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.

As Hellebores are to early spring
so was my urge to breathe a rare love.
To Sandwich we would inspire
lost in the Salutation gardens,
following the symmetry of leading lines,
flower beds at their most resplendent,
that we could sense
matching our feetlings
by April at the earliest.

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

The meadows sway under open sky
the bud of summer streaming wide,
oak cathedrals as proud as the blossoming light
to take in this merriment;
a pledge
of molten intensity,
where the silk robed  maiden appears,
instructs the wisdom from her lips
unbinding the unsighted
surges this celestial  ennoblement.

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

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.

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.

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

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

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

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.

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 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.

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

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 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 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?

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

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!

"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.

Wild wind
brazen stung
past dying night
indigo balm

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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.

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

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

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.

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 ?

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

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

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.

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

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

Sentimentality cries for the forsook
ardent feelings fail to match the  dawn
Haven't we all been burned
the splendour is dim,
eyes once willing
but the mists film over again
the corneas lustre clouded
as we the unsettled slip away
from others scrunity

The Red fox
with cool devotion,
moves around in circles
it is brisk in its actions,
blackened grass permeates the ground
it scorches the Savannah
The sullen waters lap around,
tall lillies of sleep,
angling out of sight.
The fish glitters performing somersaults,
captive in the air.

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.

Red haired girls always
seem oxygen starved
it’s like they've played hockey
for too long
or ran after their marmalade cat,
into the coal cellar,
after they had enough of  Miss too perfect

Oh to be brunette .
Toujors a different visage
somehow more autre,
strongly self reliant.
Cannot  believe their promises.
forever planning another
perfect  weekend  ahead

Arctic baby, keep your furs  on
this is  no  bikini ride.

Its  I who has  to hush you
telling  this is  no invite  to  Cuba

Mountain sleigh why  cut marks
like your  stilettos heels

Just  count  the  self opportunities
unswore the  star  dust

Smell the  cedar and  cinnamon incense
burn a  candle  wholeheartedly

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

I'm  listening to Saint Saens
on the radio,
enjoying peach liquor.
The clouds are celestial bodies
they rain when I weep,
the smell of the hollyhocks
is immaculate.