Retaining my feelings and personal streamlight
can be  synonymous with a record player
start-stop, and cueing for  movement
but never repeat "repeat".
I could not necessarily afford to  retreat
into a  misplaced  time zone
and face yesterdays despondent pitch.

I drowned in a metalic pool.
Yet needing more varnish
each coat felt like sub polar pain.
I sought dying like a goaded swan,
yet out shone by my newly acquired nail polish
still possessed enough attraction
even in surrender,
to brush your ergo

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.

It isn't easy to know
what to do with such unhappiness
I waved my battle plans at them
They paraded in their midnight striped pajamas
We decided it was a drew
Until they put bubble gum in my lock
I bleached their door mat
We agreed weren't good neighbours

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

Crowded trains and incognito inspectors.
Neverdays happens all the time now.
It's a travail for the birthright few,
seeing changes
disneyland for newcomers
all our labours their turnaround
free movement.

Russian black grass and an ornate pattere  garden,
pheasants basking in uncertainty
culpable designs eyeing towards.
Yellow book inclusion,
asks more than the obelisks shadows casting down the acers,
the mia crocus still a red mist
before laying the asphalt driveway.

Quebec  as plighted as a star
your unclaimed  luggage is nearby
in  nearly new corrugated  blocks,
brimming by the wayside.
Playing hide and seek
with stolen identity cards
making sure the hinterlands
wont find you

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

She wanted a new poem
To brighten the day
She wanted to disrobe her gloom
That her love had left
She follow his footprints
and composes a sonnet of bearing
On a night like a flower

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.

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.

They say you are a rats
nest of  wires and circuitry
but thanks to a reputable shop
you're still guaranteed
The ancestor of the Nikon Fe
Nikon's first automatic camera
The battery is in the dafest of places
behind the mirror
Rabbit ears for Non auto-indexing
You are a workhorse  my Nikkormat EL

You're a mustang Ford by design.
A proverbial workhorse at 2 and a third lbs,
heavy even for contemporary standards.
Full shutter throttle in your mount.
Outstanding Rabbit ears for non automatic indexing.
You've got a reassured shutter life long click,
without a toxic battery
and an impervious iso dial for finger deftness,
and are a considered consumer model for Nikon
a poormans f2.

Tough Bakelite body
A DSLR without the pixels
only lacking a LCD screen
Advanced autofocus
update from F90
choice of 3 alternate exposure meters
DX coded
iso from 60 to 2500
speed range 30 seconds to
1/8000 seconds
1992 to 2001

Equally adept from 1978 and today
You're sturdy compact by design
A Nikkormat el platform offspring
Your size is influenced by the Olympus om series
A silicon meter for accuracy,
aperture priority
and a notch for NAI lens
Good for astro photography too

Think  again and contemplate what will happen to my friends who are staying over for the next day or so.

The only thing that you should get involved with is issues with yourself


Nothing's worse than being a bossy Manchester girl trying to move in
trying to steal my friends.
We have enough problems
without a home grown rash.

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

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 promise of old friends
that never materialized
And the man slides backward
Beyond the broken  promises
no inner light in his horizon
He was a stranger in their eyes
as the rain kept rolling over
as your childhood dreams
were taking away
you cannot buy friends

Nothing going
you never give me your patience
only a situation
Do you know what's it like
to hear your mantras
You're impossible to know
Elephantine and restlessness combined
Corporation t-shirt
you untangle your alliances
showing no imagination

Emmerdale lost her confidence
and that's why she never go
to the brockwell lido again
she hated the way Jimmy
tried to pick her up
at the The Florence ale house,
she forsakes the 196 bus on Tuesdays and Fridays
to spend her time in the cookie shop
talking to the old dears about their senior cats in clover
and budding clematis

Northern boys are strong and tender
By the campsite they regale stories
of their forebearers hunting Caribou and Reindeer
Adroit with knifes
high raised
I love you
A clover for a bed what a Quelle surprise
telling you their secrets
as vert as the hills
and marigold as the future

The happy turn of hours
in sunnier chimes.
Half-dried mown grass,
and showering meadows.
Bird song in the fields.
Shaded trees wheeling around.
Moon Crest,
glows the lived in old house.
Where time passes by
still, as the lingering day.

You roamed beyond the rainbow
you exceeded the limits,
with exalted sigh
felt the shudder of  relief.
Then the room of decontamination awaited
where chips from collected memories
short circuited
in damp vaults
where tree roots once grew

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

April showers, fandango,
get a hold of your handle.
But she's got a hole in her soul
she's one of the night people!
the gypsy women said
which is upsetting her,
keep abreast of her darkly days,
lonely singing out of tune.
The whole thing is bringing her down.

