Tread the line between sea and sand
hold the wind, take its hand
let it out
anyway you choose
walk a mile in the ocean's shoes

A parcel from my Uncle Jim
could be short or tall or fat or thin
you never knew what lay within.

This one was large the paper thick
I'm sure at first I heard it tick
then it burped or I thought it did
there was something written on the lid.

My mother said we should take care
it could be anything in there
there was this noise, a sort of howl
like turkeys, followed by a growl

Out came streams of purple smoke
that smelled a bit like artichoke
it put out legs in yellow socks
right through the bottom of the box

Mum fetched her old and trusty broom
and then she chased it from the room
down the garden to the shed
then she leaned against the door and said

I'm having words with Uncle Jim
you never know when it comes from him!

Early morning fingers
clutching at the sill
as I lay quiet, warm and still
half awake yet wrapped in night
not ready for the coming light
which filters softly through the blind
to **** my peaceful state of mind

This night take me
fold me
shake me
fashion me a coat
a costume of stars
let me fly
let me be
let me finally be free
this night is not ours
it is mine
the headiest of wine
that you could never know
now say goodbye
and let me go

To be a poet
Is not to burn the paper with your words
but to be heard
when drifting smoke of love and life is gone
the poet in us carries on
when ink and page and pen are embers
it is the beauty one remembers

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

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

The embankment is a river
of bottles in the sun
I've held them and I've kissed them
every single one

Today
I gave away your cocktail dress
it was black and fitted
I kept it for thirty years
but I never found the shoes
they were too big to fill

In time I will become a beach
an hourglass of falling sand
when eighty tides have washed my face
my youth will be a foreign land
and the laughing girl that once I knew
will be waving from the distance
across that sea that joins us two

Walk with me a while
give me one last kiss on parting
good friends and lovers
secretly and silently entwined
yet I am ever thought as old
and you a young and pretty thing
winter sighs a final breath
and bends to kiss the hand of spring

Spring is ready
underneath each piece of fertile land
the heist is being planned
a plot to steal old winter's icy crown
wrapping it in warmer days to melt it down

Peaceful, I protest against this morning,
grey and wet and dull, not fit for larks
I demand a change
no, I command the sun to shine
rise and get you out of bed
and give us something else instead
I like this not
any decent summer day should start off fine
and then continue hot

I ate a ripe fandango
and washed it down with Tango
it tasted just like mango

Three hundred million years
to them we are nothing
mere children
a whisper on the breeze
echoes of a song, that started long ago
it has no lyric, for it is older than words
the sound of sky and water
tall green trees and waving grass
they sang it to the dinosaurs
when the world was new
in turn, our time will pass
as all things do
but they will carry on
unchanging and unconcerned
humming the tune
of their endless dragonfly summer

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

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

You left the heavens
to bless our silent lake
and bathe your pale and beauteous face
loving heart of infinite grace
I am enraptured, captured and
infinitely moonstruck
I know full well
that I would always have it so
do not let the coming daylight drink your shine
stay a while
oh moon be ever mine

There’s a long long trail a-winding
to the sound of marching feet
worn smooth by shadowed footsteps
their time on earth complete
although a poignant sad reminding
no one’s listening so it seems
there’s a long long trail a-winding
to the land of broken dreams
where that nightingale keeps singing
because that’s what she is for
to welcome home the fallen
from each successive war

Home for the holidays
smooth brown hills
set in a falling landscape
farms and fields of winter wheat
out west beyond the windmill
arms spread wide, dancing hands
that bow to grace a fertile gentle land
what new and subtle changes lie
beneath the wide wind blistered sky
that same familiar patchwork view
perhaps the change is me not you

Come rain
fall smooth across my face
embrace my cheek
stroke soft
as if a lovers hand
do not sting
I am no flower
and you no honey bee
sweet gentle rain
come fall on me

Today I went to the beach
to hear the rolling ocean
and the irksome cries of gulls
as they flew in circular motion
not sure why I went
it was just a peculiar notion

If my sky should fall
as one day I know it will
let mosses stitch my winding sheet
wrap me in a willow shroud
shot through with camomile
bury me in starlight,
six hands deep beneath the trees
for I always was romantic
then let me rest and take my ease

'Green blue of the sky
heated white-hot'
Vincent saw, what we could not
captured through an artists eye
he put aside his pain
to give us fields of lavender
and glorious scented rain

To love is to derail your path
put aside your own desires
throw yourself upon the pyre
to feed the fires that burn in someone else's heart
an act of madness from the very start
not a sacrifice, for that implies regret
yet we impale ourselves, to feel love's sting
on the reddest rose with the sharpest thorn
the sweetest pain which must be borne
a beautiful sabotage

Fall soft you tranquil rain
clean the streets
embrace the light
condemn our cigarette scented night  
send him full in flight to the drain
wash this soiled and gum chewed world
remove a little of the stain

The past it is no sea
no tide that breaks upon a foreign land
it is a creek, an oily little stream
which bleeds its waters on today's white sand

soft falls the silence
gentle rain upon your face
beads full between those waiting lips
a poet once, but taking sips of watered war
has stilled your voice
and beauty speaks no more

Rain is fodder
food for hungry puddles
when the sun is out
they waste away to nothing

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

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

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

music and movement
pretending to be a tree
in your pants and vest

Farewell Samhain
Celtic custom to honour the dead
****** for profit and greed instead
drowned in sugar
until all that remains
is a Jack-O-Lantern rotting in rain

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

I see you wriggling
little word-fish  
trying to get away  
behave now
jump in my writer's net  
don't worry, I won't eat you  
just borrow you for a bit  
as bait for bigger things  
stay still
let me fix you to my story hook  
I need to capture a reader

This long day
what will we sip from the hours before us
sweetened wine,
taken from each other’s lips
throw in our weary lot with circumstance
and cast our loving dice until they roll a six
the coming night will end the game
so let us play and burn the candle flame

Curtains blow
through tight closed panes
not a breath of wind
but the shape remains
no breeze has settled on my windowsill
outside the sleeping world is still
and yet those curtains wander where they will
I turn my back on flowered fingers
and try to sleep
but the feeling lingers

I see you
Laird of Tanera Mòr
shaded scotsman
misty on the dock
I hear your skirling pipes
threading salted air
silent sound which cuts
and tops each bouncing wave
music on the bridge
between the living and the grave

The creative mind
is a beast never still
a nervous high strung fish
that swims in a restless sea
forever searching
chasing thought worms
which may not come to be
it needs waves of ideas
to spin it round and round
the ocean of its notions
would dry up on solid #ground

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

Every slice of bread
contains seeds of history
which unite us all

Lost lines
withered fruit upon the vine
which snuffs a lighted candle
in the writers mind
the skull, that egg
which once was full and round
now echoes, hollow with the sound
of missing words no longer found

Come sleep do not avoid me
I am not your mortal enemy
as you are not mine
let us shake on it in darkness
and meet again when it is light
without this constant restless fight
of turning pillows in endless night
visit me, comfort me, set me yawning
we can talk some more, tomorrow morning

Slap my face cruel wind
press hard upon my cheek
with fingers red and rough as any farmers hand
you bend the struggling trees
and whip the waves to beat the land
is it any wonder
that I fail to understand
how one so gentle in repose
could be so angry when he blows

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

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

Fall colours
the russet reds and yellow browns
of Summer's faded hand me downs
Autumn is the second sister

Sunset
a final blush
as evening strokes the land
with butter yellow fingers
on a soft and gentle hand
caressing and *******
and finally confessing
to a scarlet indiscretion
that the day won't understand

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