I only ever get around to putting some poems on this page – for lots more see the Posts list on right-hand side of the front (home) page – or use the search box (just above recent posts) if you are looking for something in particular


In Utopia 

In a perfect place,
At a perfect time,
In a perfect world,
Why would we not be perfect?
Why move away from the warmth
When the fires are burning so strong?
Why struggle to fend off the angels of love
When the air is full of their song?
Let heaven come down from above.
Let angels rest on the earth.

The gifts were long ago given
And each new day, rebirth.

Bountiful West

The cup gleams gold in the light
Golden liquid overflowing
Round bowl on a slender stem.
On the table beside it are apples.
Red, yellow, glowing,
Globed sunlight bursting with juice.
Outside in the meadow, the cows
Brown and white, gentle eyed, lowing,
As the calf pushes and pulls on the teat,
Staggers a little and suckles.
Warm milk for the jug.
A blue and white bowl holds the cream.
Blue and white is the sky above
Brown and deep the buzzing of bees
Making the foxgloves bend and bow
Under the coolness of trees
Where the earth holds the richness of leaves
And the bones of the ancestors rest
In the land of the ever blessed.


Queen of the Horses

In golden silks and brocades I appear,
on a horse so white he gleams in the night,
the horse that pulls the high sun in its course,
is mine, in this fertile land, shedding light.

Pwyll sent his horsemen in pursuit of me.
For two days and nights we ran, while they tired,
my stallion never lengthened his stride.
Pwyll the Prince of Dyfed, a man admired,

came out to hunt me, through the wild lands,
I fled him, ahead of his pleading words.
I delighted in the thrill of the chase
and stopped for the solemn promise I heard.

I had come to this place to possess him
but I am never so easily won.
I rebuked him for the harm to his horse.
To wed the Prince of Dyfed I had come.

My name is Rhiannon, of the horse, the land
and the moon. Queen of the Horses, riding,
mother of the lost one, later returned.
Three mystical birds fly with me, hiding.

I come from that Otherworld, fairer far,
my fathers domain, the deepness of seas,
Find me in the wind that runs in the grass.
I shimmer on waters surface in breeze.

When you stand on the high, ancient, hills
where the wind whips and tugs at your hair,
when you see the breath of a horse on cold air,
beneath and between, I am there.


The Well in the Wood

i have seen this well in the wood, long ago
my dreams are hid in its moss covered walls
treasures I secretly left there before
its slippery sides plunge down to dark depths
where water is constantly dripping
drip, drip, drip, into my thoughts

aware of the trees leaning over
they drop their leaves into the pool.
hanging over the side, feeling coolness,
i drop in a pebble and wait

long falling before an echo
this well is old and deep


The Sea Never Sleeps

On sleepless nights I drift away
to the house by the rolling sea
where the waves wash home to the shore
pulled out, away, by the moon.
The sound of the waves, the sound of my breathe,
in sleep, take me, wash me away,
born on a breathe, borne on a wave with no dreams.

This sleep tonight eludes me.
I find myself out on the reef
out on the windswept headland
moonlights path shines the way.
The breakers beat the granite rock.
The wind whips and pulls at my hair.
The coarse headland grass whips and sings.

The stars gliding from east to west
a line of light rises at dawn
silvered horizon, the sun.
I wander along the coastal path
past stone walls and the gentle stream,
the sweet vanilla scent of gorse.
I feel a need to keep walking.

I swing through the kissing gate,
warm, smoothed wood under my hand,
on through a field and then further
to the finger of land, reaching out,
high, high up, alone and free,
resting my gaze on the beautiful blue,
forever, curve of the bay.


