I wouldn’t dare judge a book by it’s cover.
I might miss the silver lining, hovering there.
There is many a slip twixt the cup and the lip
and a worm can always turn.

Cut your coat to suit your cloth.
There are still more bridges to cross.
The age of miracles is past
but the exception may still prove the rule.

Speaking of rules, there is one rule
for the rich and one for the poor.
Power corrupts. Here is the wish I would grant;
May their bread fall buttered side down.

In this world of Chinese whispers,
distorted facts and appealing fictions,
all pearls roll before swine.
It will unravel in time.

If we listen with care
we may hear a whisper that’s pure.
April showers are plentiful
but they bring forth the flowers of May.

Children and fools tell the truth
and let’s hope the truth will out.
We live to be loved, and to love, again, on another day.
Blue are the hills that are far away.


The Saddest Lines

Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche.
Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche.
Escribir, por ejemplo: ” La noche está estrellada,
y tiritan, azules, los astros, a lo lejos”.

El viento de la noche gira en el cielo y canta.

Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche.
Yo la quise, y a veces ella también me quiso.

Tonight I can write the saddest of lines.
But these words above never were mine.

I encountered death as an infant.
I created myself as someone I’m not.
I wasted my gifts and took the wrong turnings.
All that I loved most faded away.
Sometimes it’s hard to put food on the table.
Each day is a struggle. I think I might break.
Are these tired words sad enough for you yet?

Let’s step up the horror, in case we forget.
Seven million people died of cancer last year.
Five thousand people sleep rough every night.
One hundred elephants are slaughtered each day
They hack out their jaws to trade in the ivory.
The ocean’s polluted and forests are dying.
The politicians are lying.
No one takes action.
Everyone’s looking for things they can’t have.

Don’t speak to me of her love you once had
or play with the thought of her infinite eyes
and the way that you lost her love and ask why.
Pablo Neruda I hear you complaining.
Pablo Neruda silence your cries.
Each moment of love is a gift. Don’t expect it.
There’s perspective above,
in those trembling blue stars.




The quote in Spanish is from “Poema 20” and is part of “Veinte poemas de amor y una cancion desesperada” (twenty love poems and a desperate song) from Pablo Neruda that was published in Santiago de Chile in 1924.

Sonnet for Juniper

I love you in the morning when you wake.

I love you when I wait to hear you speak.

I love you ev’ry time I glance at you.

I’ve loved you from the start. We lost our way.

All the things you felt, you didn’t say.

Through storms and floods I tried to find your hand.

Yes, loving you became a part of me.

It didn’t break. It wouldn’t go away.

When you walk in the room, I start to breathe.

I feel you all around me ev’rywhere.

My heart’s too full to speak. No need for words.

So when the day grows quiet beside the fire

I may say less then, than I said before,

but wrap you in my arms and love you more.

How Could I Love You Less

You were a mess,
but I loved you.
I left,
but I loved you still.

You went through denial,
anger and shock,
acceptance of blame.
I loved you still,
just the same.

In your pain, I saw
how hard you were trying
to work your way through your loss,
to know yourself with more depth.
I was impressed.

Now that I see how you love me,
how could I love you less

Song for my Rose

When we first met she was a bud,
growing on the wayside,
but that was long ago
in days so near forgotten.
I didn’t see her gleaming.
My mind was far away
and she grew out of season.
In trembling ice and snow
her heart was hidden.
I was dreaming.

Now she is a full blown rose
and she exudes a scent so strong
so passionate, so haunting,
no man could e’er resist her.

I’d brave every storm that blows
but, growing in this peaceful place,
this flower could bloom forever.
And yet I had to pluck her.

I took her, my eternal rose,
to make my own, possess her.
I will never crush her.
I look at her and I’m inflamed
My soul, in swoon, soars high above.
She is the heart of my desire.
She will always be to me
a rose that glows in glory.
She is my own sweet sighing love,
the bloom that I will treasure.

Love Poem

Her essence lingers on the breeze,
beside the lake, beneath the trees,
on every path i walk alone
she is my darling, and my own.
She haunts my dreams.
She is my home.
She cherishes the best of me.
She holds me close
and sets me free.
She is my glory and my joy.
She’s made a man of this lost boy.

