retreat
The laid bellow aplomb doesn't absorb
and this raging tempest
my consciousness revived

Troubadors sing their hearts out
Surround me evermore.
Spirits caught in castled ruins.
Frangipani wait to hark.
Poppy dogs with sheepish eyes
lost in the dark.
Happy as Larry in Lincolnshire fayres.
Dragons Tooth flowering late.
Ordinariness dressed in leitmotifs,
starts to fade

Pale riders ride
upon the crest of a wave,
favoring chance that
happenstances along the way.
Screeching wheels of endeavor
proclaims the day.
They pronounce on a hum
the daily turn of the day.

Pale daughters
don't follow their father's orders
or wash behind their ears
laved in white light
they sport a smile when  necessary
compelled by an accidental mischief
detentions of exclusion
rendered in the shade
They wouldn't go dancing on the almost air

You curl around me like a spring.
A Lighting lead,
no words to express.
Opulent blue-eyed
come on down to my place?
don't be fancy
I try to agree,
furtive as ever
all I want is to cry?

Excuse me for the comparison
but your fractions  are looking jaded
Was your teacher a bully
who thought you a dunce
There's nothing to grow old for?
Have you ever shadowed the Sun?
And now you're not so decisive
Life is not so rosy
I tell you what is in store
There's nothing but the grim reaper
and your Mother was a harpy
and the folly is the end of the rainbow

Under open skies,
there are no lies
looking forward not showing
you robbed what was mine forever.
Where you ever over curious,
that made you weak.
You say you are unique
but I've seen the self-pity,
chase the sun
that brought us together.

When  your French teacher
threatens to speak French only
by week three
you know your own
a losing wicket
Goodbye friendliness
and a gentle flow
No humor,
No franglais.
Floats like a hurdle,
stings like a bumblebee,
in a now tangled web.

A silver lining passed by
the rainbow.
The sun is still shinning,
for my state of mind,
needs no defining, notwithstanding
yesterday was painted grey.
I just told a fairy story
of a redemptive gull.
Till tomorrow
we celebrate,
our February song
chasing its tail.

She climbed the waterline
upward and appearing
just for the occasion,
day after day
kidding herself when it doesn't
matter anymore
be careful of the stitches
on attention
to let go of the relentlessness
awry of the persuaders

Dandelions have their way.
I'm writing blank verse
because I have no images to build.
It's like searching for a suite of cards,
and tomorrow will be replete.
Picture my pride,
poetry is like a starling.
The grass has gone to hay,
my hope like a ceaseless parade.

Heavenly abandon
I want to sing for you
You were searching for a friend before
the second snow
Two can come together
but love can bring you down
unless you're the one to free me
walking down the streets of paradise
country home comfort

Heard a song about you on the radio.
Its never too late to relate.
You were high willed and a bright orchid,
a contented yin and yang.
I could never leave you,
remembering when it all began,
you're were a friend of the band,
two-second snows from colorado,
from the moon, I fly you;
some kind of poet,
sealing her heart in mine,
breathe in you'll be the bay,
who put a rose on my cheeks.

Right-wing Boris conspiracies awry
they tried to lynch Starmer
The Woke are fighting back
No ancien monuments for us.
Meanwhile, Tenants fight council mold
of long-neglected council dwellings
Our Saviours have been returned
sealed unopened,
on a sunken ship, inflation at a generational 5.5%
Gas cap in April at 7.1%
February days
Evergreen Russia on the reconnaissance
War in Europe
What have we learned

In January you're planning September
for your orchestra with your Son Peter
You are reddened by warmth
creating sounds
Whereas I am with my poetry
pushing the boundaries
reading yesteryears accentuation
sharing my craft
You're clearing an audible path
from another world
pouring light into your notes

Couple with time on their hands
A lot is happening
Fashionable ideals
smart television
very much interested in their timetable
That's their story
not their sorrow
or heavenbored

A glisten of silver birch
watch your fortune so
like well wished for rice cakes

The Sunrise, son of Jupiter
wordwise, all over the place
with all the beautiful things you are
Is this the love you have bought?
from bow to stern
you reap what you sow

Rainclouds fall like christening diamonds.
Yet there's no silver lining,
well hedged around this  tempus fugit.
Yesterdays grey hubris
is undone by a fledging bird song.

For my state of mind needs no repairing,
deeply woven, establishing a living,
trying to convince ourselves,
for so many good kinds of reason.

Finance holds the town back
They've closed down the Milan Bar
and Currys moved out
Sing to the skeleton of a town center
carrying the deluged plough unto my ears
the promises of the councilors, prowl
towards helplessness

Beneath dying  birches,
wild children play,
leaves fall through defiant sadness.
Empty mills observed.
Farmers sing and stags enter.
The ambivalent fire by the campsite,
blurred dervishes dance from a black wall.
Scarlet's laughter's a merry-go-round

The chime of the church bell,
the fugit raven flies by,
longer days, we are alive,
were poppies grow taller,
under the midday sun.
bare heads celebrate their happenstance,
where we have trodden on our freckled dreams.

Pale daughters,
don't follow their familial line
or wash behind their ears
laved in white light,
they sport a smile when necessary,
compelled by a accidental mischief
pencils of exclusion,
rendered in the shade
We wouldnt go dancing on an almost air.

Sometimes I think of you since we meet.
I've tried so hard to stop the light,
But wishing I were someone else,
cant free the feeling.
Somehow it's not just right
I took the sweet  from you
you were the only one,
love has gone away,
I was never one for singing,
dandelions have had their day.

The rope seems hung
and the time spent seems present
Beware to balance the wire
and sight what we see above
of your changing seasons
so that we are acrobats of love
under travelled lights

Digital falls too easily
She took better in Slide
than JPEG
and even though the Slide was pushed
it had a retro Fuji green hue
than the dull colors of the obvious
shots per second of the DSLR

Gazing into melancholy melon skies
that I weaved,
Blindly searching for the shadow of wisdom
Blue is the color of cornfields
its truth so probable
Please don't turn on your back on me
and parry me away
shine on your earnestness
Thinking back to yesterday
may help us find the now