the leaves gather ghosts
in the shade,
boy of the dark,

where the breezes wait
for the overgrown rose to
flower, immersed in
love and sky,

and the summer night
breathes in petals of gauze,

you sweep me away on a
blue-glazed tide, draw me
into your arms,

drown me in an impossible
sea.

the roses bud and flower,
then darken like the dusk,

you fill me with the
sweetest love,
resonating like a bell,

i die crazy in your arms,
cry out for you,

unweave the stars.

summer buries her
golds and yellows,
opens her soulful eyes;

the running clouds
whisper to the day,
write love notes on the
parchment sky,

you remember our love,
brush my lips with
a kiss of rose.

i’m drifting like
the sea,

your voice the colours
of the sun,
unwrapping my core,

the ink dries on the
paper,

our love glows in the
gentle rain.

moon, bright lamp
of grey,

sky, open and brave,
colossal dream of
drifting love,

sweet journey of
the night, lifting
her pretty head,
worn and unholy

like the falling petals of
the stars.

boy of dream,
the colours melt,

your lips finding mine,

beneath an ashy sky,
where the shadows lean,

your fire finds mine,
your kiss as beautiful
as a summer rose.

it was near the cricket field,
stitched into the ground -

amid clover and tufts of grass -
a little ring of white mushroom,

longing for the night sky,
for the journeying cloud,

sweetened by flower and dust,
where the little fairies danced,

balancing on the air -
weaving the moonlight like cloth -

with their drowsy feet
and wings of blue stalk.

in the dream he asked me if
i would like him to read me some of his poetry -

i said i would love him to and we
set off for his house -

but we seemed to keep travelling
left, although i knew his house was on the right,

and suddenly i was in the basket of a
huge crane, lifted higher and higher

600 ft, 700 ft, i couldn’t find jim
and i crouched down in the basket-

with my hands over my head -
and everything was like

edvard munch's  ‘the scream’
and then i awoke and all i could

think about was seeing jim morrison
and how i’d have liked him to read me his poems.

you are star, you are moon,
a blur of white in the rounded night,

tranquil as the narrow streets at nocturne,
where the tall streetlight breathes

its half-moon yellows, love flowers
behind frosty windows; behind

avenues of dark stone and gothic
eaves the dust of the moon

starts to settle, weaves a golden web.

sweet as our lips,
summer boy,

dream of blue stone,
as the night flows like a tide,

burgeoning like a drifting
cloud,

you are my boy of dream,
blossomed from water
and moon,  from crystal light -

i long for you
summer boy,

as the last stars vanish,
blunted like the hills.

the hawthorn lays down its ghosts, thick
with dulling pink; the stream quivers,

its blue shadows sunken, gleaming,
at low ebb, breathing like a mirror

in the sun. beneath the trees it
is dream-like, cool, dark and

magical, the leaves little harbours
of breeze, voiceless, white as bone.

in a garden, slender with summer rose,
where the silvering petals
gathered whisky clouds and love,

the shadows smouldered
while the breezes built bridges of
leaves, in a darkening, near nocturnal world;

and i sat, marvelling at the pretty sunset,
at the shady boughs, at the gorgeous
sky in the fading light with its golds and blues

and i felt calm and settled, while the
sun grew smokey, burnt to ruin,
(in the soon ruined sky) dulling, nearly black.

our love was the look you gave me -
full of longing -

controlling me with your voice
and your legs,

until i collapsed, wild and hungry,
desolate and content,

every heartbeat seeking love,
every dream imagined.

you, the light of
summer in my arms,

you, with a gorgeous smile
like sunbeams on the shore,

the masculine line from
your sideburn to your mouth,
leaves me in a swoon,
(as i watch you speak,)

as if this sunny day flowed
through us like a poem –

bringing us out of
winter’s chill tombs –

your love answering mine.

the woods are never quiet,
like a sea they sing to the wind,

the birds carry the leaves to the sky,
they whistle and dance,

their voices weave through the woods
each song-thrush like a small storm,

the skies drift forever,
the honey sun rises and falls,

you ground me like an anchor,
pull my head out of those poet clouds.

in a field of long grass,
bronzed by the gold's of the sun,
the wildflowers grow,
far from the blue mists of the sea,

dark root and thundering air,
the hawthorns blossom silently
they are everywhere, white clouds
like drops of moon against the sky

as if the lonely dance of the skies
was a heart-beat, was your love,
as if the sky could not be more beautiful
with the sun, the wildflowers and your love.