In the stillness of Winter
I do not know what I wait for
The bigger the less fallible
I'm a big fish in the pool
Quashing all  hatchling in its way
ensuring there is no overflow
withstanding the colored rain and neige
The larger ones will inherit the world
as they meander down the riverbank

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.

October morning are you up to the task?
Who needs their trousers repaired?
Is the tailor up to  scratch?

Mothers and their daughters incessantly arguing
They've got lifelines on their aprons!
Old Man Lenin spoke of the epoch of change!
still, he blessed the rain.
Robin on the pitched fork
Rebekkah's still shimmering
Is the soil heating before the fall?
October Morning what use are you?
when you come so sheepishly

The ****** for any Allotment holder
is harvesting Pumpkins with foliage
for October
with the clocks back
they'll relish digging over the soil
looking forward to another year

Meanwhile the Farmers markets
at Herne Hill and Dulwich
will set our retro-chic spiralling
a half loaf of brioche
and a Mrouzia Tajine purchased
amidst the newly penny conscious
"adequate provision" becomes the norm

She forgot to love
never remembering about the waste.
Her sun red hair would one day
turn to white
In the meantime her yellowing letters
were taped with  bind.
Deftly turning her head
she reminded shackled to the dark,
the invisible string undercutting
her once smile.

When shall the Spring come
Like an essential oil rinsing over me
All good things worth waiting

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

There's a little bit of hope
for everyone,
an enabling.
Like a record that keeps playing,
a snowball chance in a dream

In the Rain and Sun,
there's a late Autumn dash.
There's a pigeon of a smile,
breaking through cracked lips

There's a sigh of consternation,
well being like petrified wine,
that keeps us moving
Can you hear me now?

where do you go to when you're old,
like being at Clacton in November,
the swirl of the waves conjoure Shangri-la.
Quelle surprise.
As the months go by,
the whole lot is thrown to the winds,
lost your allotment!
the young always get what they want,
but never appreciate  the waiting game
nor can you count on health every day,
just like your Lazarus cat for a nifty vets fee.

The Queen of consternation
drinks champagne wine
She picks marigolds before play

See how they shimmer
Autumn leaves
myriad never the same

She has faced her cares down
reading lackadaisical from lovers pages
She's old enough to know better

she bangs on about the changing political landscape,
that she was a veteran of the Ohio State shootings
although only time could crack the  shell,
split the kernel we both know as truth.

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

Land and rock slides
are the order of the day
They point to twilight world
Like a speechless old woman
With pitable likeness to a witch
And when she froze
She had flown for five miles
on a broom handle
A little lose on the left bends
Disliked like the anonymous sea

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.

Black enameled  embellishment
Your beauty is refined
Like Audrey Hepburn or the Porsche 911
you share their Maitani good looks
OM2 you are the earlier OM1's size
You're the best of both worlds
Manual and aperture priority
Shutter in throat
Deftness is the first priority
A superlative on the field camera
better than the Leica M3 or
Canon A1

The butterflies flight
comes through fields of leaves.
A damp fizzle dampens the throat.
The air is aimless
and full of dust.
The grass swathes amongst the thickets.
The stiff trees murmurs memory
once galloping antelopes on the hoof
clandestine in the lonely morning air.

At five oclock Calnorifian time, they switched off the beacon,
setting the mercury  into descent.
If San Francisco bridge was nye
how many tired and toiling poets would have jumped ?
Instead they muse elsewhere
resurrecting  their craft.
Jaded I can also taste the Whiskey
hum and rattle in places unfamilar
the sufferability no longer artistic;
Friends among us the dearly departed

I have flown the tallest hill
and it mends my heart
Understanding why
What have I to prove ?
Perhaps I'm a jackdaw in disguise

Walking on rainy days
There's always another time and place
Come that Blue Monday russet feeling
There's so much finite dreams
They just reinforce
the laughing tin  down the road

The  blueish pond recedes
in the dark shade of the trees
A swan lies dying
A solitary bird mourns alone

It's raining on the windowsill
a forever lonely man is in a quandary,
its sad news
love has stalled:
satin excuses straight as lace.
Old Man is forever aware of changes.
Now the Sun is peeling,
and his sojourn has faded,
like the journeyman easing into discomfiture
while the moon ponders.

We held the occasional truth in the palm of ours hands
right or wrong we trembled the stars
only to find the intergalactic  flotsam predisposed
but in keeping with our fears
we crossed  the  Rubicon
to  unforce the  key
down at circes place
where we never waiver

Order  has a long-endured shadow.
Like a fire learning to burn.
I've fought hard for the easy life
seeking order,
in the natural economy.

We have a recognition,
with the season's slip,
lit bright against the houses.
Standing to it all
forever an early October song.
The disorientation of a citizen.