The Magic House

this room is full of funny magic things
birds made of corn, bronze candlesticks, a broom,
bells, painted drums, lamps with hidden genies
a broken mirror up above the fire,
spells, a golden egg and seashells, boxes
with locked lids in hidden corners, darkened
secret nooks, far from the big wide window,
piled dusty books too high to reach and read
not that i could read them anyway, not yet,
but I’m not scared, no fears, I like it here
i poke about and no-one bothers me
i wear jewellery and eastern slippers
they’re red, the toes have points, curling over
i think Aladdin came to visit once
no one in my family denied it
or maybe it was Sinbad, the brave sailor
because i saw an anchor in the garden
by the roses where the blackbird sings



all week we gathered driftwood
following the storm
and dragged it to the yard
to dry out in the sun

i watched you racing children
jumping rock to rock
always sure-footed
you never made a slip

pied piper running,
Cheshire cat grin
always on the tide line
when the tide is coming in

the tides come in
the tides go out
sunset, moonlight, dawns
each day the wood is drying

we built the fire together
just beyond the waves
carefully constructed
encouraging the flame

we threw more wood on
as the light began to fall
we sat and watched the sun go down
a blazing golden ball

passing strangers watching
stood on the path above
they thronged like curious moths
you called them to the fire

they ask do we live here
they say how fortunate we are
you smiled and wandered off
always to the tide line

i watched you from afar
the waves rolled in
the waves rolled out
beneath the evening star


Summer Storm

at the height of the summer thunderstorm
a red balloon
escaped from the village fete

the wind sped it along
the course of the river
past gravestones, treetops, roses

in the churchyard
the wedding guests ran for shelter
the bride clutching wildly her veil

flying higher and higher it climbed
into the towering greyness of clouds
a dwindling spot of colour, consumed


Moonlight Lamp of the Faerie Gathering


Out walking in the woods after midnight

I carelessly stumbled upon a  gathering

I sat down behind a gnarled oak and listened.


”I remember,” one said ”when the moon was closer

to earth. Our magic was far stronger then”

Above me the stars twinkled, in grass starlight glistened.


The gathering let out a collective sigh.

I shifted, leaves rustled, they were quickly alert.

A Fae whispered, close to my ear, ”Why are you here?”


”I can’t sleep, so I walk, the moon leads my path.”

”You must sleep with the moonlight upon your face” she said,

”All creatures dream deeper when the moon is near.”


”Throw open your curtains let the moon in.

Your dreams will come quickly, your sleep will be longer.

Sleep in the moonlight, this light will escort you.”


‘Your father slept with the moon flooding his face.

Did you forget all your people ever taught?

This is an old knowledge we granted. It’s true.”


I heard my father speak from afar in his grave

Deep in the earth beneath the dead leaves

”Ah yes the moon, bathe in its grace, follow the moon.”


I thanked the Faerie and stood up to leave

My father’s voice and moonlight shone in my heart

”Sleep well mortal,” said the Fae, ”Night will end soon.”


 In Arden

I roam the Forest of Arden in dreams
seeking the forgotten bower, the tree
at the heart of everything, the trusty Oak
and the name that is rarely spoken now
hidden in wood, rising in smoke, sacrificed,
the Green Man rising in ancient wood

Herne the Hunter, never a nightmare to me,
I would run with his hounds and howl in the wind
leap with the sap in the wood that is green.
listen closely, they announce his coming

the snap of a twig


The World

the sun, the shine,
the shadows fall beneath the trees,
tranquil trance of leaves, triumphant,
leaning, lofty, lovely, light

the love, the lost, the found, the learning,
light of love, looping flight
flight to night, the moon, the stars,
stars that lead the navigator

star of wonder, star of hope
tent of sky, singing songs
sounds of battle, lullaby and funeral marches
swords and strangers, the strong, the mighty

might have been, may be still, morning comes,
comes with chimes, chime of bell,
bells of silver, shiver, shatter, shards,
sentinels of silence, stone

stones in water, stones in sea,
the rivers rush, rolling, waters rising into cloud,
rain and rainbow. what of us?
What of us? we were. we are.

walking, wandering, wondering why,
where and when, will it, wont it come again
the sun, the shine and is this all?
are we really all so small?

the sun, the shine, a burst of light,
burgeons, blossoms, blooms and grows,
glows and gladdens, glancing eyes,
eyes that see, the world, the life unfold,
enfold, enshrine, delightful,
dancing, woven in delicious dream,
the globe, the glow, eternal, bright,
entrances me – this glorious world


Hidden Rooms in Secret Houses

Secret rooms, hidden behind walls,
books, red cushions and a chair,
visited in dreams, well known.

