With sun already flaring behind
furnace doors ridges
of cloud turn scarlet, reddened
by glow cut through
dusk's entrance to slice fine lines
into porcelain sea.
With portent of ebony so deeply
embedded in darkening
dome lie unburnt crimson coals
settling on evening.
With handsome day vanquished
in an eye's blink I see
not one last glimmer in twilight's
present foreboding, for
night proposes clapping in cuffs
the near dying sun
and Ol' Sol must yield to his cell.
Seagulls reluctantly whirl
with haphazard simitared custom
as dark gulps with intent
to blanket in murk birds' descent
then frowning day, sunk
sulkily sudden, I wending home
see rising a milky-white
moonbeam sending pale kisses to
light first star and I smile.
With the next dawn sides will roll
out the changes once more.

Julying Ripeness.

Oh what rounded succulence lies
in the swelling belly
of tree-filling apples surprisingly
girthed overnight.
Each plump world of green-juiced
abundance readies
itself for hide, fur, feather, human
or worm consumption.
Turning to sun for reddening stain
they begin to cascade
from creaking branches over-laden
with Julying ripeness.
And I look for a wind-fall to chance
biting into sour-sweet
rind before horses or starlings clamp
jaws or beaks to crunch
and stab at orchard's juice-filled drop
of easy bounty or
before autumn's damp sheds the crop.

Love Used.

Few refute that love
stayeth ever brand new
unless it be shown undoubtedly true.

True love remains undiluteable.

No misapplied glue
could cement love within
for meant love showeth not fickleness.

Love is not love if it be reduced

Sensually speaking
love kindles intense delight
tho' it seeketh no untenable height.

Love looketh not for uniformity.

Both in style and
performance in either
corner love wilt deal with any rival.

Love feedeth purely upon itself.

Too much be not
ever enough of what begs
mention as love's eternal profession.

Love used maketh love understood.

What is deep I want fiercely.
What is heart-moving I need to feel.
In what is adventure I wish to partake
and live to fulfillment.

If time and chance allow me to dive
into experience I shall leave the shallows.
With wings boldly grown
what is known as free flight I want to try.


I intend learning the meaning of life's
hidden music.
If there are tunes sweeter dreams feed on
these I will start to sing.

So come forward potential.
I have mantra's mystique to re-invent inner
sensory limitations.
With what are catalysts for energy change
I want a positive avalanche.

If love means completion I shall barter no
more and surrender willingly.
What is bliss I want to fill with and give
my best to the saga of living.

As night's grizzly crown falls
to the rite of light's way
its servant sun unlocks all
dawn's turreted gables,
azure disposes of shawls
and warmth augments the first rays
as day pierces prisms in dark vault.

But mist gathers to veil
heaven, shrouds my cottage walls
and shuts every windowpane
until grey covers morning
with shadowy swirls of dim change.

What happened to the tuned chorus
of promised blue I thought would stay ?

There exists silence not found by sound,
..........
in the heart of a desert or deep
under oceans
...........
where, mutely profound,
voiceless vibrations intend to be given
full hearing for
destined truth their presence propounds
...........
thus when two
fated human souls meet and exchange
first rapt greetings
they too interpret belief, tho' not aloud,
silently speaking
to transfer desire of twin-flamed feelings
..........
knowing love's
secret whispers will never need sound.

Let me show you the magic of how one dream
brings action into being.

Bells peal as Utopia opens for need unshackles
attraction that lasts.

I am the queen of Surreal whose spell will make
your wishes unbreakable.

I demonstrate fresh ways to enhance happiness
by alchemic fantasy.

The food of Eden grows round secret intentions
of sowing togetherness.

The feel of forever arises each time a proaction
evokes atoms of passion.

I am love's Muse so if your desire is for ecstasy
call nightly for me.

Scent of the storm he aroused in my heart
sends memory's perfume to bathe
every tortured dream.
Whispers of verse seared to my core start
a chain of re-tasting late love's
delightful appeal.

