Make me thunder tea
brew with leaves of falling rain
use a lightning spoon

Come sleep do not avoid me
I am not your mortal enemy
as you are not mine
let us shake on it in darkness
and meet again when it is light
without this constant restless fight
of turning pillows in endless night
visit me, comfort me, set me yawning
we can talk some more, tomorrow morning

You are lovely
full of birdsong
and not much dew
was there ever a morning
such as you

Come sleep
kiss me gentle
lay yourself upon me as a lover
thou art more lovely than a summers day
or indeed those darling buds of may
and thee would be more welcome

Lonely donkey
standing in a field
munching words
not quite fitting in with the herd
all the other beasts are brown
he is green, with stripes and one ear
braying out poems
that noone else can hear
he isn’t unhappy
as he chews in the sun
but it’s hard to be
the only one

Hospital coffee
hopeful light
mixed strong with wanting dark
a bitter longing blend
which burns the mind
but does not seek to fill an empty cup
stirred with memory
amid the bleeps and whines
of a machinery heart
truly a mocha morning

I have a pleasant face
nothing special so they tell me
but pleasant all the same
I have a surprisingly pleasant singing voice
ok to listen to
but not pleasant enough to bring me fame
I live in a very pleasant house
in a very pleasant place
with my pleasant singing voice
and my chubby pleasant face
If only they all knew
how I long to be less commonplace
and just for once I would like to cheat and win the ****** race!

In time I will become a beach
an hourglass of falling sand
when eighty tides have washed my face
my youth will be a foreign land
and the laughing girl that once I knew
will be waving from the distance
across that sea that joins us two

Tears of the world
a salt tide that floods
feeding the marshes
windswept waiting places
sentinels of the hollow margins
lonely but for the cries of birds
wading the cracks where land meets sky and endless water
at the edge
of something and nothing

Open a book
discover a landscape
waiting for you explore
your map is made from footsteps
where the writer walked before

Anew
is not to wipe the embarrassing stains of the past
anew is to take them with you
wave them like a flag
wear them as a reminder of your former self
a new beginning
is often wrapped in the rags of an old ending

what work is this
who spoke with warm and loving breath
to charm the birds and wake the trees
who stirred the breeze
on bleak and barren land
who turned a skilled and knowing hand
to thaw the frosty frozen ground
who cast the springtime all around
and caused the sleeping plants to grow
who's work is this
I do not know

Rain is fodder
food for hungry puddles
when the sun is out
they waste away to nothing

Come spring
extend your hand
caress  the waiting warming land
give us singing birds on green and leafy trees
swap gale for breeze
soft light and scented air
disperse our shivering winter cares
and bless each fertile blooming day
through April and then on to May
please stay

If the sky should fall

And leave the brittle bones of our living

Shattered

Like teeth in the blackened angry mouth

Of a hag

What then?

Do we weep salt tears

For that which is lost and cannot be found

Raise a fist in anger to a savage God

Who will not hear our cries

As we wander through our ruined lives

Looking for salvation.

Do we bend our backs?

Put stone on stone on stone and build a wall

Make it strong

To foil the ravening wolves

Of fear and cruel self doubt

A solid moat to keep them out

And us within

While we begin

Again!

Draw down the waning moon
hold back the gentle light of fading stars
take not their beauty
nor their shine to be extinguished one by one
I love you, let this night be never done

The sticks and stones
of ancient bones
are seen beneath the skin
a mushroom scented dying
as the year is growing thin
sing requiem for Autumn
so that Winter may begin

In a garden

Long ago

The power of words

Began to grow
  
Words can twist

And they can charm

A serpent sting

Creating harm

Words have power

A Surgeons knife

To wound

And scar

And blight a life
  
Words will travel

Lightening fast

They jump the world

And they will last
  
A  word of hate

Let free to roam

Will wander very far

From home

Words can bring us beauty too

To gives us back a summers hue

Or paint the world an icy blue

In that garden long ago

The power of words

Began to grow

That serpent's coils unwound

It's true

But there must have been

A poet too

You irritating ****!
Somehow you got yourself under my teenage skin
and you stayed there for thirty odd years
with the stubborness of a tick
we have grown up together
and old together
dynamite wouldn’t shift you now
you are a part of me
as I am a part of you

Fate, I do not know your name
remove a star
shake it from the sky
like brightest rain
cover me in a glittered cloth
of night and fire and light
remove the dark
and let me be that spark
which sets the heavens all aflame

Paintbox colours make our world
grey and clinging fog of disbelief
echoed by the indigo of grief
bitter orange wheat of rage
before we finally turn the page
accept the solid yellow ochre of finality
and begin to paint ourselves a new reality