Narrowed passageways and stairs
climb above the twisted chimney stacks.
They rise like curling smoke, a spiral.

Doors that open inward lead out to
the dove cote, fountain, walls of mossy stone,
pathways, apple trees and pears.

At last I leave this house.
Beyond the gate
the island, slate and jagged rocks,

a swaying broken bridge in sighing wind,
a fragile home of glass and salted timber.
High tides beat against it, retreating in a spray.

A window cracks. I am not afraid.
The lighthouse calls out through the fog,
receding echoes that return again,

a sound that swings around the bay.
In dreams, when I am swept away,
the waiting house remains.


Morning ~ a rubaiyat

impatient for your arms again i rise
to sit and watch your secret sleeping eyes
what dream is this that keeps you lingering there
with smiling parted lips and tender sighs

what joy in sleep fills your so captured heart
while i wait here alone, to watch apart
and gaze upon your much loved gentle face
more lovely than a work of perfect art

i wander in the garden late at night
to gather perfumed roses, pink and white,
while I my patient lovers vigil keep
to bring your morning wonder and delight

the dark, the stars, the moon are gone away
across your sleepy pillow sunbeams play
in this new world refreshed, renewed, be mine
awaken to another golden day


Good Evening


The day of death comes when it comes

that’s the sum and the wonder of it,

it teaches us how we should live.


If I find the wait for departure

too gruelling, or late,

I won’t stand about on that grey platform

in the cold, without a companion,

huddled up in a worn out old coat,

my collar turned up and shivering.

So tiresome!


When all is prepared, right and ready

I will die with delight

on a bright moonlit night,

clear stars filling the sky,

I will hold up my soul

to the moonlight above.

I will tell the world

how much I have loved it,

give thanks, state my intention.

strip off the old coat

and accept the warmth

that comes with the cold

in a garden at night

very old.


The rest will be history

written by others

if written at all

in a never ending story


The Music Room

two notes echo
near the piano
they hover
middle C, B flat
a warm scent
jasmine and almonds
hangs in the air
softly retreating

I remember that
whenever I think
of the music room
the passageway
door to the garden
open a crack
the window
looks out to the sea
where the tides
roll out and back
washed over grey
to the distant blue


The Old Man

Four cottages stood in a silent row
out on the windswept lonely moor.
People came and people went
but no one came to the old mans door.

The old mans home stood empty now
autumn leaves littered the floor
a smell of must hung in the air,
winters damp and lack of care.

Seeking a home I entered in
Knowing nothing at all of him.
Like an intruder i climbed the stair
to a room, quiet, stark and bare.

An empty bed, the covers pulled back
an empty chair, a water glass
half full, a film of tired dust.
A hollow, a dip at the pillows heart,

round imprint of a sleeping head,
all that is left of the old man, dead.
He lay alone for two long weeks
abandoned in his silent bed



I hurtle through space
velocity pushing my breath back
choking on air, falling, eternal spin.
Seven aeons, seven hundred,
Seven days, seven minutes
No sense of time or a reason

I land in a world of stone,
hard and unforgiving.
My left wing broken, unable to fly
I lay on the rock alone.
She comes to me with a scalpel blade,
unpicks every stitch in my wound
with exquisite, fine pointed precision

lost in space, I roll from the rock
drifting downward in free fall
the earth rises to meet me again
old greeting, old paths, old ways,
days barely remembered
this land of archways and doors,
doors open, doors locked, a mystery

