"stand up straight!" she said,
"do not slump!" she cried,
i couldn't less have cared
for all she tried and tried

but now i understand
those well-meant words of wisdom
for if you stand up grand
you'll feel a king - not victim

this world will throw you curveballs,
and people are not angels,
so stand as if you've strong walls
within those gentle facials

your meekness keep within
before your own Creator
and smile at friend and kin
be not fazed by your hater

this world's no ballet arena
for a prima ballerina
it's a place of spiritual warfare
so stand strong and don't despair

to win the inner battle
you have got to be strong
a smile and seeming chuckle
will ease the way along

so while you're working on inner calibre,
don't forget that outer pose,
it'll help unsheathe your inner excalibur
if you garnish your self-repose

In gelid breath of winter's night,
Shadows chase a fading light,

Beneath grey moon,
the stars are still,
No warmth to break the biting chill,

Through frosty winds and icy rain,
In cloak of winter's harsh domain,
As landscape wraps in frozen frill,
Another victim in frigid ****,
A helpless world lies still,
In winter's grip.

from cracked earth
an ebony branch
stretches towards
blue skies blanch
as iron hordes
ride from ranch
crush 'n floor
without wherefore
with none to stanch
blood of gored
ebony branch,
underfoot cranch,
'neath powdered sword

then from the air
without siren'd blare
invisible foe
blow after blow
crushes the hordes
magnates 'n lords
clobber and clout
cry and shout
crumble till grout
within and without
till all that's left
in world bereft
is a branch in a cleft.

Secular hustle of city streets,
neons cozen the weary,
flicker with promise, eternal nights,
fleeting moments to wake the dreary.

but 'neath the surface, there's no converse,
only echoes, leitmotif of isolation,
lost in labyrinth of sweet sensation,
loss of life in soul stagnation.

forgetting is
like the blankness
of a paper
hold it to the light
there's a word
erased
no more
it's gone

Late night
little rest
Midday bite
caffeine blest

Little wonder
Creativity
torn asunder
unto passivity.

Dawn is knocking at the door
Peeping through the curtain
I turn, pretend again to snore
But sleep's gone for a Burton

Heavy-eyed I eye the clock
Squint and try to focus
It's not yet gone five o' clock
I lie back feeling hopeless.

How many hours of beauty-sleep
Brain attempts to calculate
Maybe I'll try counting sheep
Running wild, jumping gate.

Must have snoozed off, pretty sure,
I eye the clock again,
Long hands pointing to the four
Short hand to the ten!

Can't be true,
beggar's belief!
I look anew,
sigh with relief,

'Twas the second hand
Now on eleven
And the time?
Twenty past seven.

i find delight in the spider
he of long and spindly leg
that floats in air as a glider
affixed to silken string o' web

concentric circles in straight line
affixed with spokes from hub
dripping glue of deadly shine
to catch the flying grub

in centrepoint, without a breath,
he sits with pincers poised,
ready to deal blow of death
in lethal void of noise

with patience, as ship in berth,
he waits, with glee 'n mirth
sits very still, grin suppressed,
to welcome unwary guest

the slightest tremour from his trap
sends him racing to his food
in cocoon with zap and snap,
mummifies unfortunate dude

and when he's ****** out last saliva
of life and meaning from his caller
he retracts as deep-sea diver
to the depths of fatal mauler

there to bide his time again
until the next crashing plane,
insect flies into his den
and 🕷 smiles and nods, 'amen'.

cherub so fair
raven black hair
eyes azure
as grandfather
face radiant
perfect, pure, true,
features salient
i remember you

with tiny hands 'n fingers moving
there you lay swathed in pipes
in distress from convolut'd tubing
not from teething or testinal gripes

in ICU unit of babies diverse
at mercy of overworked nurse
no sound left your mouth, no whimper or cry
when they said you had predilection to die

when no-one was looking, your face turned blue
from lack of oxygen from outside to you,
no-one noticed as your life slipped away
none there for you on your last day

What is life?

it's the cry of a baby in the still of night
the sound of suckling at mother's breast,
the misty breath on a wintry night
the call of the dove from its warm nest

the wings of a dragonfly in swiftest flight,
the bark of a dog that kindles fright,
the fanciful journeys as brain takes flight,
the spray of salt sea with waves winged white

life is the favour one does for another,
the joy, the smile, of father and mother,
life is the name of all-hallowed one
who saw end of time ere world had begun

Stop press!
I confess
for wedding-band
i did not stand
nor for my rights
to scale life's heights
to spend my nights
with set sight
my soul's delight
who shined so bright
upon my midheaven

oh yes, i regret,
my life's meander,
i'll not quick forget
that living wonder
drop o' thousand rainbows
secret of green meadows
more delicate than a buttercup
graced by angelic dewdrop
why did i not tell you
not send you billet-doux
about the million sparks of you
that shine upon my heaven

In the quiet of dawn,
Shadows yawn,
As the tome turns over a page,

Here no leaf is torn,
none too worn,
For every side is an age,

Each whisper of wind,
neatly tinned,
nothing assigned backstage.