Winter has decorum
unlike his sister Spring,
he is slow and ponderous
but she's a giddy thing

Bring me the dusty flour of long hot days
mixed in a saucepan with too little rain
I will bake it in my oven of scorched dry earth
and bring you lightning biscuits
to have with your thunder tea

Time is a thief of youth and love,
undoer of locks and breaker of promises,
she is the rushing wind
sweeping all before
a restless boiling sea
crashing on an unknown shore

Spring grass to pierce my bones
Moss will stitch my winding sheet
Sweet death of winter

My fern child
a little frond all rolled up tight
forever hiding from the light
why is it you are not like the others
a clever sister and noisy brothers
some of us find we can thrive in shade
I guess that's just the way you were made

Today I held the ocean
measured the span with my own two hands
captured its sum with my fingers and thumb
it's very deep and blue and calm
but I held it all in my outstretched palm

We all need beauty in our lives
words or music or mountains and trees
not like a fish, they need the water to breathe
like a bird needs the air
they can live in a cage
the bars will not suffocate their lungs
only their tiny souls
they are miserable if they cannot fly
always longing for the sky they can see from a window

Do not think of me as gone
I am still here
in every leaf
every blade of grass
yes I am changed
rearranged
beyond understanding
freed from earthly bond
yet I go on
for now I know not where
but in every waking moment
be sure I will be there

In the garden stir the flowers
That whisper through the trees
A subtle hint of fragrance fading on the breeze
Ripples over pebbles
Gentle rushing of the stream
Is the smile in cool reflection
That of you or Angeline?
In the binding choking clinging ****
Which stops the waters flow
Do you find her auburn tresses
And that face as white as snow
Does she walk beside you?
Like she did so long ago
It was you that drowned her
So only you would know!

Marilyn's easel
a Madonna displayed
celluloid goddess
of the temple of the silver screen
we worshipped
ignoring the cracks and the obvious fact
that the woman behind the art
was slipping
slowly dripping off the canvas
now she is no more
we still adore
the puddle on the floor

A drop of rain
parts the fur of a captive tiger
it reminds him of the jungle that he has never seen
but there is a poster he can look at
vaguely he plans a holiday
two weeks in the sun
then he heads indoors to his food bowl
and watches the downpour
through the window

The embankment is a river
of bottles in the sun
I've held them and I've kissed them
every single one

Ash
falls soft
upon the name of love
the game of love
the eternal flame of love
which cools until
through burning embers
one remembers after all
how sweet it was to fall

I slipped through a crack in the world

To a place where dreams lay dying

And a hundred empty bottles broke my fall

Invisible to all the stomping feet

Who would not see

Among the cans and the sidewalk garbage

You came and lifted me

***** blind and raging

Gave me wings

And mended the tear in my soul

Made me whole

So I would not fall again.

you took the swan road
your kimono hangs quiet
both of us empty

An octopus is a cephalopod
they are as a species
delightfully odd
an eight legged squiggle
with a wiggle

Dance me to the music playing soft inside our heads
rock me to the sound of words much better left unsaid

Catch me as our feet tread light on old familiar ground
starry eyed and moonstruck as you spin me round and round

Remember me in better days that now have come and gone
waltz me to forever so our tune can carry on

Kiss me when the lights have dimmed and the tempo starts to slow
dance with me one final time, hold me don't let go

Summer winds will sweetly sing
of fresh ideas that grew in Spring
Autumn winds will heave a sigh
to bid ideas of youth goodbye
Winter winds will cry and moan
they face the coldest months alone
with old ideas set hard as stone

End of the food chain

Tasty for lunch

There's a good reason

We swim in a bunch!

When the mind lies fallow
do not weep
or think all birds have flown
from bitter dying earth
where nothing grows or ever shall
calm yourself
your barren land is merely sleeping
thoughts like seeds must wait
and feel the warmth of spring before they flower
they will come again
to drink the light and taste the air
green shoots
from roots you never knew were there

A world that is stilled
sparkling water without fizz
trapped in the bottle

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

The little knot
you know the one
it's tied
deep inside
been there for about a year
made up from fear
sometimes you hardly feel it
other times we can't help but reveal it
hard to hide
it's a gradual downward slide
to living with the constant stress
and listlessness
that boredom brings
when our wings
have been stilled
and we are constantly filled
with hope for a time that may never come again
and yet we remain
sane but still tied
by that little knot inside

For those who rise to seek the morning

Joyous airy sprits sing without words

A lyric tune so old

It tells of trees and the endless shifting sky

Warm earth and the clean dry whisper of grasses in the wind

Long before the restless hum of man

Drowned out the forever-song

And the rushing world forgot to listen