Zest of meant words fed me excitement,
bound me to vows of contact on
fierce clandestine pyres.
Can pierced bliss retrieve grief's surprise
or from separate corners could we
re-charge empty fires ?

Intention's lost cause breeds displacing,
as hopes fade and lonely nostalgia
replaces out-worn plans.
Yet love's voice once heard is not effaced
and days arrive when comfort may
take hold of cold hands.

Past fragrance drunk down can enliven
and again make rejoicing recalled
stir heart's needed ferment.
Despite tears spilt at nectar's sweet lines
I still breathe his scent.

Heavy with deepest deep sleep
he feels layers begin to un-zip
one by a bleary other
they all strip off.

Aware now of small moving feet
shuffling away he starts a hazy
ascent but finds drousiness
wanting to stay.

Too early, he knows he leaves
dreams half done and grieves
missing wars almost won
but rudely awakened
chores have begun.

Wearily raises sleep-held lids
to see standing, wide-eyed
and night-attired his kids
with tray over-filled.

And all shouting as planned
a loud 'Happy Father's Day'
for tho' tactlessly done
in a flash he rolls over
hugging each one.

"Love" as a word expresses
and covers
a single Dad doing his best.

A verse to celebrate International Woman's Day.

I, Woman
consider myself rightly the female guardian
of humanity's decency,
the feminine mountain of care and example
of ageless achievement.

A win or lose mirror who separates dreamers
from willing doers
I have grown from challenging problems ready
to shape my future
and with endurance I look on any unassailable
course as already won.

I am Woman,
the force who owes all to her own existence,
the Self who, travelling towards
light of revelation discovers genuine courage
inside female gender.

I stand alone yet am happy to choose things
which I do with faith
in authenticity, facing consequence bravely.
An icon of tenderness,
an I who fosters respect but whose eye when
catching need feels tender compassion.

She who mother's man and leaps to defend
male maladjustment
when attacked by makers of trouble or a he
who allows doubt to undermine.

Inveterate my conscience treating all as free,
yet I know there is never a come or go,
not a yes or no,
nor a birth or death
with any whisper of weight ....... without Me.

I dare to make my own mistakes and have the
strength to forgive,
empowering thereafter some rectification.

But better look out, as when tested

I, Woman,

am impregnable.

at Now's surreal boundary where rough
meets mind's edges, life invites
ears to timely hearing

as pebble-tough questions lie underfoot

and as sting of saline rimes wet cheeks
in unkind steps when reason
meets stress rises queries,

needs to ask things not yet understood

there, as endings mingle mysteriously
with every beginning does grief's
hold let go for life to begin

in one who gladly late love undertook?

Now tilts light into November.
Sags Ol' Sol low in shortened day.
Now is the season of pallored earth.
Time when cracked-open kernels decay.

Now with no violence ground sleeps.
Beds the worm down in blackened grass.
Now, burnt-out all heat in harvested fields
Time eases flight while growth turns to ashes.

Now slows to drowse wise November.
Mutes to silence past labours of birthing.
Now into seared dreams of tired meadows
Time breathes but whispers of far-off Spring.

Now seems the time to leave pre-winter
quietly savouring November's short peace.

The wind that day
made hairy spray of the horses tails
and drove them along.

By night we were hungry.

On reaching the Inn
was offered a bed of swan's down to
pillow my wearisome day.

And slept like a baby.

While my brothers
went wenching I stayed close by the
Hostelry's turreted home.

Used to being alone.

Next morning I woke
to breakfast off salmon served fresh
in a bowl of old pewter.

Boatmen kept me amused.

From the casement
they looked like cushioned swans all
ready and pilgrim-waiting.

******* to their labour.

Ladies and maids ferried
to market left men squatting on boat
bottoms until their return .

All day I went wordless.

Night had fallen when
I heard noisy returns and asked for
the latest Armada news.

But it was refused.

