the deep ocean
matches your eyes.
I cannot quite fathom their depth,
many soul plundered sailors,
have met their steely death
by the wayside of your smile.

Care worn
Follow the sun to temerity
Razor cut your perfection
Hail Appolo your God

The night comes hither
Forlong past heroes
and paperback writers

The perceptible theatre goers
Gain an insight
Into the theatrics of their fellow performers.

Will I ever find another you?
where do I search for my Hampshire muse?
your flowing red hair forever autumnal.
We walk the New Forest
you show me the language of glistening leafs,
the ripple of streams cascade,
where wild horses drink.
Togetherness by the runes.

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

we are all dolphins at heart
in the present flow,
life passes us by
and the twilight hours comes quickly

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

Love is like a mechanized lullaybe
like a chain smoker
open to the cut flowers

October  attached itself to my window.
Dahlias breezed like a thief in the night.
Happy to share in Autumn's  raise.
Farsides I wish well myself.
There is a rusty red, ginger aroma.
Silver needles shedding from the hide.
Autumn's sun sunk in fallowed fields.
Daydream in a lost October
We were happy to share in its murmur,
to tailgate the night.

Under the shade of the heavenly Magnolia
Just that once he jaded
Having noticed flocks of skylarks
venture abroad
The servant rain finds its path
And soon his hands separate the soil
Mother Earths' plowman
Her banished son
Continues his labour

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.

Cut out that old routine
we all have a cross to bear
Wishing you well has been an experience
I know you have had a tear following you
Pack up your woes
carry your evening star
I have the strength to carry you
to your destiny
be not so fearful
I will unpick your sorrow

I want to see the bright lights tonight
and wait for my supper
Monday morning closed down on me
I was under a karma
French butterflies she sold me
I watched you with my
one good green eye

and now you're tiptoeing
early to the station
don't be late
Everything you did
You did for me
I used to believe
you fit me like a bill
scrub me till I shine in the dark

In the stillness of winter,
a blue light comes a shimmering
The World enjoins its inclusion,
as sorrow is banished.

We could go to the London Zoo,
where you'd hear the hubris of
the laughing hyenas.
We could then go down the Spectre and Crown,
where all the punters would admire your
white boots and a penguin suit.
Then we could  go to London Eye
and you'd taste one of the roller coasters rides,
using one of your ample' lives,
and your whiskers would react deftly in the air
recalling some ancient fear.

I could be the lash
under your eyelid
taste your summer wine
sip from your song
Such an azure day
listen to your dahlias grow
meet you in the street
mid-cycle
in the passing of goodbye

As a  swallow you are delicate
like a Leica you are a masterpiece,
with rubberized curtains.
You travel well  and always provide
a cozy 35mm  lens in one's Christmas locker.
Intuitive shutter in the lens mount,
built for overall compactness.
Astrophotography is another treat
for this durable camera.

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.

Over sad and tumberous plants
I skipped  with awe.
Meanwhile at home
i hid behind the sofa
afraid of a voice

In the darkroom
I scramble for my header,
a kingdom for scissors.
Sprocket enmesh  header
and gyrate with deft turns
to  the end of the spiral
cutting with a final twirl.
Let the darkness be illuminated,
by passing it to the teacher's hand;
that lost coordinated sensation
now can't find my tank.

The  tortoise shell cat Rosie with only three legs
and the matron who married the headmaster
a mariage de convenance as the French would say
and his Labradors Captain and Brigader with their whipping tails
And live in teachers old as hills

i wish my friend could smile at my dreams
and fortify my schemes,
believe in me as I you
make boldness second nature.

in the air i smell chicory coffee
beware of the Huns.
Their  trenches may be close
Achtung ! Achtung !
I am correct.

In the dawn of the cornflower
opaque morning
I hunger for peace
By the Marigolds
I held a requiem for the lost souls
Whilst the church bells rings
beneath its grille of tumbledown ivy

Croydon, Greater London
is the place to live.
Labour other than the South.
Its got 2 poetry groups for your perusal,
and a World cup Box park for your delight.
plus 12 libraries.

loneliness is no ones friend,
the sea by yourself,
means you act like the only sailor.

Glos cheese is so mild and true
like fall at 16 centigrade
It's mellow like a church calling
reliable as the day is long.
It comes yodling down the hay wain
It's slightly nutty in a good way.
It lays prostrate on an orbital path
and welcomes strangers.