Each life is drawn,
whether king or pawn,
politician, fool or sage,

Heartbeats recorded,
the clean and the sordid,
As the ink bleeds through veins on the page.

the tender heart was open
sensitive to the touch
now in blood it's chokin'
can only take so much

in the shadow
of a rainbow
through the prism of divine
in the soft light
by the window
sits a woman in her shrine

there she paints
among the saints
that like the sun and stars do shine
in the night
when all is faint
her expression of divine

free of slander
golden candour
gives her voice to yearning pine
shining bright
as shining amber
caught in moment crystalline

I dip my quill
Into the ink
And wait for it to write,
Thought starts flowing,
Letters appear,
As sweet fire ignites.

Letter begets word,
And word - image,
Creating worlds old and new,
Magic of words
Combines with mind
Enchant you as voodoo.

From my mind,
The words flow,
Guided by rhythm 'n tempo,
Through my arm,
Into a pen,
Rising to a crescendo.

Like musical notes
There is a beat,
A tune the poet hears,
With dexterity
He arranges
Sweet music for your ears.

Quill, quite dry,
I let it rest,
Peruse rhyme manifest,
Mind finds pleasure
To read at leisure,
And sweet rhyme ingest.

he walked along cracked, parched earth,
stick in hand, bent over,
gone were the dreams of youth and birth,
gone was resilience and fervour.

life had ****** out all vitality
no tears could be wrung from his heart
all was dry, all banality,
how he longed now for fresh start.

too long he'd walked along perfection,
not stepping on someone's toes,
too long ignored his own connection,
had fallen on his nose

he had laid himself wide open
to pink and pinch and ***** and punch,
now he saw the path a-slopin'
heading for final crunch.

he saw a rope, a saving line,
but had no strength to reach it,
so slid he down steep incline
his life and blood long-leeched

and now, at end, at finish-line,
he walks a crooked walk,
he cares no more for life's decline
nor those of crooked talk

there's a veil flappin' beckonin',
he knows now he must go,
he knows there'll be a reckonin'
for his play in the show

but he's had enough of fakery,
the double-talk and sham,
he welcomes break from apery
the falsehood and the scam

and as he neared his last few days,
his step 'came spry 'n sprightly,
for he could hear the songs of praise,
the sun that shone so brightly

for from the mist came love and truth,
a smile he used to dream of,
so he skipped to that new-found youth
and left the world that seemed of

eyes piercing as arrows shot
deadly with venom 'n menace
tie my heart in double-knot,
nerves as vine on trellis

shaking, delicate, easily hurt,
by look, word, cutting 'n curt,
reaches deep, to stomach 'n innards,
hotter than red poker, colder than blizzards.

humanity that can heal and love,
a ray of God's golden sunshine
can hit 'n ****, push and shove,
server of devil's malign.

the way is clear
the choice is yours
be a light in heaven's sphere
or a darkness on the moors.

what would breath be
if we did not inhale
if breath had no break
but as water of lake
was still and eternal
no rhythm or change,
vernal, sempiternal,
no beat nor range,
diurnal, nocturnal,
no give or exchange,

what would sound be
if it did not dulate,
if it did not have waves
that flow 'n oscillate,
if it was continuous
without vibration,
if its sphere of influence
had no fluctuation,

what would light be
without pulsation
with no shadow or shade
or variation

it would not be hell
nor heavenly bliss
but stagnation and smell
of eternal abyss

or the light of the Other
Unknown to another
Self unaware
no here and no there
forever the same
He of no name.

'there's none so queer as folks',
me grandma used to say,
'for different folks there's different strokes'
i'd hear from other blokes.

'to make a world takes all types'
said me aunt one day,
that's what i think when i see the stripes
that different folks display

everyone's an individual,
an' everyone's distinct,
and so to each their ritual
stops 'em going extinct

Uncanny world 'tmay seem
but that's its wondrous beauty
to everyone their personal dream
their sense of divine duty.

so fill yourself another drink
'n pour me another shot,
let's celebrate and clink in sync
to the weird strange things we've got.

the sky was azure
blue and pure,
the air was light,
untouched.

at break of day
when angels sing
when pixie, fay,
still fearless swing

amongst the harebells and the snowdrops
beneath the moss-lined wall
in liminal state, when world has stopped
when silence is its shawl

i ventured out onto the moor,
towards the river bank,
there I saw great beasts in tour
heads hidden as they drank

a host of ancient dinosaurs
sauropods fifty grouped
gigantic reptiles, herbivores,
their long necks steeply stooped

betwixt the sand and pebbles,
framed by trees of yore,
i saw that gathered 'ssemble
on edge of hallowed shore

but when i neared the mise en scène
behold a change took place
for in their place by field green
Canadian Geese took chase

And, as one mind, with charm and grace,
they fled those banks of water,
as they set sail from place with haste
away from scare of slaughter

and now, each time i spy a goose
i think of that occasion
when in their place i saw let loose
an antediluvian invasion

there's a noose around my neck
and it's getting tighter,
tick-tock ticktock pendulum
the old swinging blighter,
free at last from corporal shackle
spirit's so much lighter
free at last from crackle-hackle
the ol' cursed backbiter.

