My Writer's and Artist's Year Book
knows me well.
It knows what I want to write
and where I want to send it.

So why - oh why -
does it stay obstinately closed
as I sit  and wait
for inspiration ...?

The Lord is my editor
whom I shall trust.
He maketh me to
reach for my pen.
He feedeth me with ideas
that I shall write down
for His name's sake.
He leadeth me to the right markets
and restoreth my self belief.
He fills my pen with blessings
that I can share
and poems that I can write.
Surely His goodness and mercy
will guide my hand always.
And I shall write in the name of the Lord
forever.
Amen

One advantage  of living higher
than the flat roof next door,
is seeing how two infant chicks
grow and develop,
knowing that one day,
they'll look
and survive
just like their seagull mother.

What those lower down miss ...

Old Mother Sea,
she reflects me,
her colours are my moods.
On a good day,
we sparkle - together

Greater Spotted High Street
looking very glum,
people treading everyday
on other people's gum.
Why ever do they do it?
Can't they find a bin ?
if they need to spit their gum out,
that's what to spit it in.
Instead we walk on pavements
covered in white spots.
It is a filthy habit,
so stop, s t o p , S T O P!

pink hearse.
cold winters day.
celebrating a life
obviously well-lived.

God bless.

To make it better,
first it must get worse,
so piles of rubble
beside the road
will one day be transformed
- or not as the case may be -
in the relentless
march of progress.
Perhaps.
Maybe.
Hopefully.
One day .