I’d drag the stars from out the skies
to show her how much light she brings.
There’s heat and warmth to every day.
The love I feel I cannot say.
Words seem weak and faded things.
I give my heart. She gives me wings.
A fire inside me blazes, burns,
as I wait here for her return.
My heart is bursting with such love
it challenges the sun above.


Christmas Night

The bells were ringing
on silver frosted air.

I heard an angel singing
her voice was sweet and clear.

I was so entranced,
I walked into the night,
far out onto the ice,
where the moon shone bright.

My blades cut swirling patterns,
carving as I danced.
Spirals interweaving,
contained within a circle,
which, viewed from high above,
spread and spread and spread,
and I was filled with love.

I heard an angel singing
her voice was sweet and clear.
An ecstatic moment
That will long endure.
Many gifts I have been given
but none so strong and pure.


The Rose Outside the Church

The yellow rose,
like sunshine,
stands outside the door
of the founded, waiting church,
having more to give
than the sermon heard within

To see God, see the rose
From bud to bloom
it follows the sun.
It shines.
You saw it as a child,
this light,
and, though it decompose,
it is a prayer,
a perfume on the air,
a symbol of Gods love
in which we share.


In Utopia

In a perfect place,
In 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.

Fraptious Day

Frabjous ~ amalgam of joyous and fabulous
Fraptious Day ~ a day after which nothing will ever be the same again


‘Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did all the things they usually did.
The Hatter hid, inside his hat,
To snare the dreaded Bandersnatch.

He’d had enough of tea and clocks
And fading smiles from Cheshire Cats.
He was with the belfry bats.

Alice was a windy girl,
Wandering about the land,
Blinded by her flying hair.
She didn’t always seem quite there.

Alice came and Alice went.
Alice went and Alice came.
It seemed a tiring, endless game,
And Hatter always felt the same.

Trapped inside an unsolved riddle.
He wished that they could dance and sing
And fly about and braid her hair
And she might learn to play the fiddle.
Chasing diamonds in the dark,
He might ignite a special spark.

The Hatter had a fervent wish
That Alice, one fine summer day,
Would come to Wonderland to stay,
And never ever go away,
If she would,
If she could.
(He always really thought she should).

But time and age and logic rules.
Alice was severely schooled
In all the things he thought were wrong
(His wish for magic being strong).

The Hatter, so completely mad,
Wanted Alice to be glad
And share her wishes all with him
But she came out when he went in,
And he was very rarely out.

She went she came,
She came she went,
Until the Fraptious Day arrived.
He knew she wouldn’t come again.
The frabjous time had blown away,
And then he knew he was insane.
It came to him as quite a shock.
It was that jolt that stopped the clock.

Love’s a story, very old,
If truth be told,
(and I won’t lie)
Love’s a thing that doesn’t die.

But when the chicks refuse to hatch
And Humpty Dumpty’s egg is cracked
And Alice lost, and won’t come back,
The March Hare screams and runs away.

It’s time to face that Fraptious Day!

The Hatter then removed his hat
And tears ran down his creasy cheeks.
He stood in sorrow in the dark
And faced the sadness in his heart.
He told the Red Queen
(so it’s said)
That she was welcome to his head.
With Alice gone,
Quite gone for good,
The Hatter sadly understood.

He turned the teapot upside down.
He groaned and frowned
And spun the table thrice around,
Which, at the time,
Seemed quite profound
(But only proves that he’s still mad).

He hoped that Alice was alright.
He knew her world could be quite bad.
He had left there long ago.
He knew the clocks there all ran slow.
The trouble was, she might not know.

Alice, through the mirror, looked.
Alice still was not impressed.

In the morning
Hatter dressed.
He brushed his hat
And put it on.
He knows that Wonderland is best.

As for the rest,
Hatter cannot really tell.
Perhaps if fortune casts a spell
All will settle very well.

He scratched his head,
A little vexed,
And thought out loud,
For none to hear…

”Surely wonder isn’t dead!
I’ll ask the Caterpillar next.
We’ll see,
For he’s a day ahead of me.”

(He wiped a tear)

“She was a dear,
A darling dear.”