I was so thankful
my lively un-born was not yet ready
to greet times of war.

I fastened my door.

Elizabeth's glory was
not yet to its end for she as our Queen
still ruled the year 1558.

I prayed for long reign.

Fatherless but not
unprotected my baby would savour
her grace.

I knew I was favoured.

The mother-of-storms
had passed when we set on our way
again to the Queen's Court.

Ladies in Waiting never falter.

Summers of larks bred sun-torn
wilderness flowers all round my colourful home
and scented dialect of childhood
still utters recollections of well-trodden roaming.

In that haven of steep meadows
sheaves leaned roasting among searing hot fields
as hosts of moss roses fed nectar
to butterflies which still ghost my wistful dreams.

Autumn-red juiced my girlhood
when it etched its vermillion into each adventure
yet where could young fervour
find an entrance again to freedom's real treasure ?

Between ten and eleven-thirty p.m. this Cornish
village, for the most part gets itself quietly ready
to find comfort in bed.
No exception tonight, beneath cold arc of moon
time takes command as cats are put out, doors
latched and no dog barks.
Mist is rising under fading depths of navy-blue
sky as neighbours pull blinds and hiding behind
upstairs curtains undress.
Clothes are being thrown about, noses get blown,
teeth cleaned, backs scratched and toilets flushed
before baring days' secrets.
Outbursts of *** meet with collapse as confession
of headache becomes forgotten in gasps of gossip
that start giggling sessions.
Suppers crumbing clean sheets vye with a shared
cigarette between couples who, tho' sleep-heavy,
drowsily mumble goodnight.
Peace tumbles around snuffles and snores before
stirring ceases as this small backwater stumbles
toward a new morning.
Men, women and offspring down toys with tools    
as dreams take over while strength refuels weary
bones for more readiness.
For a few hours their world of normality flies to
another dimension then with sunrise legs stretch
and yawning faces distort.
Because betwixt six and seven thirty a.m. this little
community will rise and give inner-thanks before
morning battles start again.
Nobody knows what tears are shed behind blinds
that nightly challenge good folks' efforts in trying          
to make the most of their life.

The shadow of long-ago noblest of souls
now ghosting
the battements of this
mouldy tumbledown palace moans still,
albeit silently
about the time there was wind
blowing out of control in her royal mind.

Oh there was storm but she held the reins
of the hurricane
that could strip grain bare
if she so wished, and he whom she loved
was there in the room
handsome and bold, she decided to speak.

She was never afraid of tomorrows yet
she trembled
beneath the weight of this
queenly affair, there was something she
had not known
for a very long time
and that now arose to entangle her heart.

The Queen turned of a sudden and asked
for a kiss, oh yes,
she then received the tenderest
of gentle embraces
which would not be forgotten for the rest
of her life, but was
she liked for herself as a person, or not.

Fate though dictated that she never marry
any one man
but be wedded to all,
and such a hard
immensity of role meant belonging soley,
being in charge of her nation
was where mission ever held precedence.

All knew their place, so she lifted her head
as royal a ******
as ever had been, and yet
she was always to ask in her deepest heart
did he kiss her
because she was his Queen,
just to gain favour or did he really mean it.

Elizabeth's shadowy ghost will ever ponder
that unanswered question
in this hazy place as she wanders awaiting

Festtooned around
sweet-faced
Tracery of words,
never deeper
Than exquisite phrasing,
Lies counterfeit,
creeping
Retrouse' of unmeant
affection.
Playing at love
is outright
Two-faced plain
deception.
Fake tendrils never
curl round right
And the genuine heart
Knows, pain shows
when hurt starts.

Defying barriers of culture or race,
smiles
bound in togetherness,
timeless as silence,
strong as the reaches of flame
and deep
as endless unfathomable space
find distance
closes
as in between fades,
disappears
into contentment.

Fate floods as it feeds itself into love,
and as surely as
sunrise,
as clear as daylight
souls know
when they become one and the same,
one single flame