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

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

Dismal has became helter skelter
most ladies in Mayfair  seem worn
they're tired, waylaid in fur
but its still a man's world then

The soothsayers grin
England lost to Poland in the qualifiers.
The aftershock of the energy crisis
sees new Sheikhs
money rolls like oil,
it buys and buys for some
even for the horses competing
at the London Riding Horse Parade.

The  joy  to  be
outlives  dreams
yet we must  sense  cuboid  skies
will follow one  to  the  breathe
of  forever
where the winds  will clusp  you
to  the  next voyage.
But  today  must  be   considered  beautiful
for  there should  be  no foresight
than the  simplicity

The joy of now should outlive  dreams,
yet we must remember there are cuboid skies,
who would rather hem us in
until our very last breathe.
But today must be considered beautiful
for there should be no foresight
other than simplicity.

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

Innocent green Country bus
to Warlingham
some say its a nicer place.
But we've got an Elizabethian Almshouse
and the Whitgift Centre is sterling.
The Sun has every reason to smile
we've got Lloyds park overlooking
a Manhattan style skyline,
but have we ignored the uncosmic
North of the Borough,
even West Croydon is a jaggered corner,
making unequal development a mea culpa for the future

In the artefact of Dreamland, resurrected wooden rides
hope for countless  bookings,
though the  drunks  
still come to the  Mechanical  Elephant
for their morning well-being.
Buyer beware
cameras with broken  meters are displayed
from the last camera shop
We are witnessing  the flaming of the sands
that  still remembers  Mods and Rockers
with a montage of photographs at the train station's entrance
including two girls
tearing each others hair out,
ominously welcomes the expected arrivals
from the four corners of the social,
making this as exciting
as a  holiday weekend in Hither Green
without the sea.

I held onto your nettle rope
that your hands fashioned
then we  descended
the watch tower in Leith Hill,
elopimg  through the
greensand way
so that we could by pass the silent pool
where no young maiden could
tbe waylaid
by errant Knights again.
By such means compassion blossomed
gallantry pertained to new days

strife isn't for free
boulders cost more than heft
lacklustre fate besmirches open mouths,
taking arms against the throne
ages man,
surviving on required pittances
swales the rivers end.

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?

These are the things I remember, well
The raising clouds over the smokey hill
into the Natal Moon
where the Boer sharp shooter
plies his  *** shot luck at us,
Rooi Necks  over the ridge
and we drink in mirth
surviving another capricious  Summer

In an oasis
where gentle families go
a cafe where modern life is overhead,
an American Father unconvincingly tells
his youngsters this is a gender neutral country
his missus is silent.
A lady is on her laptop
whilst deftly handling a mobile.
This talks of  marketing
making a niche.
Her fortune assured, sitting amongst
the yummy mothers
a mini boom of sorts

With bags on the trains spare seat
some have lost their decorum
the snobs have moved to Herne Hill
the way they think they are the movers and shakers
makes dopes of us to believe
that class leads by distinction
or Isas solves their children's trust,
their culpable  four by fours
shows impolite roadside manners
on  the Dulwich school run.

China display exhibition in library,
colonial plunder out lasts pace.
English man people
the circuitry in critical repentance
makes refunds essential
in this day and age.
Elgin marbles - hush whisper,
the glued upper lip is a snippet
of subdued anger,
but return is beyond serious
is it  the Capital"s right to usher in spoilt spoils

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!

I will  put slime on your suedes
and pull your cashmere  jumper off.
There's no chance of you
pulling the wool over our eyes.
I think you can afford to cry
again and again.
Daddy's rich boy has to be brandished.
If you are a snitch in the making
we're only here to brave you up.
So don't blurry blurt!
Who needs detention
we've got to watch Rabid at the flicks
this week.

The clown stares at me
his war paint is as Thursday as Tuesday
His tired eyeballs orbits through my head
although he is more content to hide into his shadows
afraid of what I may know.
Do people like him.

The ocean has dared the drift wood
to the shore
and waylaid dreams will come
to busily haunt ones memories;
those  eyes that once held your story.

I am touch.
A rinse of saffron rice.
parable on a summers day.
A green leaf waiting to wilt.

I am journey.
From the depths of the oceans.
To rim of the bay.

The gentle blow of the wind,
that picks up the aroma of your winter wine.

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

Take my hand,
the cloaked supervisor's not very happy,
so let us boast
that if we bury his lanterns,
all signs  of yesterdays failure
will turn to dust
and seemingly recast
peace can break out
by drinking the mirth
the new  buds  can grow

"Tree trunks" a  Cruttenden name calling,
lucky  I didn't get a  kick
after french lessons.
Sheena arrived half term
we laughed at her frickles
but envied her stoicism.
After school we smoked our  Capstans
watching the opposition Hockey Captain
up to her neck coughing.
If  I say anything  more
you wouldn't  imagine
I ever  grew up

Another midnight Dear john letter,
flatters in the morning
before the hand delivery.
She is satiated with this action.
Her intensity met,
another soul is down sized
because of their trusting humanity,
no winners or losers
just a time waster.