Sinking, drifting out so far
How I wonder where you are
Once a world that aimed so high
Now curled up and ready to die
Twinkle, twinkle, little star
How I wonder what you are

i didn't find G-d in study houses
when i went for him to search
nor on the lecterns of pulpit rabbis
nor neath arches of the church

i found him not amongst the folds
of priests' robes and their cassocks,
nor in design of braid and gold
of curtains and the hassocks

i didn't hear him in the cries
of prayers, no, nor their sighs
nor in the swirling of the dervish
or the mass or jumah service

but when i lifted the old man's bags,
helped a beggar in dirt and rags,
gave bread 'n shelter to the drifter,
then i heard His voice, a whisper.

they say you marry your mother
i don't know whether that's true
but every time i hear another
scolding from my shrew
it's mother's image my brain conjures
shaking her finger anew
i hear her voice through wife's responders
A feeling of déjà vu.

they lie on my couch and reminisce
and call to mind what's amiss
i feed them with ideas of light
that turns their thoughts sunshine bright

and whilst it's them i try to heal
it's really me that's beginning to feel
life's manageable, there's a way out,
action speaks loud and it's got clout

so when you're feeling down in the dumps
from life's travails, its humps and bumps,
when you're in receipt of dark deceit
of sorrows that turn to bitter the sweet

helping others is a way to trump
the things that make your heart go thump
it's a therapy like no other
the help you give to one another.

"you're not made of glass," he said,
no. glass cannot die. I'm dead.

"you gotta be more joyful," he quipped,
try it when you've been slipper-whipped.

does no-one understand?
is there no-one here?
in this bitter land
does no-one lend an ear?

when you've been crushed and daunted
abused, smeared and taunted
your soul remains haunted
believe me

after pain, sling 'n sting
you forget how to sing
a broken bowstring
cannot stand king

believe me.

i'm broken.

One ray brightens a thousand mirrors,
One sun lights a thousand lights,
One sea feeds a thousand rivers,
One bad 'un makes thousand blight.

One kind word illuminates world,
As lighthouse, or banner, newly unfurled,
One mean word or palaver
Drapes the universe in balaclava.

One good deed begets another,
and that other has a brother,
and so the goodness will multiply
to rid the world of sorrow 'n sigh

Let's quench our own selfish nature
By realising we're all G-d's creation
let everyone be humanity's saviour
before we cause our own cessation

I once knew a boy
Blue-eyed wonder
dressed in corduroy
and knit-weave jumper

he'd go amongst the laurel
in hidden, shady paths
surrounded by leaf 'n floral
sheltered from the blasts

of domestic quarrel
shouting and loud noises
he'd speak amongst wood-sorrel
and he'd hear the voices

of his own whispers
to his own G-d
he'd say his own Scriptures
upon the ****** sod

that boy is still around
buried beneath burnt ember
sometimes when i make no sound,
he makes my soul remember

sun set at midday,
you closed your eyes, breathed your last,
stole my breath away,
your time went too fast.

there's music, golden melody,
that twinkles, in breathless revelry
that eclipses sweetest heavenly
celestial, ethereal, glorious company

it has no tune nor has it harmony
it jars the ears, is out of key,
but it is sweeter than sugared tea,
and formed the world in void cavity

it's name is laughter, the smile of glee,
it's voice is the voice o' hilarity,
it bears eternal testimony
imperfect's perfection o' first degree

there's a heartbeat in a second
eternity in a moment
time lives till he's beckon'd
to surrender his endowment

whilst those in a torpor
tend to parry the capricious,
those with vigour,
invite the flighty 'n ambitious,

but as in all themes,
these two extremes
have a golden mean
that lies in-between

the middle way is to move with grit
along a forethought plan,
when things get hard, not to quit,
but stride with resolve as a man.

silvery orb who rules the night sky,
heavenly sphere, are you lonely as I?
aware of your beauty, aware that you know it,
your vision transcends the words of a poet,

your brightness delights the human eye,
your form, close, but so very high,
my hand longs to reach and touch you,
to kiss night sky, to draw you nigh

but lo, thine essence in lonelier than i,
you shun all contact in your night sky,
though you shine the light of the sun,
you speak of emptiness, you say, 'i have none'.

Is this your secret, your magic, your grace,
that though you rule, you know not your place,
as a shy fawn with innocent charm,
your coyness delights, it makes hearts warm.