you carry the night, merge into me
like a song of the sea,

dark night of song,
budding like an early rose,

my heart strums its
favourite chords,
dreams of your love,

when i was dark and alone
you found me,
mending me, loving me.

bluebells flower in the rain,
boy of love,

buttercups on long stems
full of summer’s gold,

the world opens its doors and windows
the air feels fresh and clear,

sadness weaves its way under the trees
prefers to wait in the shadows,

i dream about you a lot,
boy of love.

i.

i am stone,
a bandaged angel
in the middle of hell
where the lightening lifts
the dark night from its gloom
and stars no longer shine.

ii.

i am a skeleton of flame,
death’s child of an ugly
war, and all the love
in the world can’t change
the past like a rose pressed
in the dust.

iii.

i am the living,
seeing the soldiers come,
and i pray to god and the angels,
on this broken road,
that the darkness is not real
and the angel is not stone.

cry, tawny moon,
prism of a dark wood,

the stars wave and hurry
flow in their rivers of black,

the skies, so far away,
gather their metal loops,

guard a dark world.

the poetry silvers the stars
carries them in a tender arc.

the star of the star of the morning
is restful and breathful and free

the star of the star of the evening
blossoms dark as a shadowy tree,


the waves drive out far in their rivers
as blue as a star in the sky,

and the darkness relents for her shivers
must finally die.


waves turning and burning and dancing
clouds wandering e'er ever on

and the darkness that finds the new morning,
as cold as stark night's bitter song,


oh, brother who wept for my sisters
no tears as alive as their breath

swept out where the wild sea blisters
and pain knows of death.


wild whispers, wild birds and the fury
of waves that sing out to the clouds

the death then of life that we bury
laid out in the whitest of shrouds


the sea, oh, the sea, how she sings me
a song of a dance never sung

and her rhythms soon calm and placate me
her bell solemn rung.


and sweet love is the journey i strive for
as blue as a mysterious sea

and the love is a fruit full of succor,
and the moment will live e'er free,


you stand tragic as a painting so mournful
alone as a poet who rests,

and the lull of the storms here at night fall
the sea's treasure chests.


the day wraps the night in her roses
and night wraps the day in her sight

and midnight's soft moonlight supposes
that day is a journey e'er bright,


and love was a love still forever
and love had no rose in her bower

for the floor of the sea like a feather
the delicatest flower.

i.

spring's grey moons
everything is still
the hush of the skies.


ii.

first new buds
white cloud of hawthorn
morning's broken ghosts.

iii.

strengthening sun,
iron and feathers sky,
bird like a speck.

iv.

blue edge of sky
sunlight on flashy wings
empty world.

v.

clouds of drowning white
blowsy sweetened breeze
tall grasses sway.

vi.

last winter gust,
shadow on the earth
song of the rain.

vii.

surreal morning tide
hurrying wave
kiss for my love.

viii.

sea-spray hits a sail
anchor lowered down
ropes thrown to shore.

i.

water-born,
the dark skies of the lily,
its song of petals
and gauze.


ii.

unwrapped and
white,
rushing in
streams of
bending flower,
ghost of a blue star.

iii.

ghost of a tender night,
calling out to a misty sky -
the breath of a star -
light spaces, stormy opals,
tranquil air.

iv.

sweet flower of
the dusk,
gathering the
glow of the lake,
gathering its
honey’s and frosts.

v.

below brooding clouds
that drop their tears
like heavy dew,
the lake deepens
and whispers,
carries its grey mask.

there is uproar in the kitchen.
you would think some restaurant was over-
booked and a weary chef was fighting
to deliver ten covers at once.

all i said was “i can’t get to sleep.”
he has decided to save me.
my valiant knight on horseback
is in the kitchen making something.

i yawn and sit pretty on the sofa.
it is nice to be saved and spoilt.
i start to drift away to some
distant land trying to ignore the blender.

he arrives with a large cup.
he gives this to me and hovers.
i must taste this though
i know it will burn my lips.

i can’t leave him hovering forever
so i take a sip, burn my lips
and melt with the softness of the milk,
an intimate pleasure.

my cup of love, hot milk,
cinnamon, honey, all blended
to froth and he has grated
nutmeg on the top.

i smile up at my valiant knight
and he relaxes, all is well.
i have been saved
no more dragons to fell.

dark as the night
beautiful as a storm
your love,
a rose sweeter than
the sky
my everything
and nothing,
my live wire,
my shooting star.
touch me so i feel
alive, unwrap me
tender and warm
bewitch me with
your kiss until i
melt into the air
in the metals of a
sleeping world
gather me like
a flower, fly to
me like a bird.

