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

The sock undid me
just a little thing
soft and yellow and drowning in a puddle
I suppose it fell off when the soldiers came
and they ran for it
I wonder where the other one is
perhaps it is clinging to a tiny wriggling foot somewhere
I hope so

Haiku butterfly
sips nectar from word flowers
makes a poem grow

Winter sunrise
sings of hope
forgotten fire
in a frozen world

I strongly suggest that you put on a vest
and maybe some pants
nobody wants to see
what is dangling from your people tree
I think it would be best
if you got yourself dressed
it's a sensible request
before your arrest!

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

Stand
before those Giant feet in sand
the ones forgotten in a foreign land
look upon the shattered visage lying there
'I am Ozymandius King of Kings
Look Upon My Works, ye Mighty and Despair'
remember well when hubris comes to call
we are nothing but a pile of wind blown dust
that's all

A creepy entertainment
made out of melted goo
never trust a waxwork
just who is watching who!

And the rain fell
grey through holes in a badly darned sky
which looked like it had seen better days
a coffee shop whine of grinding beans
mixed with the sound of irish voices
made a better day than the one forecast
and brought a little sunshine to my winter cup

a small dragonfly
skims the lazy afternoon
blue on white lillies

Ants on a dry leaf
conquerers and pioneers
sailing the puddle

Fat shiny pebble
Bright jewel on golden sand
Dries dull in your hand

Frog on a lilly
white flower fragrant and sweet
happy hoppy frog

To be a poet
Is not to burn the paper with your words
but to be heard
when drifting smoke of love and life is gone
the poet in us carries on
when ink and page and pen are embers
it is the beauty one remembers

****** off and get a coffee, leave me in my chair
alone to watch the waves and bones
and the fractured wind-washed water stones
a canvas canute,  imperious I command the tide,
go back I say, come forth no more,
I speak therefore you must abide
and stand astride as the rushing waters flee my hand
retreating from the scatted margin land  
they fear my wrath, and plot amongst themselves in bubbled froth
regrouped replenished forces gather forth to rush and overtake my seat
wet and bloodied but unbowed I hold my ground and kick my soaking feet
neither of us is willing to admit defeat

Low tide
the sea has retreated
leaving  behind a keepsake box of **** and shells
spilled out across the beach
hidden watery things
drawn from the deep
they melt as footprints
when the sea returns
gathering her chicks
to rest below the waves
in sandy contemplation
of the world above

Half of the somebody
that used to be
the widow nobody
that is me
in a whole new state
of washing up a single plate
at the isolated station
of solo occupation

soft falls the silence
gentle rain upon your face
beads full between those waiting lips
a poet once, but taking sips of watered war
has stilled your voice
and beauty speaks no more

Summer half over
Dusty feet in worn sandals
Show my ten brown toes

Hey I'm new around here
but I can see that you guys have plans for me
let me find my office, get a coffee
put up my wall charts and arrange my pencils
then I will look at what can be done
there's a lot of pressure being January 2021!

Furrow face, deep ruts
savage cuts that only time and years can plough
fertile grain
once waving yellow in your fields
does not remain
chaff blown brittle on the winter wind
will settle now and then on barren land
sadly turned to sand

Take a glass of August, to sip at harvest time
a vessel overflowing, with a stem of wilting vines
the final press and corking up of summers cheapest wine,
too sweet, too ripe, too seasoned, with the changing year’s decay,
overblown and blousy with the taste of yesterday

Fall colours
the russet reds and yellow browns
of Summer's faded hand me downs
Autumn is the second sister

How many missing sons and daughters
buried with tears and a folded cloth
dead pride of a nation
how many banners raised in triumph
lowered to half mast by the grieving
in the name of patriotism's flag
a highly dangerous piece of rag

Syrup

drips from your tongue

saffron words, yellow and fragrant, pool at your feet

sweet and clear they charm the birds from the trees

but not the bees

they know real honey!

Fall soft you tranquil rain
clean the streets
embrace the light
condemn our cigarette scented night  
send him full in flight to the drain
wash this soiled and gum chewed world
remove a little of the stain

Soft falls the morning,
landing safe, on cold and somewhat soggy ground,
drops the breeze,
stills the trees, kills the sound
spreads the light, dispels a fragile finished night,
brings forth a day, still grey, who lies,
and pays his way with promises of being bright

Sweet undercover moon
silence has wrapped you in a velvet bag
so soft and heavy it drinks the light
shakes the glass which holds the night
and makes a cocktail of the stars

Fingers of fire
Flaming desire
Flirting with strings
Melted angel wings
Acoustic profanity
Electric insanity
Liquid bricks in your heart
Tearing you apart
A nuclear star
Now that is the sound of a proper guitar!

lithe she floats
surface barely breaking
hard as wood, smooth as jade
yet light, a thing of burnished air
barely there
no thoughts to weigh her down
for she has ceased to care

Sweetest fog consume my light
curl with me through the coming night
lay with me, stay with me, stroke my hair
sing ye of calm, a peaceful air
land on me, descend oh sleep
in smoky promise of dreams to keep

My heart is a singing stone

set by the stove to warm if cold winds blow

it hums a happy little tune

when love's kettle boils

and fills a mug for two!

Flattened sky
ironed by night
creased by morning
beyond it the curving collar of the hills
and crows, equidistant on a wooden fence
black shiny button birds
placed to complete the landscape
time to put on the day
roll myself in the fabric of normality
and gather it tight
shaping to fit my purpose

We are floating leaves
Children of the winds and tide
Following the stream

I won’t cry
well not for too long
perhaps just now and again a tear will fall
you worked hard all of your life
now the work is done
you can rest up a bit
although you will fit it hard to sit still
you always did
perhaps you are a butterfly or a bee
busily checking on your garden
I think you would like that
happy among the flowers
you have not gone from our hearts
whenever I see a garden in full bloom
I will smile
and you will be with me

Not everyone can be a star
no matter how we wish for heavenly light
most of us will not illuminate the night
those who burn and seem so bright
will oft ignite and fall
burning cinders
merely human after all

The ghosts of old loves
Live again in memory
Casting deep shadows

On my kitchen shelf
happy little saucepan birds
nest inside each other

The night sky was pierced
We watched leaking rain and stars
Wearing a tree hat

Grey day cardigan
Jumper red and knitted green
Colours of winter

Lament the tall sweet meadow grass
where wind no longer blows
lament the lark that’s taken wing
and left us only crows
but you and I endure my love
through rain and wind and sun
for only time can part the ways
when two hearts beat as one

There are many outer layers

Covering your skin

It takes a bit of stripping

To find what lies within

That is the beginning

Dig on and you will find

A thousand coats of rainbow paint

Covering the mind

You can try to capture the wind
trap the airy whistle of trees
or the fluting song of reeds on the river
yes you can try to tame the restless spirit of the breeze
but it will sulk
and sit silent in the jar
until you let it out again

Scarlet cinnabar
wanton reds and ***** you pinks
Vermilion is a libertine
a go it alone chancer
who lives free and to hell with the consequence
condemn him if you will
for he is already ******
The devil has his own team colours

An ant based society
may lack variety
they work to the beat
of six tiny feet
but they all get to eat
ants don't hold elections
that lead to insurrection
an ant inspired riot
would be extremely quiet

October night
a strange light
the face of winter
smiling through a pumpkin