great ship in the fog
creaks low on a rising tide
rusting whale in pain

Dream with me of the beach
hold me as we glide
in tempo with the tide
let us dance
let us tango
a lyrical fandango
like it always used to be
just for you and me
passion unrefined
when I wake up i'll find
sandy footprints on my mind

Winter sunrise
sings of hope
forgotten fire
in a frozen world

To be a hero
is not just about the action
but when the day is done
to quietly get on with your life
and show them that they never won

Margaret's hands are small and white
they will never hug her mother
or feel a lovers hand squeeze hers
never play piano like her sister Maud
or wear a wedding ring
not any of these things
Margaret's hands are marble still
each dove at rest upon her chest

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

crushed inside a rock
it took me a million years
just to see the light

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

Found floating among the ****
one beach shoe sized five
what happened to the other one
because we never found it
perhaps it went with you into the wide blue waves
a faithful companion and foot soldier
comfort for the journey you never said you were making
you might have to hop through eternity
that would be silly
and you never did like cold feet

Found floating among the ****
one beach shoe sized five
what happened to the other one
because we never found it
perhaps it went with you into the wide blue waves
a faithful companion and foot soldier
comfort for the journey you never said you were making
you might have to hop through eternity
that would be silly
and you never did like cold feet

Walk a mile
with the wind on your face
between the land and the sky
the sand and the water
tread the lonely margins
the frayed cuffs
where worlds meet and end
listen to the cries of wading birds
and wet your tired feet
let the waves heal you
and wash against your senses
this beach is yours
if only in your head

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

A bird

A graceful fragile thing devoid of earthly care

Which sings and sets the sky alight

On wings so light they skim the air

My soul is a bird that is flying free

Soaring high

Swooping low

It takes me to places where I can't go

A joyous

Ragged

Wind blown

Crow

It sits and watches

From the memory tree

The one that grows

At the heart

Of me

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

You were always the fruit tree
new light of promised hope in spring
sweet pears within the summer of your days
the flowing wine of a full ripe season
and when autumn came
it reached with shadowed fingers
to pluck you from the wall
you stood alone against the wind
while we your living leaves were scattered
root and branch, stripped base and bare
it was then we watched you fall
there was heart in you my friend,
you gave your all

Faith is a fruit tree
stripped bare of leaves and blossom
waiting for the spring

Fruit tree
did you never think of love,
perhaps you thought too much,
you stripped yourself of leaves to live
and gave of all you had to give,
naked and alone you tried,
so hard to stem that bitter tide
but still the darkness of you grew, inside
until you knew for certain that the war was lost
yet maybe in the doing it was somehow won
a pretty pity that you never found the sun
mellow warmth to melt the frost and make you free
to be the person you were always meant to be

Bring me no roses,
or sad white lilies
chant me no dirge,
or quiet tunes of deep respect
this is not remembrance
for it was never how I lived
or ever wanted to be
instead, bury me in colour
asters for my winding sheet
yes, daisies for my shroud
a stars and wonders funeral
and sing me out, real loud

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

Pallid sea all rolling smooth
milked of colour by a dying sun
brings hope before darkness
and peace before sleep,
wends its greasy way in silence
spreading slow it pools
sticky in its countenance
licks the beach with a tongue of glass
and ends a day that has come to pass

Galway's tears are grey
soft they fall upon her cheeks
scarred and rutted with her age
weathered by storms
kissed by the sea
a faithful and remembered love
he visits often
and tries to bend her to his will
but she is strong
resoulute she will not change
only time can rearrange her features
often she is mild
her temper only stirred by the restless wind
who is her neighbour
always rapping on the doors
of her crouched and hunkered homes
yes, Galway’s tears are grey
but her grassy smile is warm and wide
she gets into the bones of you
until you know that can never really leave her loving arms
and if you do, know a little of her will be coming too

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

Scarlet dancing poppies
ruffled skirts flung high
pansies and geraniums
nod to an August sky
foxglove mint and rosemary
move with the wind and sway
a summer garden party
and a fragrant cabaret

Summer wears a gauntlet green
in Autumn rusted patches can be seen
Winter swaps for stout grey wool
to keep his fingers warm
Spring a stripper's emerald glove
when ready to perform

Ducks are the quacking sunshine of a noisy day

geese are moonlight in flight

silent graceful sailors of the clouds

they go where the wind takes them,

free spirits of the air.

****** 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

Immunity from prosecution
does not give you absolution

Do not talk to me
or claim a previous affection
we had nothing but a tenuous connection
do not press for friendship in my name
I do not wish the bond or seek to find the same
so leave me in the same state as you came
now get you gone
forget
move on

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

My heart is my gift

burn it on the fire

fuel of my desire

to keep you warm

through any storm.

When the wolves of life

are prowling

outside the cottage door

breathe in a little smoke

and know I love you evermore

Your average girl

Is mostly Grrr

With a bit of whirl!

The lighted candle
burns for just we two
making nonsense of reason
it brings such happy madness
a joyous moonstruck affliction
from which we hope to never be recovered
love makes fools of us all
and we would ever have it so
for a world without it
is true insanity

Tread lightly

Hardly make a sound

Bow your heads

A gentle soul is leaving

No footsteps ring out

As he walks

He went as he lived

Without grand gesture

Or ringing bells

Just the whispered shadow

Of a good man passing

Faces are our covers
They show the world what we want it to see and to believe

A replacement cover can make a tired old book look new

But hands tell a different story

On the ends of your arms are two gossiping wagging tongues

They always tell the truth!

A favour granted

Is not willingly gifted

The clock is ticking

The grave
a quiet place of tumbled stone
which covers cold and ancient bone
which once was warm as you or I
and in our turn we too will die
fragile life to fragile dust
we live as every creature must
fixed in time of certain span
and then return whence we began

Time to turn the pages

Leave the book open

Scribble what you want to say

Then draw a line

Put down the Pencil

Make space for a new beginning

A fresh hand can start their story

You wrote a chapter or two

When someone moved over for you

Now do the same

Let the music fade

The lights go down

Time to leave the stage with grace

It is done

Goodbye

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

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

When the wind blows chill

Withering fruit on the vine

It takes the music

From a poets soul

Snuffs out the lighted candle

Silencing notes that only you can hear

Rhymes in your head dry and cracked like forgotten paint

In an alley leading nowhere

The skull beneath the skin

The emptiness within

The meaning

Is gone

But the frost lives on

Winters song

You hope will bring

New hope of spring

Green shoots that bind

And heal within your fragile poets mind

Early morning tea
Sleepy hands on a china bowl
Peace in the garden

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

When you were bold Sir Lancelot
and I was a lady fair
we cast our fortune to the wind
and love was free as air

When you were old Sir Lancelot
and I was a lady fair
I never thought there would come a time
when you would not be there

When you were gone Sir Lancelot
I missed you being near
you left a sad and grieving maid
your lonely Guinevere

Ploughed fields
stark after rain
standing proud, brown and plain,
this year's crop will be planted soon
on corrugated paper
in the steamy water vapour
of a spring afternoon