I escape from this place
to the trees by the river
where the castle shadow still falls.
Staggering I fall to one knee.
I try to hold on to what’s left of my heart
tired, broken winged, exhausted.
Time and space don’t matter to me

I wish only for peace, tenderness,
to know that she will remember me


Above the frozen water meadow winter sunlight flashes
frail birches stand in line, a guard against the traffic,
their silvered arms outstretched above the dying rushes.
Icy wind blows bitter from the east, fills my eyes with tears.
The trees, in faint whisper, sighing, leaning,
speak of vanished woodlands they will never know

Far away, in the West, two hundred miles and more,
a brook bubbles, dancing, sings in a hidden hollow.
Twisted oaks, clothed in moss and lichen, entwined with ivy,
born of wilful acorns, rooted in ancient rock, remain undaunted.
From dawn to dusk, the air is full of bird song until the owl hoots.
Peace surrounds, enfolds, and, with night, bewitches.

I stand on this path at the side of the road
gaze at the birch trees, the sunset spread behind them.

This place is so empty.


Escaping the Tower 

Climbing the mountain, trying to reach the tower
Confronted by a dragon, endlessly asking me riddles,
While a great storm gathers all about us
Thunderbolts roar, lightning reflects on my shield

(“What do you do in that room all the time?
What are you thinking about?’’
I stop to get the food
And gather the rubbish that needs to go out)

I am losing my footing on the slippery rocks.
The dragon flashes his eyes with desire
I have to succeed, cannot be overpowered,
I call on the rain to quench his fire

(“Always off in imagination,
What’s wrong with you?
You spend hours on that
And it’s not even true’’)

I answer the final riddle, the dragon steps aside.
My way no longer barred, I struggle on up the mountain.
The tower reaches up to the clouds
Eagles circle above, come to help me in my troubles

(“I know you have talent?
Why don’t you use it?’’
“I work too!’’ i say
“You could work more!’’ says she)

The eagle carries me up to the princess, we hover.
She reaches out to me. I swing her onto the eagles back.
My arm circles her waist, her hair flies in my face.
She leans back on me in relief.

(“You always were some other place,
Even as a child. No different now than ever.
Why can’t you just be normal,
And stay in reality?’’)

We circle together above the now sunlit valleys
Looking down from above, we avoid all the cities and castles
And land in a summer meadow by a softly singing stream
She adorns herself with flowers, I dream


The Hidden Ones

Our people were warriors, they journeyed far.
They followed the sun, the moon, the stars.
They honoured their dead who dwell with the living.
They left their mark on hilltop and moor.

They farmed the land to suit the seasons,
Skilled in crafts and rejoicing in song.
They sailed the seas and carved the stones.
They run in the blood, remembered in bone.

In spoken words, with no need of books,
Their stories passed from heart to heart.
Power and land they may have lost
But their thoughts and truths were not overcome

They have no followers yet are followed still,
With origins lost but stories repeated,
In the great glories of poetry that still lives on,
They are amongst us here, the hidden ones.



The smell of roast coffee haunts the street.

I wait to reach it, breath deep

as we pass, my mothers high heels clatter

briskly across the cellar grating as she drags me

by that alluring café where people are talking.

I imagine them all as artists, writers,

just as I want to be. Is coffee the key?


In summer, roses and sun cream,

the smell of a warm tennis ball,

at the pool, fluoride burns in my throat,

hot tarmac, big roller pressing it flat.

The heat of a greenhouse full of tomatoes,

geranium leaves crushed between fingers,

new mown lawns and sprinklers.


Wet dogs, the strong deep smell of horse,

bran mash and hay, wintergreen, autumn, leather,

new baked bread and a simmering curry.

More pungent the scent of a dark, damp wood,

seaweed on the wind by the ocean

that catches my heart and opens my lungs.

