Depression,
a dark and empty place to fall
a tube of silent closing walls
which sneak on in and wrap you tight
they **** the air and drink the light
to leave you crushed in body and soul
a resident of the rabbit-hole

You and I can sit
Joseph Gerry Moore,
to watch the little boats
upon the rocky shore,
no one needs to speak
it’s only you and me,
let's spend a peaceful hour
with the ever-shifting sea

I am keeping watch
as you lay in your nest of wires
an electric symphony plays
in the background
beeps to wish you goodbye
it is the hardest thing to say to anyone
but I want you to go
because the waiting is killing us all!

Not quite strong enough to pass,
although I try,
and beat with painted wings upon the glass,
the world beyond the window is where I want to be,
success is the garden, the butterfly is me

Clouded cattle breath
released to this November morning
a rising sun scarce dares to show its face
no fond embrace will grace a leaden sky
no warm & loving arms
to melt the chill on lonely farms and hills
all is still
as smooth & white
as paint upon a windowsill

Three kids in a car

Two fast asleep

One awake

It was always me

Too much to see

Sipping on the mystery

The drama of silent midnight

Abandoned buildings wet with early rain

Still broken and brown from a war I had only heard about

Moonlight on shattered windows

Papers fluttered

A pub sign blew in the wind and squeaked as we stopped at the lights

And a painted peeling 'Jack the Ripper' moved in the fog

I closed my eyes and only looked a little bit

Enjoying the thrill

Safe in our solid old car with the radio playing softly

A pea green family tank to protect me from the darkness

The sleepy watcher at the window

Who had no idea she was a writer in training!

Burn me
Bring down the heavens
Bathe me in milky light
Crushed pearls under our feet
Love me like the hurricane
you were
Our youth has flown
The tide has turned
Passion speaks eternal
A sounding voice to call all souls
Clarion song and tocsin bell
ring out for lovers

Sixty suns have shone their light upon my freckled face
sixty years have bathed me with their time and infinite grace,
sixty falls and winters on a planet slowly turning
sixty springs and summers have forged me in the burning,
sixty poems times sixty more the authors of my learning

Words have no walls
except for those enclosures we build to keep them in
some are hollow
splendid fruit containing wasps within
others fill with meaning
fattened ears of corn
they are mysterious
invisible as the wind
with the power to destroy
or to fill our sails
if we find ourselves becalmed
words can be everythings
or nothings
without ears to hear
or grace of page
a stage in which to share
they are nought but empty promises
the sound of passing air

Don't look back in anger

You cannot wipe the sins of the past

Remember them

Use the fuel to spur you on

Work for the living not those who have gone

But remember

Live for today

Find your own way

A better path

Build a place where you belong

Remember those who were done a wrong

Then move on

But remember

It's your world now

To read a book,
is a sharp descent,
and a swim in the author's vanity,
to write one,
takes a different skill,
I think it's called insanity

Hark to the winds of Autumn
Long dead voices raised in song
Saraband for the living
A choir for the dying
Eternal music of the ******
A fading year
Carried on the breeze

Word butterflies
free on the wind
they escaped my head
while I was sleeping
the window in my mind
it seems
was open

A bond of light

Finger strong

Yet soft as the touch of skin

A silken thread forged in the heat of breath

Milk fire

Burning souls

White Hot

Cool as midnight

Blue Calm

Smoky and intense

Joining hearts and minds

Passion-Bird

Flying free at last

Liquid Sunrise

A burning arrow

Of dragon flame

Between us

My heart is my gift

burn it on the fire

fuel of my desire

to keep you warm

through any storm.

When the wolves of life

are prowling

outside the cottage door

breathe in a little smoke

and know I love you evermore

The words that slip

Wax

Dripping through your fingers

Lost in form

Melting

Snuffed away

The failing candle of the mind

Leaves only smoke

Bitter and drifting

Fleeting beauty

Hanging possibility

The lingering fragrance of what might have  been

Wool gathering

Not writing

Fear has taken my words

A lone and hungry wolf

Hiding in the fold of my mind

I cannot think

My thoughts drift

Like smoke through a window

Out into the air and the light

Where I dare not follow

Once in spring
on a day without words
when the sky was filled with singing birds
every moth every dragonfly, wasp and bee
roamed though a world that was wild and free,
amid queer plants and evolving flowers
they spent productive and happy hours
until the time when humanity came
we ******* it all up
and it’s such a ****** shame

December night
plays at sip my shadows through the door,
drunk on light
it drains the glass of this short day
and dims the sight
like many winter days before

Home is a house that's in me,
the place where I begin me

No love
No hope
No freedom
No voice
No future
nothing is the absence of something
and that can mean everything!

She was always there
Britain's loyal royal friend
Working to the end

The sands of time
crunchy little bits of eternity
will one day grind to dust and scatter in the wind
everything ends, and begins and ends again
a sense of everlasting instability
is the only stable thing we have

Let green grass cover you

A daisy covered cape of spring

One last growing living thing

A counterpane of flowers

To mark away the hours, months and  years

Until the tears run dry

On the earth in which you lie

Life, that divine eternal spark
did it really start
as a shot in the endless dark
or were we fated
to be created
neatly planned
by a pencil
in some vast immortal hand!

A soft warm wall

Keeps reality at bay

When cold winds blow

Wrap yourself away

Stop the breeze on your thoughts

Bringing new ideas

To much comfort contorts

We all need a little pain

A shower of rain

It makes  us reflective

Sweeps out dead leaves

And gives true perspective

There must have been a time
When the world was quiet
just the moving trees and the breeze
and the waving meadow grass
When did that moment pass?
Now and again away from the din
a little stillness creeps back in
Maybe it’s been there all along
With its peaceful non-existent song
Perhaps we just forgot how to listen
to the silence!

I'm tired

I'm not inspired

Poetic lease expired

None of us are sleeping

Fear is what is keeping

Half the world awake

Until we stagger up and take

Another step through another day

Six feet away

Advice not taken, words not heeded

The sharing of wisdom

Not wanted or needed

Now I am older and I know

Seeds on poor ground

Take some time to grow

They cut out the face of girl that was me,
and filled up the space where I used to be

Under darkened skies
Hope is our new horizon
Always up ahead

The Ice dogs are howling

Hear them roar

Loose on the wastelands

They mean war

Patrolling at the margins

Looking for an ‘in’

Listen to them calling

Let fighting begin

Scarred of greying muzzle

Torn and rent of ear

They sing throughout the ages

A song of blood and fear

The world will always listen

To their glory tales of  war

We invite them to come calling

As they raise an armoured paw

Then we watch our soldiers falling

As we always have before!

Some people like introspection

And quiet reflection

They don't need connection

To give them direction