Spoilt and pampered season
indulged and petulant spring,
please don't pout and drag your heels
we need the light you bring,
the birds and bees are waiting
so could you make a start
be a dear, stop sulking
it's time you played your part

Twitcher runner dancer

moonlit watcher

road chancer

nibbler chewer chaser

wind rider

headlight facer!

I don’t know what will heal the world
see the colours of hope unfurled
maybe we should ban all flags
the universal rags
of sovereignty
those emblems of pride
which divide
what part belongs to you or to me
where even the sea is chopped into bits
so it fits very neatly and oh so completely
into tiny bites
with regards to fishing rights
that say where we can sail
you can go to jail
or face a huge fine
for dangling your line
into someone elses pond
we are way too fond of the
walls that were provided
by any empire
who decided
it should all subdivided
so it could take the best
and fling out the rest
like meat to a dog
while they hogged the mineral wealth
that they took by stealth
how proudly they planted their pennant
became the sitting tenant and saw it wave
over the graves of the people they had enslaved
pretend separation of each earthly nation
what is it for?
to stop us going to war?
we can be entirely sure
that wouldn’t work
because it’s happened before
maybe we need a long cold drink
and a post-pandemic think
about what we could do
to improve our sprawling human zoo
and bridge a divide that has become way too wide
it won’t work, it’s political suicide
but consider the millions who have died
did the virus follow orders
or stop at any borders
no, it jumped all the silly dotted lines
that we use to define what is yours from what is mine
and after all if not under one God, we are under one sky
so we could at least give it a try!

Who can know
just where the water flows,
we can only ride
travelling with the tide,
life is a journey
however brief,
each of us sailing
a helpless spinning leaf

The rain on my window has no idea that I think of it as fat unsalted tears, as I watch the flow from ashen discontented skies

It cannot think or reason why
I feel this way

About the foggy endless grey
that fills my head

The heavy sense of brooding and unsatisfying dread

Maybe tomorrow the sullen rain will drain away

But not today

And the rain fell as numbers
countless splashes
painted pearls of days
turning my hair to white
all unknowing
that soon enough the storm would pass
and whoever threw these jewels
to cover me with life
would only hurl them once

Today I will hang my winter curtains
thick and soft as a cat's full belly,
December throw your gauntlet
full blast the rain, the wind can roar
they will not step inside my door,
for every sound becomes a purr
when I have donned my seasonal fur

Tiny bird I feel you shiver
quivering heart within your breast
strong hands to keep you safe
a place to rest before you fly
go now
spread your wings and say goodbye

Robert Johnson

King of the blues

All shiny shoes and tilted hat

They don't come any hotter that that

He played the tunes of hearts desire

Guitar that smoked unholy fire

Furious notes from flaming fingers

Cracks the summer heat and lingers

Floating on the delta air

Each string a song of dark despair

Did Robert Johnson sell his soul

For music that would make him whole

Beauty style and heavenly grace

May start off in another place

The devils music leaves an odour

Could it be a whiff of soda!

Each nation

Each successive generation

Has punched that button

It isn’t red

It is quite round

And it’s there

Just look around

It fires doomsday

That elephant in all our rooms-day

We need to stop pushing

We  need to start thinking

The oceans are filthy

The ice caps are shrinking

We all own the button

It's big and it's blue

It's everyones planet

and that includes you!

Love is a peach,
a sweet and luscious fruit
set high upon a garden wall,
we climb, we taste
we scrape our knees and then we fall,
then through burning embers
one remembers
it was worth it after all

On a blue black Monday when my eyes turned red
not a single word was left unsaid
as we left our marriage like an unmade bed
messy and tumbled like we had just woken
filled with things better left unspoken

Little bird
come inside
shake the chill
cast winter from your mind
let fall that cloak of grief
pooled around your feet
dark moss
old and dry
trampled to dust
watch me kick it away
forgotten in a corner
stay until the sun returns
let spring be your saviour

Waking early
breathing full the yellow summer air
to drink the quiet and take it to my bones
just me alone, with all the trees and calling birds
no other sound was ever heard, except the breeze
that rushing soulful little tease
who stirs the streams and shakes the grass
where hungry warming rabbits pass
to scratch and stretch and start their day
with hymns of questing honey bees
that drone above the meadow flowers,
and work away the dawning hours

Fruit tree
did you never think of love,
perhaps you thought too much,
you stripped yourself of leaves to live
and gave of all you had to give,
naked and alone you tried,
so hard to stem that bitter tide
but still the darkness of you grew, inside
until you knew for certain that the war was lost
yet maybe in the doing it was somehow won
a pretty pity that you never found the sun
mellow warmth to melt the frost and make you free
to be the person you were always meant to be

We are all a part
of a universal whole
each living soul
is connected
unless directed
to be disconnected
war breaks the chains
until all that remains
are the crosses we sow
where flowers used to grow

