A thickish blue in its dancing rays
is rare
The rivers resound softly
A gentle song pervades
across the moor
A visage of a man is heard
far from the blackish gates
His pray louder than the russet Sun

Have you changed ?
did you follow the summer ?
until the storm got in your way !
Have you occasioned the calling ?
did you shape the world through your telescope ?
Was the universe caring ?
did you wait for the fall ?
when it returned
not caring enough
Did you ever capture your tears
from the falling rain ?
Was grace tantamount
when you sighed at the World ?

the ancient elder
softly dawn came
mother cried
her gentle autumnal dreams
squandered

bare branch bird
the bell of november
Fathers spent silence


Loves lost chance  
the proximity of ancient sadness
Heads bowed
the moon crumbled

Red vines wrestling
swaying tangled
nestling the ghosts of fear

My lamentable grace is empty
no bright tidings do I see
the avalanche of nothingness engulfs

The ponds reflection
shatters tranquility
Nightmares plumage
the glittering dissolve

The gorse withers on the ground
The Sin is autumnally thin
Silence hithes in blue
Those roughshed days
are scattered with the leaves

Schemes are forgotten
Feelings disposed
Into the chamber of nothingness
do we ascend

Lamenting
Guitars are trickling
And the lamp lightly lit
We have come to dream

The blue of morning light
as orange Dahlias sway
at the windowsill
Storm Clouds convey their hubris

Followed by a procession of  bolted horses
The pond lappings its edges
Blackbirds are shrieking
Natural prey is the order of the day
The World is arcane

The gusts of wind,
happenstance like dust particles
roaring its way down galleys of rooftops

The Hamlets are gloomily lit
The forest hoovers its brown shades
where loneliness prevails
Yet let us pray for solitude
by the sunken  chimes of the evening bells
Smoke steeps in an empty grove
As the grey moon lifts
shadowless

The evening hues
Wisteria leaves abate
Tangled into the blueness
Ghosts of yesterday tingles

Gusts of wind flatten the gutters
As the window panes rattle
Glaring clouds are driven
with wild horses spooked

The River is eerily placed
as Ducks coo by the sodden bank
A storm is impending
enough to ignite the woods

The Lunatics are doubtful
their Nightmares abound
the glittering rainfall
cascades its way down the roof tops

Sojourn Red guitars
miss the yellow haired girl
Picket fences  where wild garlic grows
An antiquated Truck moves along

The ramshackle hut loiters and lists
as an idiot passes by
his red shoes  dusty

Woman do their swimming
by the pool
They smile back
returning at dusk


sparrows plunge
the scent of bread pontificates
It is late Summer
the flies are a buzzing

I was raised in sea of defiance
and yet my Zephyr  has lost its accord
I have retained all colour
I am lost in a rattled cage
and ageing fast

Speaking in tounges
I have seen your everyday jamboree
Although the seasons were roughshod
did we not heed too

When the carrion calls
this is your  destruction
you are drunk with distain

Your body is a yew tree
into which a maiden
dips her momentary fingers

You are  now a  snake
which slithers 
towards the black cave


together your
dreams are stillborn
the  still night interlopes
with your deft piety
disheartened

The Autumn crocuses sway
amongst the shadows of the pine trees
The air is resonant with smoke
As the buddleia dies down

August as thick as musk
Blackbird came a calling
about Autumns ephemerality
Somber yet always lonely

The impending storms
ignite the skies
Finding a talisman
To acknowledge the epiphany

August you are a gust of leafs
floating downstream
you are about  heartfelt loss
Tameness is not spoke

Shes a huntress
least that offend you
I  have a fictional  affair
with my cat
All she wants is love and warmth
Her eyes follow me
her paws entangle my hands
The elixir of her dighty breath
She not outstare me
She knows my moods
although I can never second guess hers
She ages with dignity
I indulge her with my feelings
Her countenance  knows withstanding

my poetry has gone south
like a unrepentant priest
I am unawakened
I am stuck in a purgatory
All I observe is politics
but that's an obvious target
I feel lacking inspiration
Where is nature
the yarn of a kelp
a mud baked hippopotamus in Safari
or an ominous looming seagull
cresting for a flake 99

The Autumn crocuses sway
amongst the shadows of the pine trees
The air is resonant with smoke
As the buddleia dies down

August as thick as musk
Blackbird came a calling
about Autumns ephemerality
Somber yet always lonely

The impending storms
ignite the skies
Finding a talisman
To acknowledge the epiphany

August you are a gust of leafs
floating downstream
you are about  heartfelt loss
Tameness is not spoke

white against the hill
where elders grow
stones and stars exist together

a stone is thrown in the pond
the frog peers with open eyes
the arcane wind still blows

Time recalls tree and animal
together with languid Moon
He returns
and strolls by the grass
the city crumbles
Gone are the golden days

Evenings
we hear the chirp of the blackbird
Our bent shadows
appear

We thirst for the knowledge
of the pool

We the Autumn  people
lay by the elms

once slender hands
eyes aloft

the dark aggrieves our souls
the mutuality of a friend's hand
transgresses the gloom

Trouble Lord it aint easy
Just a tad of dissatisfaction
Under welter
downsizing expectations
Its hard when your trapped in the suburbs
I cant get enough of the rainshine
on my washing line
il est cinq heures alors
and I cant get enough faith
without you
Pride cant steal my heart

Anxious about my craft
the sun cant shine
for my washing line of poems
I duly stuck on inspiration
Needing a class
Except the teacher doesnt do critique
like the lemon without the ade
so should I just grin and bear it
how can our craft inmenity grow
and ascend our abilities
But the teacher cant share
even  our set homework
is misdirected and ignored

Our love has wilted
like the blanching wind
Although its not the revile
in the morning
its about your tears
and how you wish
away tomorrow
When today is the stet

Its not the banjo
that plays occasionally
Its the truth blowing precariously

The branches learn to bend
We took the side road to Bexhill
We saw the flames of our love dissipate
that  early spring

She nestles on your lap
the door without handle
was easy to use
What will you dream of tonight

Warmth and food
are her labels
bespoke Cat
did you follow summer
then welcome back my duchess

She climbs
by the staircase
safe from the clutch
of the velvet darkness
Surveying her kingdom
punctual on time
ask no questions
enchant us again

By the winter walls
there are long shadows
snow falls on the window panes
Hope is always mocked

Griefs is  emerging
at the church service
as the pale people empty
from service
They have been ****** enough

Love  is unrequited
as the damsels return to their homestead
A small bird on bare branches
is  only there for melancholy
passed by the occasioned wayfarer

Beneath the rotten boughs
Past hope is filled with resentment
The Autumn winds are lonely

A man appears in silhouette
Rain drenched, wrapped in a blue coat
watching the golden stars
His time has come

Memory like a lost gull
faces dejection
In the autumn of his mind
faces absorption
with the now

No walks down the blue river
He waits for evening
in his solitary room

O lonely man
drunk with knowing disdain
His knowing memories
senses his ancestral farm
and thoughts of his Mother, Margaret

There is the stillness of darkness
There is no guilt
Thoughts of death
will not encounter him
His soul at peace