No hurry then as the world stands still.


My father smelled of sawdust, tweed,

tobacco, fresh paint and engine oil,

of his indefinable tribal self,

nothing like anyone else.

As a child that smell meant safe,

warm as the smell of a fir tree

bedecked in Christmas lights,

firelight shadows on walls.


I can recall the perfume,

the scent, the pure animal smell,

of everyone I ever loved.


Now give me oranges, rosemary,

bergamot bottled, uncorked,

for comfort alone.



it’s out there somewhere, hovering
at the edge of my mind as i turn
it’s out there somewhere, that haunting
form, a musical note, a flute

it’s out there somewhere, in the glide
of a kestrels wing above the moors
it’s out there, somewhere it’s waiting
just beyond my reach, in light

it’s out there somewhere calling me
persistent, it pulls me, always
out to the hills, the woods, out there
somewhere on the blue horizon

it’s out there somewhere, I call out
asking it to come for me now
it’s out there somewhere, answering
follow me, move, get up, come, walk

it’s out there, somewhere inside me
in every dream and whispered sign,
footfalls to follow, blown open doors
i live with it, out there somewhere

i knew it all so clearly once
high on a rock strewn windswept Tor
i saw it spread out across the land
a flying shadow, a glow, a gleam

i heard it in the forest close
tracking my every cautious step
smiling behind my back, laughing
it’s out there somewhere, i saw

it’s out there somewhere, I know
i smelled that scent of old, ancient,
it’s out there somewhere, primordial
lobe, in the depths of memory

it’s out there somewhere, alive


A Question of Numbers 

In one year we travel four billion miles around the Sun

Without even stirring a limb.

We dream fifteen thousand dreams,

Remembering almost none.

How significant those that we do.


In a lifetime we may see nine hundred New Moons

Twenty-five thousand sunsets,

Twenty-five thousand dawns.

How many do we really see?

How significant those that we do.


How many times might my love smile at me?

How many times will we kiss?

How many dreams can we make come true

Before time flees and is gone?

How significant those that we do.


If I thought I’d be gone tomorrow

What would I say and do?

Nothing significant.


The light comes and goes across the earth;

A clock hand that sweeps us away.


Butterflies, unaware


Late Fairytale

a loom stands in the corner
the work left incomplete
slippers beside the fire, grown cold
missing the warmth of her feet

this place is full of cobwebs and dust
a broom leans by the wall, forgotten
an emerald bowl holds a jumble of trinkets
does anyone live here at all?

the garden is wild and overgrown
the birds, left unfed, have all flown away
the pool by the fountain is empty and dry
where children used to play

the faeries who hid away in the rain
will return with the nightingale



emerging from a night that’s almost gone

my mother moved about the kitchen slowly

such quiet grace should herald in the holy

brush strokes of light burst forth and shone


what shadows will the evening bring

when light is low behind the window blind?

if i look out what comfort will i find?

a choir of angels, distant, softly sing


after the party

after the party

later on
the lovely part was
when there were only six of us left
we had to sleep in one room
by the fire we sat and talked until dawn
and when we woke again at mid day
these strangers were all close friends

we never met again


a worm

blackbird below in the garden
after the fallen rain
turns his ear to the ground
poised, focused

me, up here in the window,
watching, looking, searching,
seeing, focused


a cat, a beach-towel and soup

at the kitchen window
stirring summer soup
we watch our ginger cat
tiptoe out, across the beach

she gazes into rock-pools
not left undisturbed
last years summer visitors
returned, remember her

they lie on rainbow beach-towels
soaking up the sun
the cat strolls home
to await the turning year



in springtime we wandered into the wood
walking through carpets of bluebells
their deep throated scent filled the air
we spoke of golden dreams, hopes shared,
tenderness, beauty, love

the air seemed to change, birds silenced,
a shift in the wind carried a chill
leaves rustled, foretelling a storm,
we drew closer together, light faded,
the wood grew still, night fell