Summer wears a gauntlet green
in Autumn rusted patches can be seen
Winter swaps for stout grey wool
to keep his fingers warm
Spring a stripper's emerald glove
when ready to perform

Dry ink in my head

I have no pen to write what must remain unsaid

caged words between my ears

imprisoned by frustrated tears of rage

that grow to fill a vast and empty page

Grace of skies,
wind blown high,
fine figured, soft and fair
tease the wondrous yellow hair
of autumn

The moon
a silver sixpence
loose in the pocket
of the universe

Tennis racket
lost along with your skis
like falling leaves
blown into the cupboard
they stayed for 90 years
waiting for Anthony to finish the game
but he never came

If I were to end it,
pull the cord and douse the cabin lights for good,
it would be here at the high bluff
salt tang in my hair blowing free to the lighthouse
the blue blue gem of the sea below
this is what I want, if I should ever choose to go
It does not mean I will
just that I might like it to be so

*Such a Beautiful Place

Fall is theatre

Sondheim of the seasons

One last extravagant show of dazzling firework shades

Daring and carefree, fiesta in scarlet and orange

A deranged Harlequin running riot, dancing with the wind

Raising Cain, a mad finale of colourful conspicuous excess

Refusing to leave the stage or even take a bow

Cool charm stills the orchestra  bringing down the curtain on a  riotous charade

Winter packs away the props and switches off the lights

Party over for another year

Most prison walls
are not made of stone
the thickest ones
are flesh and bone

Cool winds of winter
blow but soft upon the land
not stronger
let sparks of Autumn
last a little longer
don't huff so hard
they lose their amber apple glow
hold in your icy breath
we do not want to see them go

Walk a mile
with the wind on your face
between the land and the sky
the sand and the water
tread the lonely margins
the frayed cuffs
where worlds meet and end
listen to the cries of wading birds
and wet your tired feet
let the waves heal you
and wash against your senses
this beach is yours
if only in your head

It's a common wish

to swim with dolphins for a while

I don't trust that fish

What's going on behind the smile?

Winter crows
who cling to stalks of freezing  corn,
bathe in better times to come
and drink the glow of summer not yet born

Mycelium hair
frames her lovely face,
arms flung wide
in silent embrace,
fingers float
lilies uncurled,
peaceful she floats
slipped from the world

I slipped
through a crack in the world
rolled down the bank
and lost myself
among the bottles
and discarded papers
you, a collector of trash
found me
and made me useful again

How long?

Four years maybe five

Still alive

Survivor of a storm

At least it's warm

And fairly flat

Except for the hill

Which I still

Climb every day

It's the only way

You could see a sail

I have to believe

That I will leave

My sandy jail

Do I need to explain

It's the way I keep sane

The thought that there might

Be a touch of white

Sailing the blue

Is what gets me through

Yet another day

As a castaway

Winter
is a monochrome beast,
with freezing paws, an icy purr
and bits of autumn stuck in his fur

The roots of art
are often buried deep in childhood pain
every flower needs a little rain

My old cat
asleep in the sun
he knows his summer
is almost done

Almost a year of low level stress
a summer and winter of trying to guess
will it be over, can we progress
the urge to cheer up and get on has expired
not sure about you
but my God I am tired!

A pause for thought in sunlight
observe the flight of bees and busy nesting birds
hear the whispered words of a sighing breeze
smell the green of fragrant singing trees
today I cannot write, no drop of ink will flow
not a single solitary minim scratched across a waiting line
it is a feeling difficult to define, and not as I would have it go
no matter how much I would want it so
spring has stilled my pen

Flowers spread happy
Wanting little in return
It's a rare talent!

I'm a furry little dancer
a sleek bewhiskered chancer,
I wanted to pounce you
bounce you
trounce you with my paw
shiny sunbeam on the floor,
you were here just now,
and then you were gone,
such shame our game can't carry on

Ice on fire

Burning desire

Of melted heart

And flame

No shame or blame

We  both knew the game

Before we started

And now we have parted

So it didn't last

But we had a blast

All the same

Grief is an empty place
a dark and silent painful space
with the hardest plastic chair
you wait until a flicker of light
shines under a door
you never knew was there

I was a cutting
the empty shell
of what was always meant to flower
my somewhat withered roots
those tangled thorny barbs
were beaten,
crushed to powder
by the grinding heels
which pound life's highway
yet come the spring of middle age
I claimed the time anew,
and flourished strong
no longer swamped by rain
which fell upon my dusty head
it washed me from the drain
where life had placed my weary self
I found rebirth in lost but still familiar tracks
and a writer grew between the pavement cracks

A tide of doubt has swept my words

And covered them with sand

A cold and lonely beach

In some forgotten land