"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

Glad you got some fennel
from the Sunday market,
it's delightfully culinary
it look good in the alleyway.
Your  neighbour is spot on
there's a profusion of  scaffolding
in the street.
she jokes maybe subsidence ?
But  it's more,
keeping up with the Joneses;
spending as a reflex action.
People are as elevated as busy bees
Activity, activity,
idleness can turn us into tripods,
staying still, is no good.

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

The unbridled duration of time
I'm stuck in Dorking for two hours
Time isn't fleeting
Instead I go to the library
and read Seamus Heaney
and admire his black currents on a tarmac road
Otherwise I do a raindance mid cycle
And reassess my needs duly

A listless night draws in,
as you remember that boy
who only existed to break your heart.
The flutter of  bluebirds' wings  sounds endlessly;
until the salt tears dry,
leading you to the dunes
in an endless search
to find that someone special again.

searching in my mind
thoughts swarm like flies
a distant banjo plays

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.

Crooked widows like to bat
when the moon is high.
Under scoreboard asylum
they sip Ceylon tea
and scoff invisible buns
laughing at first love,
long after they realised
Cricket beats creases

A major mistake is to be swayed
by the illusion that moonlight
gives you rays
You think you are the twin sister
of someone equally  famous
but the  leaves still languish
underfoot
like mulch they can offer nothing more
than the suggestion to self flourish
under your own steam

Semblances have fought their war
and won.
I'm mighty flattered you follow me
Twilight silhouette
Blackbird gaze
one last fish in the pool

Bandages worn
Surrender soon
A riposte again
Old Soldiers die
in a must deciduous fashion

You come in with another's coat
you are no one's daughter
you're as fat as a water buffalo
Rock N Roll won't save you
but Jesus will
my way your day
just like your morrows

You should be glad
Just an honest word
will prevail
Do you harken
to another's accord?
with potholes revealing a deeper danger

A day so happy
Cantonese your smile
give me your daily rice

Remember Autumns action,
a bonfire of flames,
where the overgrown cobwebs of your life
are extinguished to your  conscience

Forget your barriers,
on the cobbled way to your destiny.
Once laden is the now free
freedoms hanker is tomorrow's high.

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

Several shades of dreams
A morning without sound
Rains when I'm not listening
I loved him in the morning
I followed his prays
on a distant road
where sands amass
he gave his poems on driftwood
I loved a man in a marketplace
but now he's  gone
under the tutelage of light

He is the faker.
Living by the river.
Cardboard eyes holding your attention.
He has no intention of goodness,
synthetically adorned,
living a lie just by blinking.

Nettles covers his body,
crawls on the ground like a newt,
walks in the greenhouse,
makes for penitence,
always thought he was better than thou.

Shades of Autumn
ply beneath the banquet
of a quilted leaves.

The skewbald sun,
our incandescent champion,
sketches and flows
across the silhouetted bridgehead

Your friends decried your darkness
was it just their shadow schemes
that somehow peered  beyond their call

When she was rested
she said life doesn't have to be a tragedy
I can show you what the night is for
Love doesn't have to be a pony ride
Unwade yourself
surrender to the swim
Your God is when shadows are present
across the dancing floor
in a state of infatuation
I blissfully agreed

She comes in colours
blowing the wind for her cares
Everyday is the same
a reign without a brace
satin laces for her hero

Gray birds grace us
Tallow was the sky
The sterility of the day
like an ox fat sacrifice
will save the world from sin
and all this obsession to save the heart
The gift of an incandescent rage
born out of the preciousness of redemption

I am a metaphor
the one you counted before,
the devil is in the detail.
the queried width of the sun
I am made of woe
yesterday's worth was a country mile
and I pledge my tears
now the war is won
it is so beautiful

English village timed out under a cloud,
questions asked of strangers
and their intent.
Bubble wrapped in picteuresque hue,
comical telephone box book exchange
a pub's  wall smothered in New Music Express pages,
forever expounding the 1990s.
The wildlife park pervading
through the  air,
less thoroughfare more nasal flare.
Perhaps they should live by their derivation
a place where sheep were washed.

she's buried her hopes,
somewhere far from home.
Daddy was a dreamer.
Mother scrubbed the floor .
The dog has a bone to bury
and lets pretend that the day is long
as it is drawn
with the customary cold spot in the night

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  !

The Prima donna was abrupt
she said she didn't want to be
part of any wherewithal
but needed a firm base on the dance floor
She's lost the noble art of conversation,
a glance in the armory of mercurialness

Restless in her heart of hearts
The streets are designed for a thrill
She needed a hero
strictly some kind of
game of chance
in a heartbeat

Up tempo here and there
dating another mans ex
holding her hand.
Azure skies to grace
that connection
eye contact on initial met
then sunny walks
duplicate it on tracing paper
each other's smile
under hanging pergola,
as connected as a walk
under pagonala
your smile broader than the
erstwhile yesterday

First, they check out your profile
like an oceanic liner making land sight
Then they say they like you
like a docking ship
but don't contact you
So you message them
and no reply
passing ship in an  Indian summer sea
Trained for untimely disappointment,
oceanic liner,
passing through the lonely night
seeking redress of red leave

I squeeze the last of the toothpaste,
well within my rights to be confounded
where does the time go ?
Only last night my paracetamols
where within a month of expiry.
The crux of the matter
office space is a premium
the lastest snag is hot desking,
early starts for the morning-
tired, tired so unnaturally.
I never seem to get the shopping properly done,
too preoccupied winding down for bed,
a cycle is emerging
my long life milk needs replacing.

