I see you wriggling
little word-fish  
trying to get away  
behave now
jump in my writer's net  
don't worry, I won't eat you  
just borrow you for a bit  
as bait for bigger things  
stay still
let me fix you to my story hook  
I need to capture a reader

This long day
what will we sip from the hours before us
sweetened wine,
taken from each other’s lips
throw in our weary lot with circumstance
and cast our loving dice until they roll a six
the coming night will end the game
so let us play and burn the candle flame

Curtains blow
through tight closed panes
not a breath of wind
but the shape remains
no breeze has settled on my windowsill
outside the sleeping world is still
and yet those curtains wander where they will
I turn my back on flowered fingers
and try to sleep
but the feeling lingers

I see you
Laird of Tanera Mòr
shaded scotsman
misty on the dock
I hear your skirling pipes
threading salted air
silent sound which cuts
and tops each bouncing wave
music on the bridge
between the living and the grave

The creative mind
is a beast never still
a nervous high strung fish
that swims in a restless sea
forever searching
chasing thought worms
which may not come to be
it needs waves of ideas
to spin it round and round
the ocean of its notions
would dry up on solid #ground

An aeon I have waited
for sea to grind the rocks to sand
reclaiming fertile pasture land
where once I walked
an armoured tank
of smashing tail and deafening roar
now far from what I was before
a pile of bones this fossil beast
waiting still to be released

Every slice of bread
contains seeds of history
which unite us all