A poem on paper isn't enough
to describe our love and what we've been through.
Our first year of marriage has been the stuff
that reminds me daily why I love you.
Who is loving and caring, both brave and kind,
allow me to be me whilst staying you.
My English Rose, and I was lucky to find
a heart worth loving - one heart made from two.
Walking forward on the path of our past.
Constructing a future from our love true.
Designed forever and built up to last.
These words aren't enough and surely too few
  to mark our anniversary today
  and tell you all that my heart has to say.

Across heather, peat, grey North Sea - the sun
Witnessed through eyes that give sleep to the hand
Attempts war with the clouds yet still not done
Driving the showers beyond the headland
Many miles distant from this hilltop view
Where the megaliths and cairns of grey stone
Lie moss-covered - now visited by few
Other than those whose blood, life, soul and bone
Were interred here in millennia past
So that I before a cathedral sky
A solar fireball can see at last
God-like rise up, burst out and shine through. Why?
  Draw near to me now and this burning sphere
  My hands on your *******, you can feel it here.

The rain lashed tar of Monday morning rush
A Midlands sky of cloudy faces set
In silent fury at this urban crush
Of octane dreams propelled and fuelled with debt
Dacia Duster, works traffic only
Concrete, concrete, concrete, exit ahead
Lane closes in four hundred yards. Lonely
A cone lies knocked over, crucified, dead
Oldbury Viaduct, M5, repairs
Queuing likely, expect delays. Fiat
JC07 GOD... we sat
Unmoving like that for hours, hours
Staring at the railings hung with flowers.

'Inspired' during an Easter time visit.

Field trips
are the reflections
of puddles in the night sky.
Frogs croaking,
along the boundary hedgerows,
as Sirius extinguishes
across the western fields.

Monday morning murk,
rush-hour standstill.
Faces.
Solemn miles of traffic.
Dacia Duster, Qashqai Two.
Works Traffic Merging Ahead.
Cones.
Toppled idols
of the new religion.

Green to gold lie leaves wind strewn
Trod beneath the city's feet
After falling on the benches
Where the office workers meet

The tree itself in spring held bloom
Its boughs so rich with flower
Bursting brightly upon the Square
A peaceful form of power

Unlike the dark metallic bomb
Science built to split the air
Atomic sickness, pain and death
Trees of hope burned with despair

So stand your ground in all seasons
Stand for those who stand for care
And if someone in you sees peace
Then let them stop, stand and stare.

The leaf. Held on,
despite its withered,
colour-changed state.

Remembering. As autumn
stored away summer's memories
like the squirrels in the gardens.

Grenfell. Westminster Bridge,
Finsbury Park and Borough Market
had tried to steal its greenness.

Then it fell. It fluttered,
on a barely perceivable breeze,
down between some tourists.

I saw it. Settle there,
on the Square's grass, unnoticed,
ready for decay

and the renewal of life.