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

It's just like a teacher
to suggest 1/125
for street photography
to freeze action
turn people into statutes
Shadows F2
Sky F11
he turned my camera into a light  meter
picking up the prevailing lumiere levels

Whereas I had always used F5.6
to record fleurs
A slight customary bokeh
throwing the background
and generally, 1/60 to stabilize action

I mute out all sound
Least I treespass on reasons rhyme

I enjoin in the signets call
Least I surround myself with subterfuge

Like a deckled cheeseboard
I hunger for a Silver  lining

Palimpsest on a bright day
I scribe letters already cast

Hearts and holograms
Snoring cat
pomegranates, playing cards
A fireside of crackling antics
Soliquoy at its own bequest
There's your tired orange curtains
silence after the fall
such a pretty afternoon

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.

it's that retired boarding school feeling
(although manners still make the man),
forgoing the prestige of privilege
except I left it when I was 11,
there's was no eleven plus taken,
no corrective carpe diem moment gainned,
just your direct entry secondary modern
a  carpet of the day job lot
like bottled water expired.
.

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

Miguel you have brushed winter.
Leaving me no fire wood,
having hidden the matches
to light the dinning room.
The velvet cushions  we used to idle  time away,
hidden in the attic
with dusty regret unrequited.
The emptiness filled by spider's webs
a scoundrel in the making

Your stained life came to fruition,
that frustrated lament
like the wind whistling down a chimney,
you still held your parched desires
to be awaken brick by brick
your opaque eyes mused
a  lost rusted recoil
from where your head used to turn,
down gullies and cul de sacs
until you ran out of retreats,
a pied-à-terre of disrepute
like a dreg sipping sloe gin
your nostrils flaring in the void

Fortitude  for our heroes
Take them closer to the heart
They are as curious as a curate's egg.
To suffice the occasion
we exchanged a greeting,

Blushed from smiling,
our ears tuned into
eine kleine Nachtmuzik,
to prolong the duration
The morning piano enlivened
our souls.

By the light of the moon
I am writing to you
of what I did today
The rue down the street is alight
and the weather is as cold as winter
We talked of the world today
she said life was hard
and if she were alone
she could cry


Yet she shouldn't have left me
on my own,
we should have met on the snow-covered street
and I send you all my letters owed
I am unable to sleep in December
I should go back to people
who truly remembers me

Dogwood shimmers in the late winter light.
Yellow red and in between.
Jenny likes the nearby willow.
The white buds draws her mind
to the later treat
a walk to the snowdrop trail
where upon Peter will renew his vow
one day set up home at Stevenage
so close to Benington Lodge
her favourite  indulge

And it rains here,
with the soak of grass
between my toes.
Blessed  lichen mounding
on tree stumps.
The Magical sun ascends
upon the hill.
My soul is replenished.

Today I heard the dancing of the wind,
salty air upon my clothes.
I braided with nature,
like sandals and clay
forever in rhythm.

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

As long as Jennifer  
betters her heart
joy will never wash away
for the beach will seem to part
to  gravitate
the softest  sand
from where her newer spot
will enjoin  the surest  pitch,
breathing in the long held ideal
that the good  times will surely  roll

And you know in your heart,
your secrets are your own.
Wrapped up in your own armor,
yet lost in confusion,
mitigated by chance.
And when you've given your all
true adage advice will ring.

There's less opportunity for analogue cameras thesedays
what has this century done for us?
Slide film is diminishing
its a niche market for the fast buck.
Instead its digital pixels rather than steadfast grain.
But I'm laughing most cameras are actually mobile phones,
an indelicate breakout of self love presides,
lost to the instant world of media
Facebook and twitter are the price draw
for me too media savvy
Clearly creativity died somewhere.

With a suitcase in the hall
the lady is leaving, Sunday
mingled in her uncertainty
is a goodbye to all those morrows,
with lush eyeliner,
she said she was a stranger to love
and in the morning,
she returned to her child within,
and in her sad longing
the rain relented.

Raindrops falling on the windowsill
A lone man standing in front
he's got not much to offer
Jack frost on the tin roof
Old Man blags his finer days
Alley cat roaming the other way
Hot shot comparsions sometimes soon
is about to happen

Opposites don't attract,
every pigeon has potential  butter on their feet,
sourced from an inalienable  mountain
of bread rolls,
they have  often dreamed  of flying
to the sun
away from the inhospitable  concrete  fields,
but  in the  heat
they become  stuka sirens
and  people will find  that an impossible  thought

Are the bluebells really a delightful hue
when they habitat railway banks
They are wild and not so rare
like the country we reside in.
We are a barren land
once proud but
with all wealth stripped away
Our Jurassic coastline erodes
likewise a once bedrock of national pride.
Our spirits wane,
we are too self conscious to crowd
amongst our own.
We have been too disorientated
to uphold our truisms

Trace the light
I will kiss your eyes
Keep the shadows at bay
Suffrage at the wait of dawn

There are seven wilted lies
that hangs by your smile
Doubt brushes
when you dream
Turns the Sun
in the curtain of your sleep