i’m cold -
well stand in the corner
its 90 degrees!

i.

in your love, boy,
a summertime of dream,
a kiss on the winter wind.

ii.

in your love, boy,
a sky of lotus,
a sea that never relents.

iii.

in your love, boy,
a jealous heartbeat  
sweetened by a kiss.

iv.

in your love, boy,
the wonders of the earth
the white mist of the hills.

v.

in your love, boy,
the honeyed kiss of the breeze.

i.

the last leaves of autumn
have fallen like birds
floating on the breezes,
catching at the windows,
gathering the golds of the sun.

ii.

the first chill of winter
anchors its petals
to the earth, gathers
its frosts and its ice.

iii.

lady of the winter winds,
black waters that wait,
shimmering to a softened moon,
harbouring the drifting stars
like little boats.

iv.

sunken into dream
the night sky maps its path
blows into the corners of the wind
conjures its caverns and
dark caves.

v.

i’ll never let go of your love
for my legs,
your love warm honey,
my yesterday’s caught
in tomorrows, sweetened
only by your lips,
i drift into your love-
i’m in love with your love.

i.

the passions of the night,
romeo’s serenade,
the landscape grows cold,
falls back into winter sleep.

a sparrow hops in the hedge
flutters its wings, sings songs
to buddha.

ii

the night’s roses unwrap
their final petals, flower and
flower like a star beacon
gilding the trees with their golds.

iii.

the leaves are descended, their
rough edges torn bronze and red,
they cluster in the rain like origami cranes,
the colours of a winter sea that
hurry across the sky as cloud, a note book
of blue ink.  

iv.

a dance of night, a ripple
fading in an opal pool,
flower of the air,
flower of the night sky.


v.

our love, drifting like the breeze,
tapping at the door,
deafening the world with its
loud sighs, blowing its grey
storms and silver clouds.

the silvers of the night
thin in the autumn air.

surreal beneath the
bridges of time

the ghosts of the leaves
shiver as they fall.

the tide reaches out,
spins as the waves give up their
ghosts,

the tide with its thunder and its rain
spins back as the waves tremble,

your love, pressed to my lips,
a song of winter waves.

autumn melts the skies
her oranges like
bright rouge,
her yellows a
half hidden sun.

the fires of a waking
world, blown by
the branches of the
wind,

forgotten, an
ending sweeter
than the last
fragments of day
that dream as they
fall, caught by the
torn breezes that
scatter the leaves
westward and skyward
like little ribbons hurrying
along a once summer path.

the clouds storm and stir the horizon
and swoon like a sorrowful bird,

the sun sinks the same way once risen
and deafening the fires of his word,


a lover waits hopeless and dreary,
and hopeless and dreary departs

for love not returned leaves her weary
and breathful her heart.


a vision as clear as the ages,
that reach to the soul or the heart

the storm of the clouds broken cages
long gone those soft clouds that depart


and the sea strides to shore like a viking,
and rages eternal like cloud,

for the storm now is spent and surrenders,
that once stood so proud.


the sea she will wrap me in flowers
and drown me in ivies and wine,

as the sharp winter wind blows wild showers,
that bury the aches of the pines,


and the sea i found tender with rapture
blew me back where the ages relent,

and the sea gave me back all its flowers,
for the love never meant.


desire is no pastry or pudding,
it is death, it is life, it is naught,

in its rages it cries like a blossom
that bursts from the bough and is caught,


no lover could rule or control me,
but they begged and they begged
for my love,

and the love that i gave soon destroyed me,
a lion to the dove.


yet the sea dries my eyes from my weeping,
rejuvinates like vinaigrette,

and love never once won or departing
soon buries its soul in regret,


and the sea sings like a stereotyped lover,
too broody to throw out a rose

and the rose would be tearful my lover,
seas sea e'en froze.


for the sea is a viking of passion,
strange ghost of the wind and the wave,

and knows nothing of love or compassion,
but will leave you with the dark that can't save,


i see her in the **** frost, her blossom,
the waves that still billow like sails

the foam the blue foam near the flotsam,
her song a soft silvery scale.

where leaves cascade in red and brown
and a stream sings cheerful melodies

and the last of the bright sun wanders down
and a hush falls on the honeyed breeze...


there sits beneath a shady tree
an elfin girl of the wild, wild wood  

with a dress of silk as green as the sea
and the softest feather in her hood


she dreams of her love with a carefree smile
the love that warms her girlish heart

and the wind blows soft down the whispering isles
where the tiny song-birds flit and dart


a song for the woodland green and fay
a pretty song for the inky sky….