owls hooted, trees shivered
off in the distance a twig snapped
shadows shifted, moving closer
limbs crashed down in the wood
we sought the forgotten way out

in a world full of shadows and light
lighting fires, frightened of witches,
huddled like Hansel and Gretel
holding on to each other tight
hoping to find the trail

cursed from the start
curses piling upon us
doomed by darkness and gloom
demons and traps closing in
too fast for any escape

in a world full of shadows and light
sunlight flashed through the trees as we ran
black bars pierced by illumination, too brief
we couldn’t see where we were going
how could we find our way?

finally we found a door, too narrow,
i went through it alone
‘Go!’ you said, ‘I’ll be here.’
but you became lost in there
while i wandered on in the world

the paths never took me back
it was all so long ago
i forgot
how will i ever find you now?
i have no key for that door


In Luxulyan Wood

the disused viaduct spanned the valley
a leap of arches, stone piled up on stone,
where old channelled streams, cut into cold clay,
flowed away from the hazed heat of the day

i followed to the ancient, cool damp wood,
no longer frequented, my secret place
i was lost in thoughts and wandering daydreams
wrapped in deep silence, woven with bird-song

surrounded by scents, the creaking of trees
the soft bubbling sounds of the nearby streams
a rustle of leaves on a sudden breeze
that hushed and sighed with the fall of the wind

leaving deep shade for dazzling sunlight
i entered the clearing, briefly stood, blind
as my sight cleared, he was suddenly there
he in the east, i in the west, both transfixed

suspended in time, an unbroken gaze,
we stood in communion across space
the race of my heart the only sound
i slowly knelt to the ground without thought

he stood in a sunbeams magical glow
a fox, the like of which i never saw,
tall, strong, gleaming in deep red coat, he shone
the King of the woodland for evermore

kneeling before him quietly, i smiled,
making my respect and intention clear
our eyes held, i his bondsman and loyal kin,
in a place that stretched through air, almost near

a moment of true beauty kept me there
when, turning quickly, he vanished away
leaving me, standing in awe and pure joy
a vision of gold, held still in my heart


Gale Force

woods on the hilltop groan and sway
gale blows in wild from the raging sea
pools of leaves whirl at my feet
branches crash down, world lifting up
drunken sailor riding a roundabout

stumbling, i cling to a creaking oak
this wind whips the world inside out
at the edge of the wood, mad scarecrow i stand
close to the cliff edge, mouth open wide

i swallow the ocean, breathe with the sea
facing the wind, words swept away
shouting, screaming, into the gale
Take me! Lift me! Let me fly!

lungs expanded, triumphant I rise
above the woods, tumbling in flight
blown with no sail, nowhere to fall,
dark clouds, hidden moon, stars spin in the sky
i grin, like a loon,
ecstatic fool


Lost at the Gate (Bab Ftouh)

behind the three witches, fine chains
of iron, silver and jade
they twitched and trembled,
they had their own life
while the witches sat, frozen statues in time
what bought them to the depths of this cave?
where did their glowing chains lead?
so deep the gloom. foolishly brave,
i couldn’t see my own dragon
though i felt his breath close to my ear

leaving the cave and my dragon behind
the image of three chains remained
a puzzle left unresolved
i stumbled out, finding the light
i ran across miles and miles of dry land
and sailed a wild sea, to hold the arms of a man
drowned in a shallow watery grave
listen, like a snake the ocean twists and turns
the singing whips of salt and seaweed
slowly swept him away

seven women watched from the sun-blasted shore
speaking in whispers, spinning their threads,
they spoke of barbs stitched into clothes,
powders hidden in boxes, potions and spells,
a dead mans hand beneath the marriage bed
i could smell it, a dark bitter incense
what hope can there be in all this?
I don’t belong here at all, never will
there is no grace in this journey
no safe path for returning

my angels where have you been all this time?
you who left me beside the great gates
is this a lesson or just a mad dream?
return to me now, i need you still.
still, in stillness and light,
banish the battles of endless night
let me follow the silver chain
bringing my dragon to rest at my side
making me whole again


