Scratch off the surface
of anyone's mind
and you might be surprised
at the picture you find
the one that's behind the smile that you see every day
we all paint our faces but leave little traces
in shades of Dorian Gray

Our connection
is a pale moon above
and stars that shine
they are yours as much as ever they were mine
we feel the grey of falling rain
the warmth of joy and the chill of pain
we live and we love, we laugh and die
under a yellow sun and the same blue sky

Paint me the cold of midnight
or dawn in the hills,
mix me the feel of fresh grass
under tired feet
and the smell of rain
on a long and dusty road,
boiling rage
or the sweet sweet joy of relief
blend me a colour
for the things my eyes cannot see

An Autumn breeze
is not the flighty winsome tease she was in Spring
she has experience to bring and is more certain
collecting up the fallen leaves
to weave them through October's curtain

Where my feet have not trod
no earthly trace of foot or shoe
has marked this sleepy lawn still wet with dew
no early birds peck breakfast at their ease
no gossiping wind to whisper through the trees
a day with all its mysteries
still to tease

Checked tables
ocean views
winding streets
kicked off shoes
Greek yoghurt
blueberry sweet
fresh brewed coffee
holiday treat

Sweet undercover night
silence has wrapped the world
in a velvet bag
so soft and heavy
it drinks the light
and makes a cocktail
of the moon and stars

Do not stop to dip your toes
or heaven knows to swim
in this sea of winds
where waves are whipped to horses ears
and tails of white among the foam
foolish child go home
retreat and walk no more
upon this wild and lonesome kelpie shore

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

Some people are bananas
They may look fine
But underneath they are bruised
You never know
Until you peel back the layers
And find the damage
Be careful with bananas
They are easily crushed

Blackberry sweet
elderberry shine
we cannot ignore
the approaching signs
growing along the highway
to Autumn

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

My name is Martha and I'm very tired
my patience as such has long expired
so you don't want my brown skin next to your white
well madam I'm tired so I'm sitting tight
it's hot and I waited my turn in the queue
and I paid, just like him, just like her, just like you
you can carp, you can moan, you can cause all kinds of fuss
but lady I'm keeping my seat on this bus
because I'm tired

Frosty winter pond
Water glass obscured by snow
Fish dance in private

Invisible breath
sometimes in the colder months
she wears a white coat

Freedom
a gift that is seldom free
freedom to say I just want to be me
freedom of thought
freedom of expression
freedom from any kind of oppression
freedom to say you can all go to hell
because blood puts the polish on the liberty bell!

Long ago,
when earth was clean and silver bright
an angel fell, compelled by vast eternal might
beyond all time
through endless night so brightly starred
his wings aflame his halo charred
remembering beauty through his tears
to see him through in later years

It was windy today
I did not walk alone on the beach
or hear its many creaks and groans
the watery moans of margin land
where sea becomes sand, and tide becomes sky
I sat in the car to keep myself dry
and watch the squawking seabirds fly
battling the wind for scraps
thrown and trapped in a playful breeze
which dropped and then continued to tease
litter turned to crisp packet sails
that danced and skipped in the stinging air
with a grace and freedom I could not share
all the same I’m glad I was there

Stand you on the cliff of uncertainty
all that is behind is done, what is there to come but air
let courage give you wings, to lift you up from dark despair
for nought is worse than standing still
and wondering on that bare accursed hill

Walk with me in Autumn
do not tread soft upon the leaves
enjoy and stamp and feel them crumble
kick them as they swirl and tumble
a carnival of mellow red and orange yellows swiftly gone
its coloured caravans will soon be moving on

Count up raindrops or snowflakes or tiny grains of sand,
way too many to hold in your hand
each one unique and perfect in its ubiquity

Melting sun
flows
red to gold
blushing gushing pink
on crimson purpled crows
no leafy waving trees
or clouds of white
to tame its spare and radiant glory
winter sunrise
tells a very different story

True persuasion
I think that you will find
is the gentle invasion
and the subsequent erasion
of a thought in someone's mind

Early morning fingers
clutching at the sill
as I lay quiet, warm and still
half awake yet wrapped in night
not ready for the coming light
which filters softly through the blind
to **** my peaceful state of mind

You face the window
I face the door
back to back
not speaking
hardly touching
no loving arms to say goodnight
no loving lips to greet the morning
the only thing we do together
is sleep