a song to while the time away
here where the leaves of autumn lie…..

oh, how in this dark
oh, how the wave flows,
the sky black and stark-
oh, how the wind blows.

the little dogs bark
their songs full of woes,
oh, how in this dark-
oh, how the wind blows.

the autumn draws nigh -
last splash of the rose,
a withering sky-
oh, how the wind blows!

ghost-like, the song of syrinx,
seven hollow reeds plucked
to make a flute, a star-wish
where the dark waters ride,
(the horned god laughs and plays),

shrunk to a dusk, the river mute,
her voice trickles over stone
and leaf, branches reflected, pools and
caves where otters breathe, where
drinks the evening dew -

her voice fades like a star as pan
awakes, his pipe brushes her lips,
sings of the infinity of night of
a moon white-layered like stone,
dancing like a woodland breeze.

like stars, her eyes following the path,
time moulded into its caves
the sky with its sapphire-mooned dome,
the rustling trees where the fast
wind swore and shook each crooked branch

here beyond the houses and the well-kept lawns,
the low walls and scrolled iron gates
the sounds of the night a bat’s wing,
the sagging wind gusting, smoke
peppering the sky from chimneys in a thin flame

or the jagged ice of a jaded moon
where the horses in the woodland
shook their manes, grey-eyed like
athene and her owl, untired as
a fog-spun sea, relentless and alive,

the trees and their ghosts around her
she held her breath, bare feet weaving
along the sandy track, dress flowing,
her arms covered in bracelets,
her lips, coral-pink, brushed in peppermint,

free to dream at last , eyes swallowing
the dark lines of the trees, hanging the dusk
from her eye lids, singing of the sweetness
of the night and its ragged clouds,
the raw dust of the moon.

her dreams were blue pools, the night
with its midnight leaves, her
heart longed to be free, to wander
through the trees as wild as the
horses with their stone-like manes

and sweeping metal hooves, brushed
with the inks of the sky in the shadowy
woods where everything was still but
not still, where the moonlight carved
its name in the woken tree.

a yellow rose winds to the skies,
blossoming, letting soft petals fall to
the cidery earth, blushing in
the caverns of the sweet-flowering day,

inspired like the greek
sun-god helios but
drawn out of rhododendron
and apple, drawn out of love.

a thousand years of summer,
the wolf, the thin mouth of sky,
a diamond bumble bee, the
gifts of a stolen sun,

shaken out like a rattle snake,
the broken angles of death,
the lost side of each word,
with all its intentions and promises -

fallen to the floor, like an apple,
or a blind mole loving
the soil, the dry earth,
the faded parchment sun,

or a rock of ice, in a tangy glass,
where the summer sun
grows roots and shoots,
shadow domes and leafy golden skies.

i.

the sun burns the grass and the ferns,
they melt under a bright sky,
roughening, like the tongue of a cat,
the grass with its brown sandpapers.

ii.

the flowers pray for me and my
watering can, on a dirt track
the water splashes and the earth
drinks deep, the trees shiver
at the thought of water, their
branches sway, this is to dance -
leaves with patterns scattering -
leafy shade and pools of bright
sun.

iii.

drawn out of the air a drawbridge
of breeze raising its portcullis and
suddenly the heat is bearable,
shadows and sun like a patchwork
quilt.

iv.

we wait for summer, tender-eyed,
smouldering in the heat, the trees
like colossal statues of bronze
stretching branches beneath the canopy
of a green sea in a dream spun
from ebony.

v.

i kiss you, grazed by this
orient sun, my heart
seeking yours, my
legs longing for your legs,
my limbs threading
with yours
while summer
sings of her forgotten
ghosts.

cute.

how ***** does harry kane look when he scores for england.

requited love

the heart pounds
its engines and its seas -
mend and free.


unrequited love

in the wild and
desolate sea we drown
our hearts full
of sorrow.

i.

summer, with her golden
light and bluebell valleys
sweeps the senorita skies
and shady groves.

ii.

the sea rushes to the sand,
relentless waves surrender
crashing on the rocks
where the raucous gulls glide.

iii.

the moon-sky of summer’s
warm nights brings sweet dreams
and lavender fields, stars
of slumber, ropes of
gold thread like
embroidered silk.


iv.

the white clouds
woven from the rain
hide the sun which
waits for the blue inks
of a summer sky.

v.

small, the bird
painted
on the sky.

vi.


i am jealous of your legs,
crazy in love with your love,
swept up in your arms
while i wait for you to
claim me as your own.

love me i cry out,
i am yours, i am yours,
forever.

i.