What Picasso Did For Me

i was walking around
in the Tate
on the Thames Embankment
London that day
it was hot hot hot
the heat haze
above the river
like the sweat
that rose off my back
i saw you
all mixed up
with Picasso’s
misplaced eyes
in Malaga blue
long necks,
curved limbs askew
morning balconies
the sculpture of a goat
made of a basket
horny ram
with a bicycle seat
we weren’t allowed to ride
i kept thinking
of painted naked flesh
Velasquez, Degas, Matisse
and flying to Malaga,
Barcelona, Granada,
Paris, Venice, New York
all the cities we could fuck in
over and over and over
if we ran off
together right then
any cheap hotel room
with a bed
and a shower
would do
we could give up
on looking at art


Noisy Neighbours

At least three times a week

Thumps, bangs, a loud crash,

Doors slamming, metallic echoes,

Bumps, thuds, sharp edges, smash

I hear shouting, muffled, no words,

His voice booms and beats against the walls.

Hushed stillness after, as i wait to hear him slam out

Clattering feet on the stair to the street

Airless, exhausted relief as they fade.

Everything echoes in empty impersonal corridors

Magnolia walls, polished floors, plain blank doors.

The room behind one containing locked fear and silence.

I sense it there

Hear it breath through the walls

It enters my room, far more than the noise

A pounding, held in fear

So loud that it keeps me awake

As I listen, long after.

Next morning, so aware of silence,

When I hear a sound near my door

I jump, as alert as a hunted animal.

I hear her heart clench

So linked to this stranger by sounds

Though I have never imagined her face


Girl on the Tube

through hot walls
echoes of balconies,
city of hushed shimmering steps
flying limbs, jumping, crashing,
a horny animal noise in the haze,
imagined necks,
stretched out and glistening,
metallic clatterings,
misplaced booms and magnolia,
floating bicycles, no air,
impersonal muffled faces,
hearts, feet, sharpness,
meaningless cheap sex hotels,
sweating relief on the stairs
under the river

i saw a girl
with the eyes of endless clear days,
a stranger,
the curve of a rose,
she stood, awake
by a door painted blue,
plain and complete

she must be new here




I saw my first urban pixie today

merged with the back of a car


I had to look away and not stare

It seemed so unfair, to keep him standing there, like that


I thought about how to describe him

I had to laugh as I left


Green hoodie

and a red hat!


city profile feather

I walk through Hyde Park as dawn rises to morning
my head still full of music, trance dance
spins in the freshness of early risen light
i head for the river, embankment, bridges
passing a cafe window i catch her glance
a smile, she turns away to her coffee
the image of her profile engraved on my retina
i walk on and never forget her
such are the tricks of chance and no chance
i watch the arc of a pigeons flight
a feather drops at my feet
a second gift from this city
the only gift i can touch



Alienation, coldness, your words
remind me of one of those big silver fridges
i must be in the ice box, or the salad tray
in a pool of limp lettuce and rotting tomatoes.
The electricity failed.


Dream Cake…a found poem

I saw a space empty at the top of the elevator.
I will get everything that I deserve,
no power can stop that from happening.

This whole life will end in the blink of an eye
will come to an end in the snap of a moment
Why be troubled. Just wake up!
You are already surrendered
Finished! Do not question that even once.
Do not demand. This is the law of Nature.

When a river flows, quickly or slowly
dry leaves, twigs and branches falls into it.
We get caught up in things.

Diamond and charcoal are so similar.
Our skin is like a mosquito net.

Was this a pleasant dream or a nightmare.
If you have a dream cake,
you need a dream knife to cut it.

Best to eat it all before you go.
Dine on a dream.


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