It seizes the day
and comes office suited
like a coach and her price pupil
Nutrolling you along a righteous path
Brandishing away nettles and brambles
to lay a common purpose
like a prayer book

August is the slumbering Month
replete  and sated
where colours stay true,
reds flame purely
blues glow coolly.
Whereever the peak crescendos.

I am moonlight
You are sunlight
I am pale,
murmuring low
You are bronzed
with a glow

The Lord  is our rock
He  leadth  away from temptation
turning us from the darkness .
He tramples our enemies
and shields our hearts
giving us both hope and forgiveness

Lilly is different from other girls
her black cat
has something of the night
Lilly doesnt care about her figure
shes size 10 and knows no better
as for dates she rather eat one

Caught in November
Troubadors sing their hearts out
Surround me evermore
Spirits caught in castle ruins
Frangipani wait to hark
Poppy dogs with sheepish eyes
lost in the dark
Happy as a jester in Lincolnshire fayres
Dragons Tooth flowering late
Ordinariness dressed in leitmotifs

The pallor of the overriding hills
with holes loitering the roads
and the nascent night
with canned Viking descendants
looking for their own Valhalla

Innocent stars over pointed anoraks
Bright things have birth
Spilling their large frames
into a vetch of tundra

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

Share with me
Give me your fledging feelings
I will shape them into something probable

And I cherish the rain
that musters under your feet
Tansy herbes of the heart
would turn you into Eve
And I as Adam drinking
the nectar of your countenance

come and enjoin in the procession,
wear your Khaftan
and incant with  pride
scatter roses, inscribe love
youth against the old beatniks ,
and lavish at our break neck
Pacific surge.

They tell you inflation
is good for your soul.
It sharpens thoughts on the larder,
avoiding the food bank

Blue and red walls shanter.
As the people aim for higher ideals.
A parliamentary debate
of the nation's stable
Hotel Rwanda remapped
Impertinent Channel 4 for sale?
Conversion therapy stalled!

The builders of the nation
lack impetus.
It's time to see the injured raise.
They say the meaning of success is to work harder,
for the same wage.
Its time to uncover the CONTRICKATIVES.
Business suits without a care

The sublime was playing sax
as super creep waddled into town
with ill matching socks

The Fruiterers had overfed this
fine young man
into a well-figured gent

The Cigar dropped its ashes
forever figuratively,
pumping his diesel
for a Mercedes experience -
cruising on the top


The Summer Party
Why'd and what'd
they sought LIBERTY
their feet dancing
to the final whistle

how can your justify yourself
when there isn't a heaven up there
be on your careful watch

the blue boys wander through town
looking for blue girls
to share a bed

The lonely boys pick moon beams and stroll into the recesses of the night

if azure skies were  for clean people
and clean people were for the Queen
the Queen was for Empire
with the Empire being gold.
Gold for the minions
and minions for the saints
what a convoluted world it would be.

i exist solely  
to fretter my abilities
making you sad

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

bright eyes follows light
its easy in Las Vegas venues

She runs to keep healthy
dressed in black
culpable, catching the sunlight
Her beads of inspiration
clings to her  underarms
She is at peace with herself
Her red jacket drapes her hips
She is sure of her run,
speedy as she goes
deftly middle-aged

What a friend we have in time
all the gifts to be foretold
I have seen the Northern star
from an alleyway
and chased the phrases lined from your lips
and ushered each syllable
We can make a reason for laughter
but if you go, alias
like a dried leaf
floating neigh  on the riverbed
I have only one wish
like a falling teardrop
to wake at nine
coffee in bed with you

blessed were the river dolphins
brightly furloughed alongside the riverbanks they abode
to test natures woeful health

you have been veritable and green
with a fill  of the  flowers
and a country walk with fair maiden

I met her picking apricots
from the wayside.
She said her name was Rita,
and she sang sweet songs
to mellow my heart,
where she went afterwards
was only told as a legend.

November is our treasured month.
The sky is chilly late Autumn,
yet colours seem to prevail,
with tiny asters and
the soft hue of hydrangeas resonating
and acers brimming red like beacons
on such drear days

I am a suggestion about to be sang,
a harpie awaiting the midnight.
I was an allurement  before your birth,
a whisper stored hellwards.
noting your worth.