How many dreams,
how many wild and uncompleted schemes,
how many words
and the infant ghosts of poems I will never write
do I leave on my pillow at the end of every night

Ants on a dry leaf
conquerers and pioneers
sailing the puddle

Salty old river

Flowing gently

Downwards

In space

Running off

The waterfall

That is my face

People call me a pixie
they say I'm mischievous,
I'm actually evil
but also quite devious

My poems may not be all that good
not near as much polish as they should
some of them wither on the vine
but *******
at least they are mine!

Take the long road
walk in the woods
feel the grace of trees
consider each winding turn
bees hum
plainsong in the heather
drowsy as the passing day
do not wave
make the final corner
close your eyes
and rest

You cannot possess a soul

Force it into chains

Crush a spirit and take what
remains

Make a slave

Own it from the cradle to the grave

You can use cruel ties

But you cannot bind

Freedom of the mind

Original thought

Cannot be bought

If you take my words
you are stealing sand
which belongs to everyone,
there is plenty on the beach,
we share a bucket of language
play, make a tower of your own devising,
the castles I build are mine, and mine alone

Grief is an empty place
a dark and silent painful space
with the hardest plastic chair
you wait until a flicker of light
shines under a door
you never knew was there

Poem
a drink of words
sometimes shaken
stirred with thought
the cocktail
is you

The poem bird
a stubborn thing
of fickle wings
and shuttered beak
that will not sing
decided he would fly
he left the nest between my ears
and never said goodbye!

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

The poet inside me sleeps,
curled up in the nut he rests,
perhaps he has died
and he lies, stiff and cold,
I do not think he is no more,
the occasional snore can be heard
a tumbling phrase or sybillant vowel
escape his lips,
errant ships that pass,
otherwise he lies
a dormant beast, waiting for spring
and the filtered sunshine that his words might bring

Poetry is not spaghetti
you cannot herd, strings of complicated words
and hurl them at the page, one by one
to see if they stick, when the poem is done

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

My polite smile is a candle

it burns

occasionally flickering

throwing shadows

eating itself

losing form

softening

when the lights go out

there is nothing there!

Poppies after rain
Waving scarlet petticoats
A garden can-can

The artwork a face
a mirror the frame
no portrait the same

To Create
Is the highest point of man
Not because you should
Just because you can!

We have this need to know
what makes a river run
or whips the wind to blow,
what lies beyond the stars
and makes the flowers grow,
we investigate our world
from the sky
to the seas below,
mankind in all its ferocity
has an insatiable curiosity,
we are bright and questioning creatures
one of few redeeming features

Smooth

Sometimes round

Sound as a pound

A chamber for nesting

For sitting and resting

Awaiting the call

An egg has it all

They applauded the president
those with no hands stamped their feet
those with no feet clapped their hands,
and the president smiled his crocodile smile
because he hadn't fought for his country
and he still had hands and feet
but he had no heart
not even a painted purple one!

Find your place,
a thinking space
you can call your own,
inside your mind
it’s important to find
a private zone,
where you can be you
and first in the queue,
for good mental health
take some time for yourself

I shall not come this way again,
I cannot hope to travel on the time I borrow
so I shall seize the chances given me today
and cast away the worries of tomorrow

Children play

Mouths open in silent wonder

Purple waves

Begin to roll

Lovers love

Holding hands

A final time

Together

Drowning

Faces lit with

Jasmine yellow

And fuchsia fire

Reflect the falling embers

Burning sky and haunted beauty

Sunset at the end of the world

Scented change perfumes the breeze
nesting birds fill the trees,
warming earth turns the plough
winter makes his final bow
the pulse of spring is quickening now

Depression,
a dark and empty place to fall
a tube of silent closing walls
which sneak on in and wrap you tight
they **** the air and drink the light
to leave you crushed in body and soul
a resident of the rabbit-hole

Twitcher runner dancer

moonlit watcher

road chancer

nibbler chewer chaser

wind rider

headlight facer!

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

Can water know
when it flows and drips like rain
through the palm of your hand
does it understand
and feel for the drops that remain
to linger
on your freezing fingers

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

Oil on the water

Gentle spilling colours

Tumbled greens and inky blues

Fade to yellow and pinky hues

Filling the puddle

A requiem for rainbows

All power is fleeting, none of it will last
look at the dictators we have buried in the past,
those excutive orders will be shredded and torn
burning in a heap, upon the White House lawn,
America will rise, after you have gone
your name will be a curse, when its soul goes marching on,
images smashed, tinted rubble for foundation
trodden in the mud of a bruised but recovering nation

I slipped
through a crack in the world
rolled down the bank
and lost myself
among the bottles
and discarded papers
you, a collector of trash
found me
and made me useful again

Speak scarlet secrets
A million sweet vermilions
Whispered in the dark

Don't look back in anger

You cannot wipe the sins of the past

Remember them

Use the fuel to spur you on

Work for the living not those who have gone

But remember

Live for today

Find your own way

A better path

Build a place where you belong

Remember those who were done a wrong

Then move on

But remember

It's your world now

I am the wind
the rain which pelts and blows full in the face of adversity
and the silent sound of a million damp and aching feet
I am friendships that will never come again
and the voice of doomed youth
I am memories in old age
the scarlet smell of crushed poppies
and the iron tang of spilled blood  and rusty wire
I am hope and loss
dignity in duty
and outright defiance in the face of defeat
I am all these things
I am remembrance

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!

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

Peace,
a blissful moment of release
is it an object
a concept
or a verb,
or is a little note on your head
that says, do not disturb
is it in a garden,
filled with things you grew yourself
or does it come in shopping
and a bursting wardrobe shelf,
you decide,
there is only one of you that resides
and sometimes hides in that place inside

The world took a break

Traffic stilled, just the dark rope of empty roads stretching for miles

Birds sang in the trees

No planes flew

People didn't rest

They sat in their houses and  didn't sleep, no matter how calm the world outside the window

We worried and wished and waited for it all to be over

For the planet to wake up

So that we could go to bed

You will not halt the rushing wind
restless seas will turn their tides no matter what you do
rain will fall & wet the land to make it green
leaves will drop at turn of year
you can stop a ticking clock
but you cannot stop time