Word spaghetti, thin lies that twist and tease
studded with tiny meatballs of truth
covered in a thick sauce of deception
and served with too much cheese

That mournful longing feeling
so sweet and yet so sad
wistful for a something
you probably never had

Branscombe blossom
fair and light
coats the grass with pink and white,
mossy branch and apple breeze
stirs the limbs of dancing trees
orange tips and foraging bees,
no sweeter does the blackbird sing
than in an orchard filled with spring

Mountains are folded napkins
laid out on the cloth of the world
remnants of a picnic
that finished long ago

Barn door
swings gentle in the wind
and as it swings it sings a creaking hymn
each rusting metal part contributes something to the tune
no caustic gale has swept this sodden farmyard free of life
time has cleared this plot, severing today from times long past
those who lie in the churchyard up the valley know full well
what years have brought this building down
with windows mostly out,
battered eyelets all shot through with jagged holes
as if the house itself had lost its stocky stone built soul
crouched low, set firm against a nagging breeze
sagging ivy wags a finger in its gaping maw
that bent and twisted raw bone knuckled door
and finds its way through rotten skirting board and floor
to lift the planks and venture to the cellar dug below
toppled from beneath, by damp and rot
where pale and sickly mushroom flowers grow
fat and pink among the creeping green
a place that better days have definitely seen

Passion
a taste of peaches
grown upon a wall
through glowing embers
love remembers
how sweet it was to fall

You have come
good
I want to dance
whirl me around
free and young
bright as summer air
fly with me in your arms
take me somewhere new
we could be ravens
watching the sunset turn our feathers to flame
walk with me now, take my old hand
I don't think you ever did tell me your name

Candles light the dark
They illuminate a room
So monsters can see

The early garden
brings a deeper peace
than any I have known
no sound but wind on leaves
no neighbours barking dog,
for even he must sleep,
his daily yappings not begun
new air, fresh and clean
whispers soft among the green
a drowsy yawning background hum
a space to sip one’s tea
and taste the morning yet to come

Winter's yellow hound
snores
bats an ear in sleep
with ancient claws
drool from his gums
pools on his paws
as he yawns
and thaws

If you long for a life of
sunny skies day after day
you will be disappointed
nothing grows in a desert
settle for a little rain now and then
and someone to share your umbrella

People come
they bring mourning flowers
I don't know where the vases are
that was always your job
where did you put them
I cannot find them
not under the sink
or in the shed
they are lost
like you are
and I need them
because flowers are everywhere
and you are not

I loved you most
in our bittersweet years
a taste of honey
wrapped in tears

Twirl and sidestep

Sidestep twirl

A solemn dance

Over the abyss

Among the tins

And the discount bread

Partners weave

From afar

Marking endless time

In measured silence

A six feet waltz

Of the newly ******

The wind outside my window
is a lonely wayward soul
forever seeking company
searching around corners
whipping sand up into drifts
but the beach won’t play today
nor will the dark and boiling sea
or the marram grass, bent down and flat among the dunes
only the gulls with their wheeling cries
will try to hug the wind

Garbage can summer
your breath smells of dust
sticky cola fingers and ice cream faces
mixed with orange from the wrappers of long dead lollies
hot tarmac and the heady fragrance of sun dried dog ***
hot girl you need the mouthwash of rain
and perhaps an Autumn flavoured mint

I'm not your stepping stone

a safe and easy ride

to pastures fresh and green

on the other side

why should you stay dry

while I sink with the tide

you want to go that's fine

build a bridge

and then we'll see

but don't you ever tread on me

Salty old river

Flowing gently

Downwards

In space

Running off

The waterfall

That is my face

Fast falls the rain,
cold upon the summer of my expectations,
and yet, I do not feel it wet upon my skin,
it puts a damper on my aspirations,
the earth is dry, my sense of drowning lies within

Pansexual
love the person not their gender
surrender to love in huge amounts
because that’s what counts

Love me by candlelight
hide my inhibitions inside your expectations
cover us with a blanket of shadows
when the flame burns low let me go
we need not seek a truth that light may bring
let this be a transitory thing

A diver looks at a whale
he marvels at the mighty beast
so vast he cannot see around
and kicks his tiny swimming legs
to see what he has found
he navigates the monstrous mouth
the wrinkled eye,
which sees him floating tailwards
an insect in his view
and then it will ignore him
whales have better things to do

Come visit us sweet rain
fall gentle on my head
do not pound me, dance instead
step you light around my ears
be not heavy with your tears
spread great joy among the flowers
be a good guest,
do not stay for hours

Rest in peace you gentle soul
your eyes which saw only truth
gave us the spirit of those who worked the land
a portrait penned with honest colour
painted as it was
and not how we would have it be

