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

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

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

You strip me naked from the neck up

Run with my thoughts and bounce them

Take everything

Leave nothing but your opinion,

A termite

Eating at the hollowed log that once was me

Woodpulp on the forest floor

Far below where you cannot see

Infinite and beautiful

In variety and colour

Fungi flower in the light of your shadow

My hidden garden of words

Winter sun
kissed by the breeze
shakes the limbs
of starveling trees
wakes the bones
of each bare bough
and tells the spring
it’s not long now

Salty old river

Flowing gently

Downwards

In space

Running off

The waterfall

That is my face

Sea sound
The music of life
Wild and free
Noisy in it's joyous abandoned moods
A naked dance under the heavens
Unceasing and restless
Ever shifting
Like the sand which follows it
Snaking in it's wake
A yellow puppy anxious to please the moving water

January starts its journey
as a wet and sorry thing,
a limp balloon in a leafless tree
and a soggy bit of string

Petrified people
are often alone
they build themselves a heart of stone
it stops the hurt getting in
and the love getting out

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

Connemara morning early
iron grey sky
scarping waves
of sharp and tempered steel
and a sun barely creeping
on peaty bog
and marshy sheep-shod field
here dwelt the silent ones
fertile gods of Erin's clan
who fed the earth
and coaxed the land
solemn faces watch us still
through smoky mist
on emerald hill

Good brown earth
cracks and folds and tips and tumbles
rolls and flips and slides and crumbles
moved in space by a tractors churning,
bitter specks of last year’s burning
buried deep in a seasons turning
where once the plough horse trod with grace
heavy feet at a slower pace
there lives a fertile planting space
of furrowed ridges, rips and rows
and the hop and hollow of taunting crows

Head first down the rabbit hole
and into the labyrinth,
we could only follow behind you
winding the string and hoping to find you,
through all your various twists and turns
that lamp was bright and still it burns
the monsters fed till you were gone
but the light within you carries on

Winter you sneaking thief
explain yourself
you stole the sun
to leave us with much colder days
depriving us of warming rays
replacing skies of white and blue
with others of a greyer hue
a world of ice
what did you do
I know the catalyst was you

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

Green figs in a bowl
and a chequered cloth,
I breakfast on birdsong

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

Tiny bird I feel you shiver
quivering heart within your breast
strong hands to keep you safe
a place to rest before you fly
go now
spread your wings and say goodbye

Little bird
come inside
shake the chill
cast winter from your mind
let fall that cloak of grief
pooled around your feet
dark moss
old and dry
trampled to dust
watch me kick it away
forgotten in a corner
stay until the sun returns
let spring be your saviour

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!

And the rain fell as numbers
countless splashes
painted pearls of days
turning my hair to white
all unknowing
that soon enough the storm would pass
and whoever threw these jewels
to cover me with life
would only hurl them once

Feed the flame
lead don’t follow
show the way
be the candle
that single burning spark
shine a light
into someone else's darkness
and illuminate your own

Three dead pigeons came to mourn
they hung around from dusk till dawn
and knowing I was gravely ill
stayed perched upon my window sill
then when it looked like I might stay
they clicked their beaks and flew away

Soft falls the light around your face
which drinks the night
and leaves no trace upon your sleeping form
as you lie curled and safe and warm
who am I to know or see
the secrets that you keep from me
we give our minds to flights of dreams
but keep them to ourselves it seems

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

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 ******

Sunrise on a fat contented morning

Yawning

Melted colours brushed across a waking sky

The place where rainbows come to die

Recycled as a new day dawning

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!

The rain on my window has no idea that I think of it as fat unsalted tears, as I watch the flow from ashen discontented skies

It cannot think or reason why
I feel this way

About the foggy endless grey
that fills my head

The heavy sense of brooding and unsatisfying dread

Maybe tomorrow the sullen rain will drain away

But not today

Magpie sitting in your sorrowful tree
go find a friend, or let me be

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

On a blue black Monday when my eyes turned red
not a single word was left unsaid
as we left our marriage like an unmade bed
messy and tumbled like we had just woken
filled with things better left unspoken

Dry ink in my head

I have no pen to write what must remain unsaid

caged words between my ears

imprisoned by frustrated tears of rage

that grow to fill a vast and empty page

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

Waking early
breathing full the yellow summer air
to drink the quiet and take it to my bones
just me alone, with all the trees and calling birds
no other sound was ever heard, except the breeze
that rushing soulful little tease
who stirs the streams and shakes the grass
where hungry warming rabbits pass
to scratch and stretch and start their day
with hymns of questing honey bees
that drone above the meadow flowers,
and work away the dawning hours

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

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

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

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

Almost a year of low level stress
a summer and winter of trying to guess
will it be over, can we progress
the urge to cheer up and get on has expired
not sure about you
but my God I am tired!

Dying sky
painted beautiful
the Gods would weep
if indeed there were Gods to see
the molten tips of living trees
and mountains pink
reflected in a coral sea
what a mistake to blink and miss
a glorious sunset
such as this

Flowers spread happy
Wanting little in return
It's a rare talent!

Most prison walls
are not made of stone
the thickest ones
are flesh and bone

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