Drifting
on an ebb tide of confusion
which flings me up beach of myself
then rolls me down to the roaring ocean
before I have time to think that I may at last be saved
the dear dear grasp of reality
slippery through my tangled fingers
is lost to the maw of the waves
pitched and tossed in the blue
sky or surf
fish or floating plant
flotsam or jetsom
I do not know
It is a seaweed day

A yen is not a thing
it's the wish
to hold the string
of a yellow balloon
you once lost
on a windy day
in the hills
of your mind

Where is the beauty
that tiny creeping flower
it blossoms in the cracks
between the slabbed ugliness of this world

Slipped over on the ice
she is languid in repose
mourned only by the howling wind
and the wings of flapping crows

great ship in the fog
creaks low on a rising tide
rusting whale in pain

He has drawn me incomplete
one leg and sausage fingers
then he got bored and wandered off to play
I am a stick man
hopping
with only one stick

I don't want to come back
once I leave don't revive me
I'm finished and done with being alive me
you just know when it's your time go
so take off the wire
my choice to decide where & when I expire

Bottled words boiled down
Haiku pan bubbles over
Leaving the meaning

'Green blue of the sky
heated white-hot'
Vincent saw, what we could not
captured through an artists eye
he put aside his pain
to give us fields of lavender
and glorious scented rain

Maids see it all

But they  hardly ever tell

Well...

Occasionally one might sell

A juicy story

About you in naked glory

To add to your fame

And your shame

It's all part of the game

Who can blame

The person who buffs

And fluffs

Your stuff

On minimum wage

For making some cash

As you hit the front page!

A tiny trickle of sand
passing through
the fingers of your hand
that's an hour
just a shower
of amber grains
what remains
of a once mighty boulder
much older than time
it has heard midnight chime
many times
the tick tick tock
of the clock of eternity
and now it embraces modernity
slowly wearing away
day by day
hour by hour
as a shower of sand
in the palm of your hand

Without a soul
there is no life
only relentless churning
in a word machine
which has never seen
or sorrowed
or loved
or a thousand other things
for it is this that gives the poet's words their wings
it can but try
but with no heart
it cannot truly fly

Bubble child
a pretty fragile thing
of pinks and blues
and other multicoloured hues
we watched you
with delight
in skipping dancing floating flight
the wind changed
and we moved on
I turned to look
but you were gone

music and movement
pretending to be a tree
in your pants and vest

Summer's queen no longer fair
wears yellowed leaves in tangled hair
silver spider webs adorn, her faded harvest crown
the living green, now sadly tinged with spots of bramble brown
she wears a faded perfume the fragrance of last year
it smells of sweet foreboding
that Autumn may be here

The night is daughter to the moon

The sun her father

Wilful and wild

Secretive


So unlike her serene and graceful mother

Or her bold papa

She hides where they shine

Unseen and often unheard


Keeper of secrets

Dark eyed girl of mystery and magic

Singular blue child

Of many questions

And few answers

Pick up the brush
although the handle be thorns
and paint with words, or love or tears or rain
paint them all the same
paint your heart or the sky or a thousand other things
paint until the brush is dry and fingers bleed
for you are blessed indeed

Freedom smells of coffee, you don’t have to make yourself
or do the washing up after
freedom has a view
that isn’t your garden
freedom is the clattering of cutlery
and plates in a kitchen
that is not your own
freedom is other people
their noise and chatter
freedom is asking them to turn the speaker down
because you want to talk
to a friend that you haven’t seen for ages
without a screen in front of you
or posters saying 'wash your hands. on government advice'
freedom is whatever the hell you want it to be
because it is yours and that is being truly free

Today I went to the beach
to hear the rolling ocean
and the irksome cries of gulls
as they flew in circular motion
not sure why I went
it was just a peculiar notion

Tread the line between sea and sand
hold the wind, take its hand
let it out
anyway you choose
walk a mile in the ocean's shoes

Midnight is a blade
cutting the cord between tomorrows
Midwife to the newborn day

Winter's lonely Queen enthroned
endures the long dog days
minded only by her North wind steward
a morose and moaning fellow
of harsh voice and even fiercer countenance
he sings no gentle airs to soothe
no lullabies or music made to please
but rages full blast around her chamber
battering each wall and rattling the locks
until he has exhausted all his fury
only while he slumbers
can she dress in white
don her many jewels of ice
and dance with the sun
who comes to cheer her up, but cannot stay
she knows his love is dangerous
but she cannot keep away

Haiku butterfly
sips nectar from word flowers
makes a poem grow

Winter sunrise
sings of hope
forgotten fire
in a frozen world