Smiles
hidden behind miles of printed cloth
weddings and the Christmas we called off
people we loved and held dear
everlasting warnings have led to national mourning  
for things that have gone and cannot be replaced
and we have chased the rainbows that appeared
on every window, every door
what was that for
to make us feel one for all, all for one
until we could look up and find the sun
in its proper place
once again
and dodge the pain of the mental rain
which has been falling
washing out dreams
and churning them to soggy dust
most of all we have lost our trust
that sense that everything will all be ok
has upped and melted away
chopped down, chipped up
like the limbs of a tree
and with it our sense of certainty
the shock is profound
because we have found that we stand on much shakier ground
than anyone thought it could possibly be

Dip your poets brush in words
give me the east wind
the smell of snow beneath my feet
heavy yellow summer heat
splashing rain upon a roof
sketch me proof, or lies, or pain
draw me a sound I will not hear again
paint me a picture, for the things my eyes cannot see

There must have been a morning

That followed the first night

A newly minted dawning

And a step into the light

A creature on a hilltop

Noticing the glow

A spark of bright divinity

Happening below

Wide eyes that gazed with wonder

As darkness turned to flame

At Heaven ripped asunder

Did they even have a name?

I wish that I had been there

To bathe in that first light

The sky all dipped in glory

Now that would be a sight

Do I love you,
more than gentle earth or sky
or rain or cooling winds that blow
air to breathe or wine to sip
daffodils and trees in spring
a thousand other poets things
I do not know if this is true
I only know that I love you

What do you do when you get to the top?

Do you take a breath and stop and frown

Pause and look at the long way down

Do you wonder how long

You can keep your crown

Before someone else

With their eye on the prize

Starts their climb

And begins to rise

It’s tough at the top

So enjoy the view

Before someone else

Gets up there too

Staking their claim

And removing you!

Turn back the clocks
Countless ears who heard the restless call of spring
Will never dance to winters tune
The hands of time are stilled
For them the clock has stopped
On this year
And all others
This dying year
Has become a year of dying

Drink and love and laugh,
talk and cry and eat your fill
do as you will, but be kind
embrace the light unbending,
for we never know when life is ending

Windows out,
touched by time’s cruel mouth
nibbling smoke blackened corners,
wheezing gently
whittled roof long gone,
bound by tangled thread
drawn from the looms it held,
past is present, present is past
forever intertwined
memories lost, unheard stories
former glories
very rarely brought to mind

Be more gentle
the glue is not yet set
neither child nor man
but something in between
you are as yet unformed
a wondering restless thing
forever rearranging
the shifting sea
which constant breaks
and beats the rocks
with pounding fists
to make them change
they will not shift
be not angry at a world
which moves too slow
and way too fast for me
be more gentle, wait a while
find the shape you want to be

Harsh is the morning,
its promise still unspoken
a sea of toothpaste white
scrubs a beach not fully woken

There is a place, It has no name
Easy to get to just the same
Everyone has one, a room of despair
You can knock on the door
If you no longer care
It's the end, I have had it
I’m glad that it’s done
Can’t be bothered to fight
And nobody won
Battled ourselves to the bitterest end
If anything’s left
You can keep it my friend
You keep on talking
But I am walking
Today
Get out of my life
Get out of my face
Apologise to an empty space!

Does a flying bird
See exactly the same bridge
As a swimming fish

Robin, butterfly, chaffinch calls
wisteria climbs on ancient walls,
magnolia, daffodil, snowdrop scramble
carrion crows parade and amble,
in the garden near the maze
early spring brings warmer days

To live life vicariously
is to be a shadow
riding pillion
on someone else's bike

Sitting on her suitcase

Waiting

In a near empty street

The other kids

The teachers

And the coach

Went  home

Long ago

Seven years old

Small and pale

A dreamy little oddball

With long red hair

It needs a wash

Like she does

Everybody else

Is at home having tea

She is still waiting

None will come

They often forget her

With a sigh

She gets up

Dragging the case

Down the hill

They are all surprised

When she arrives

She cries

They call her a little drama queen

She takes the case upstairs

And keeps the baggage in her head for fifty years

She is my ghost

And I am hers

We haunt each other

My words are birds
beautiful delicate feathered things
on graceful multicoloured wings
set free to range the mental sky
they take me where
I dare not fly

Poems are not toothpaste,
you cannot squeeze another from the tube at will,
bend the ends of words for one last drop,
inspiration comes in waves
and when it wants to do so, it will stop,
you cannot pick a constant crop,
there are times when the field lies fallow
hiding seeds which may or may not grow
if and when they flower
that is not for us to know,
poets feed on what they find
the harvest of a fertile mind

My alarm this morning
came by virtue of the birds
who long before the sun had set the sky alight
had shed the quiet wings of night
and very early came to sing
with news of what the day would bring

The price we pay to be free
is all that we have to give
no matter in what cause it is shed
blood in the gutters is always red
buying liberty
is expensive
taking it costs more

The human mind
can be defined
as a darkened cave
from the warmth of the womb
to the chill of the grave
each thought is carried on flapping wings
by tiny furry flying things
sometimes one will fall from a claw
to grow in the guano that litters the floor
the best ideas start off bat crap crazy!