in the wild, drumming rain
blossoms sink, confetti pinks,
riotous whites, collapse
in spring’s paper mache pools.

ii.

on a hot tin roof
the rain plays her wind
guitars and percussion
while the sea recharges
her engines with the
thunder of the waves.

iii.

the sound of the rain, chiming,
a crazy singer on the forlorn
lawn, stretching like an
accordion, wild in her
wilderness,  crashing
like the waves
drawing me closer to you.

iv.


you kiss me and
my heart skips a beat,
flutters with excitement.

i long for summer with her
gold sun, warm, rushing
streams and bottle-blue sea...

clouds without edges, white like
soft pillow cases,
the sky filled with the pale embers of dusk.

the day drifts away, striding, skirts swaying
floating in the ether, untamed and restful.

sunken like the stars, the
dark begins to ripple its black
pools, carves its statues of wood and moon.

i wait for you in this opal night,
my legs a song of longing
my breath a shiver of scattering
birds, flowers in my hair,
my kiss gold blossom
unlocked with a sigh.

i melt as you touch me
my eyes whispering silk,
blue enamels of sea,
my arms
gathering you to me,
my breast full of
dark songs.

i glow, my eyes bold shadows of night,
my lips pressing in to yours
gathering honey like a bee.

i am your girl of the wind,
a jar of stones,
your beautiful muse.

gather me to you,
hold me for ever
and i will learn to speak
of love like
a solitary red rose petal
falling to the floor.

i have a blank canvas,
my poems like watercolours,
sweet blues and greens,
drafted in blossom.

spring brings new leaves
and budding flowers,
opens her eyes,
begins to dress the earth,
finds freedom in the flowing
breeze,
while the sparrows
sing like fluffed out
buddha's in the
hedge.

the blackbird dances on the lawn
(always in a tremendous fuss)
birds scrambling with
twigs and scraps of cloth,
chattering about the silks
of the blossoming sky
and the sands of the sun
blowing ceaselessly
in a gold dream of day.

what horizons await us, what skies fasten
to the bright ambers of our dreaming bones?

our love, water trickling over
a pebble in a stream,

the whoosh of  
leaves and a shadow in the dark,

the ghost of a poem
written in a dream,

the splendour of the tide,

both everything and
nothing,

our love neither a poem or a sigh,
all the winds battling,

spring's blue moon waiting near the
water for one slow ripple to reach
out.

left behind, beside
shadow lands and winter roads,
the lonely heart grieves.

i.

spring's grey moons
everything is still
the hush of the skies.

ii.

first new buds
white cloud of hawthorn
morning's broken ghosts.

iii.

strengthening sun,
iron and feathers sky,
bird like a speck.

iv.

blue edge of sky
sunlight on flashy wings
empty world.

v.

clouds of drowning white
blowzy sweetened breeze
tall grasses sway.

vi.

first spring gust,
shadow on the earth
song of the rain.

vii.

surreal morning tide
hurrying wave
kiss for my love.

viii.

tide going out
seaweed-covered rocks
cry of a gull.

ix.

sea-spray hits a sail
anchor lowered down
ropes thrown to shore.

i.

words blur themselves
in the remote reaches
of the mind, verbs
and adjectives search
for voice in a tongue
captivated by ice,
flowering like the
newly blossoming sun.

ii.

frozen,
with the frost
that winter
breathes,
the winter’s silhouette the
ghost of the snow.

iii.

her voice a million
white leaves
learning how to melt
like a little snowman
wrapped in a warm,
red scarf.

iv.

the water breathes
its kiss of ice,

mirrors pressed to
the sky,
white hedgerows
with leaves
that shiver
gathering april's
weak sunlight,

framed like a
watercolour the
shadows of
midnight’s blue inks.

v.

the lake ploughs
its bottle-like
greens, surrenders its
shimmering breath
to the waste land of
the sky.

vi.

love drifts with the seas
where the waves rush
past, a colossal stream
below the blue stars.

the sea flows in,
rolls thunderous waves
against the shore until the
sands are buried in the
deepening water
and the grey rocks
can no longer be seen.

each wave is like
the row of an audience
in a theatre, whistling to
the shrieks of the wind.

it is winter and the
rushing tide
melts in the cold
below a steely mist
that the broad sky
wears like a mask,
gathering her skirts
of cloudy inks.

i hear the water fall
and i sense that i’m alone
with the crying tide,
watching as it speeds
to the shore, spraying
its foamy mist
in the air.

i am isolate, drowning
in the cloudy thunders
of the waves, hearing
the mighty barrels
hiss and whir, dreaming
of love.