Your poise appertains  to  longing
rouge cheeks murmurs awakening,
sunlight  russet  you  aflame
parched, have I conjured expectation?
in needing I first sought assurity
yet endowment flows,
morning dew
greets our windowsill
enriched by the sunrise
set by  manifold glows

We will watch the saffron  by moonlight
and think of our dearly departed cat
as we stroll the lane
Each morning a daffodil
in God's sunny country
Proclaiming the poetry
of our feelings longevity.

Autumn is the priest of pride.
Her shadows lifts a gentle fragrance
that farmhands duly celebrate.
The coffin makers drink a sweet nectar
that lifts their souls.
The milkmaid idolises memories of her first  love.
August is this flame

I'm the girl with a yellow mac
and red stockings.
When it's autumnal,
I kick the weathered leaves
and stand neath the boughs,
whispering to the impending season
i stand alone and need no one else.

Has it rained in your  heart
and have you buried all of those
drowned kissing frogs?
The saturated coastal trail leds
you  further away.
Yet I recall the days
your postcards were postmarked
Polegate with the best of Sunshine intentions

Wild wind
brazen stung
past dying night
indigo balm

the black widow schemes
Her bony finger outlives
the crest fallen soldiers

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.

My friend's visiting Calico cat hid
under the TV table recently
a momentary panic is a very long time
when uncertain in anothers space.
Reminds when I was 9
I lost my locket
and told a fib
on how it vanished under the sofa
clearly somewhere along  the hither
there lingers a trace of a lie

She changes with the seasons.
Sara stores her secrets
in the harvest diary she keeps.
Shes natural in the Autumn
her smile can freeze doubt,
she has arms wide to be a comforter,
providing shelter from your woes  !

you are the poet
the mirror to my soul
you're  like a beacon
that lights up my direction
your words are a gift from Heaven

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

Dearth of  Budliah
the opacity of death
The Roses flattened
like a calf awaiting slaughter
a mist drugs Winter's Mirth

You need a bone meal to furnish the soil
to amend the trellised Wisteria
and let the Magpie roam around
the worms with their natural habitation
These gifts quilting in their inner abundance

i am the whisperer
that travels around
Gadfly is what im accused of
like a bee
in your cochlea like sanctum
this is my swansong.

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

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

Let the  Moon absolve my cruel streak
for persons in a  bubble may  never politely apologize,
whose idea of buoyancy and eventual wilderness
may  never soldier a  salvo of  regret

In a few years 1970 will be 50
I wonder how many possessions
we will still hold dating back then.
Chirpy chirpy cheep cheep will be plus one
and hot pants will be memories' manna.
We remember walking in lounges
where upholstery shimmered,
orange curtains and green leather sofas.
After 50 years we earn out right
to morally uphold then truisms
Bastions bemoaning the nonsense of today
Perhaps  being inclined to finally say
your face doesn't fit here

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

If the scoreline between us is not pleasing
there's a door to pass through,
another room to re-count feelings somehow lost.
Its an unwritten fragment in a diary
towards a realised tear
I have tried to hide

He twitches his whiskers
by the window
in some symbiotic compliance at the birds sound
in the middle of the day

He flattens his sleek stomach
alongside the sofa
to hide from the current world
but he is no coward
or your ordinary moggie
but a kindly tail

the pellicle mirror has cast you adrift,
through the eyes of a cameras lens
your piebald skies have became translucent
and I as the auteur sense the trace of a smile
cast as silver halides
intriguing but ultimately lacklustre,
the speed dial has somehow turned to bulb
like an expansive mantra
a hybridised moment

What has this day
promised ?
that I shall call good,
it is neither primrose or succulent
perhaps its cloaked in a thick skin
an unmerited fist,
alas -
simple turns from  fortune.

Are these girls for real ?
eating outside the cafe
its a cold day in April
they have no stockings.
Little sparrow show your dare
pick up bread crumbs
from their clueless table.
Somethings got to give
your fledglings are more deserving

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

Both of us cannot win,
in circles not for the first time
what defences can we possess.

Melting in your arms again
what more must I reveal ?

That nobody editor from Leeds
she thinks she can tell us
who should write the garden reviews
She likes to think she"s backbone of the society
she's a townie from a town
too small for its yolk.
One day I push her into some thorny
spinoza
that be a gadfly for her big mouth