Growing Up with my Son

I dragged him down the road with me,
our life in carrier bags.
Nothing ever lasted long,
the good times or the bad.
He had no choice, nor did I.
With each inflicted change
the world was re-arranged.
We never had a peaceful home
that we could call our own.

I was lost,
I was young,
he was my loyal son.
I didn’t have a map.
I hope our road
through right and wrong,
was honest and had heart.
but bad luck played its part.

Some say I had courage.
Some say I was wild.
I’ll accept the judgment of
the man that was my child.


Back Again

The fire is laid.
The house is furnished
and here we are,
hopeful lovers,
passing by this way again.

No doubt the storms may sometimes blow.
We both still need to learn and grow.
This time though, it’s not the same.
Fear wont drive us both away.
The fire burns warm.
I fixed the roof against the rain.

This time darling,
through your tears,
you grew strong.
I couldn’t leave.
I had to stay.
You’re not alone.
We made it home.


The river always pulled this way,
quiet in its flowing.
I followed close
but had no way of knowing.
I only had a longing,
undefined, unsatisfied,
a well too deep to fathom.
I bowed my head in sorrow.

But life is strange.
The river curved and flowed away.
I could only follow.
It lead me to a pasture.
The waters pooled.
The stars, reflected,
a secret, silent mirror.

When night was at its darkest,
I made a lonely sojourn here,
So tired from this journey.

I lit a fire.
It flamed
It burned.
I built it to a beacon.
You saw it where you wandered.

Home was never truly home
until you came to share it.
The light was never quite so bright
nor the fire so strong
until you sat beside me.
And now each night
I sit with you
and count my lucky stars

No Home

every land is empty
i wander here and there
remembering the other times
i travelled here alone
~ without you there’s no home

time is passing slowly
the fires are turned to ash
i seek new wood to burn for you
a flame to light the way
but you can’t see the beacons
you’re too far away

the birds still sing
the river flows
i know these trodden ways
~ wherever i may roam
without you there’s no home

Je Regrette

I’m not going to bleed for you, darling.
I have sorrows enough of my own.
I wholeheartedly offered you home,
The one you rejected and left.

Now you must make your own.
I hope you find it within you soon.
My heart is a low-lit room,
I don’t forgive you yet.

Such an insensitive question.
Yes, there’s a ring on my finger,
A simple silver band,
Many long years on my hand.
I wear it for one simple reason,
To remind me I’m my own.

If my words trouble or hurt you,
I am very sorry for that.
I regret.

There’s only one place I escape to at night,
When I can’t get you out of my head.
I have to write.
If not, I would leave all my pages
Empty and woundedly white.


sometimes, in silence, stillness seems like a gift
but tonight, like a desert, it’s arid and dry
i look up in hope, i let my mind drift,
i only see darkness and clouds passing by

i remember my travels in strange foreign lands
I remember the days when my roof was the sky
i measure the feeling, as I stare at my hands

the light gone, i sit here and wonder why
i still have a wish to wander and roam
and how did my journeys all end alone

the truth is,
my travels were all seeking home

The gifts

She gave me the simple gift of a daisy

that shone in the sun for one day, long ago.

He gave me a strong staff to walk the wild hills,

I am walking them now, wondering still.

Both gifts are of equal value to me.

For these gifts, in return, I invited them home.

When the night falls the twins of the heavens hang high above

Symbolic stars in a union of love.

Apple Tree

you have stood on this ledge
in the mountains above,
on the edge of the forest,
ever since i was only an innocent child
listening to stories and scribbling poems
my spine rested against your strength

you stood, the same
in sunlight and starlight
in wild winds and rain
while I wandered about in the wood
finding the well trodden paths
getting lost but finding the way again

warm-hearted, abundant,
and welcoming still
I thank you for bringing me home

The Truth


i made a long journey
like many before me
i had my fair share
of incidents, mishaps
some were of my own making,
others were simply there,
awaiting the unwary traveller

i learned much of the woods
how to read all the signs
and hear the approach
of the seekers of prey

i had little respect
for robbers and bandits
i had seen all their kind before
i held no vendetta against them
i dislike them neither more, nor less, now
than i did when i took to the road

i had made my own problems too
i wished to be left alone
sometimes yearning for home
it’s true

woods seem full of shadows
but darkness contrasts the light
and lets in the brightness of day
where is gleams through the branches
making clearer the safer way

i came to a clearing and rested
enjoying the peace,
listening to leaves sigh high on a breeze
above in the trees that whispered

if only i could stay
resting here forever
i looked at the paths leading on

it was a beautiful day
i felt some sense of completion

a sharp snap and an echo
the silence was gone
the sound of movement,
coming towards me,
secretly, fast

i felt a moment of panic
caught unaware
as they gathered around
to circle and slay me at last

calming my mind
i looked at the paths
the choices were many
which one should it be

i heard a signal
the voice of a raven
he stood in the sunlight
on a broad ancient branch of a tree
lit against shadow
by a path i instantly knew

it was as i had always imagined
well lit and wide open
it shone out beckoning me
nothing to fear any more
my weariness melted away
i saw i was home
this open wide path
lead straight to the door
where my soul awaited within



My Obsessions

this is a found poem – it comes from my tag cloud on this blog and so it consists of words I use a lot in poems……….


My Obsessions.


Ancient bards and books,
a breeze full of butterflies
above the Celtic hills.
Cities, clouds, the dance of death,
a desert dragons dream,
dreaming dreams with evening eyes
of fateful fantasy and fire
with firelight in the forest garden
where a girl with a haiku
plays a harp and sings
of heart and home and horses.

Imagination kindles lakes,
leaves, land and love,
love, always love,
magic memories of moons
moonlight, morning music.

At night, the oak overshadows
oceans of passion
paths of peace and perfume,
poems of rain and ravens,
the rocks, the river,
roses by the sea.
The sky a silver smile
when the snows come,
then the song of spring,
sunlight and starlight.

Time towers above the trees.
The wings of winter spread again
above a woodland made of words