Old Christmas

On the old piano keys
Jingle Bells is played again
and Jack Frost paints the window pane
with pictures from the fairy glen.
Children rush to look and see
the gifts in piles beneath the tree
wrapped in red and gold and green,
they sparkle in the magic light.
Merry, constant and unseen,
sweeping through the starlit night,
Santa flies above the towns.
The cake and drink we left is gone.

This childhood magic’s over now
but still I sing the Christmas songs.


Three Chains

the iron chain is heavy
a burden on my neck
it binds me to an ancient path
made of blood and bones
the bondage of the tribe
it binds me to my roots
when the storms arise

the chain of jade is mystery
cool green glades
where water drips
into a silent lake
in quiet meditation
i sit
i wait

until the sparkling silver chain
leads me through the dark
it captures midnight stars
with flashing moonlit sparkles
that illuminate my heart
and lead my feet away
along the magic path


if they walked
down the street
hand in hand
in this town
they would stop all the traffic
in no time

more magic than movies
their beauty surpasses this place

people may wonder
as the crowds part around them,
like water around an island,
why her mouth
has that other-world touch
that slight strangeness
he loves
so much

his smile looks like music
she walks like a river
his eyes dream of forests
there’s a glow, there’s a shine
in the softness of skin
that’s so hard to define

their words
are not spoken
but the birds,
in concealing
her wings,
their song

Melting Snow

a summer breeze blew in today
it swept me off my feet
all the world has turned about
my madness is complete

but this is not insanity
it’s sanity profound
magic cast a sudden spell
and I’m still on the ground

the earth is still beneath my feet
the sun is in the sky
this perfumed breeze is one i know
from very long ago

love returns with brighter stars
above, around, below
this gentle, soft, return of love
has melted all my snow


i am having an attack of realism
that enemy of joy
it’s good to have a reminder
now and then
of what it’s like
but only now and then

when the magic dies
even for a day
the world becomes quite grey
and love looks at me and leaves
it goes on holiday
all i wanted was a hand

i will close my eyes
to everything i want
and never speak
from this dark place
or explain to anyone
what it is i need

i wont beg and i wont bleed
that would not be nice
i wait for magic to return
it comes back when it will
with no regard to me
i guess that’s how it’s meant to be

i don’t have to be star-touched
or over the moon to survive
magical realism is all i want
or a smile in my direction
the balance will be fine
when the time is right

In Narnia

Narnia, where we used to go,
Through the door beneath our stairs
That took us down the hidden lanes
To open fields of snow again

Icicles and winter fires
Breathe of horses in the frost
Snow drifts formed enchanted spires
Terraces and palisades

Tumnus hiding from the Witch
Down beside the darkened wood
We huddled close to hear the bells
Jingling silver on her sleigh

She never came to catch us there
We were young and innocent
And far too brave for one as she
We were free and happy then

All the ways we understood
Now we understand them all anew
No witch will ever make us stone
She never could, she never will

No victims of her wicked arts
The sunlight comes to bring the thaw
The lion shines within our hearts
Our magic lives here as before


In Narnia


One for sorrow.
Time is borrowed.
Lost and broken by our fears
All our dreams will fly away.
When we know our days are few
We treasure all we have by this,
No time to waste in bitter tears,
The years will pass us soon enough

Two for joy,
When dreams come true.
For every sorrow, comes a kiss
And love is found, in simple things.
Profound delight, the way to bliss,
The bursting throat, the leaping heart,
The song of life the blackbird sings.
Bring the rainbows, bring the flowers,
Joy is brief and flies away.
Remember it in darker hours

Three for the gentle girl i met.
So easily she passed me by.
I never thought to question her
Where she went or even why.
Three times she passed,
Three times she went
And now she’s here,
Before time’s spent

Four for the boy, now a man
He tries to grow, he tries to know,
He tries to do the best he can
And in the trying finds his strength.

Five is starlight’s silver sparkle.
The moon above shines down on us,
Pulls the tides where waters flow.
Silver rings and ankle bells,
Unicorns and secret spells
Mark the paths for those who know,
In the land where magic dwells

Six for gold, the loving cup,
The treasure of the alchemists
Wrapped in story,
Ancient rhymes
All the mysteries unfold

Seven, the secret never told
The one we learn as we grow old
Seven Sisters in the sky
And all the stars mapped out above
Predicting love and harmony
And we so blind we do not see
Eternity may beckon us.

The wise ones never know the answer
There is no truth in certainty.


Based on this old magpie omens rhyme ………

One for sorrow
Two for joy
Three for a girl
Four for a boy
Five for silver
Six for gold
Seven for a secret never to be told

Improbable Lights

that’s impossible, she said,
brushing all my joy aside.
that’s a strong word, i replied,
feeling wantonly denied,
let’s say improbable instead

life is full of things we don’t expect
i’ve seen hidden things revealed
you’d say it must have been a dream
i say it’s real but that’s no matter
real, unreal, deserve respect

reality is surface only
solid as hard rock it’s true
it grips our souls in solid matter
with all that’s purely possible
even rocks wear away
that’s more than probable, I’d say

i am looking in between
deep into a fluid river
where the shadows dance and play
it’s in the depths of things you’ll see them
it’s in the magic of the light
where the wind turns by the stream
like clearings glimpsed within a forest
there is a path that slips between
and there i saw with eyes askance
all those things unreal, unseen

Growing ~ A Found Poem (Twitter scraps)


Add your name to join the movement.

I wait for the light, in my own fashion.

Have you seen? This room has grown.


On this day last year, the cost

of being wrong was nothing.

I am loving my poems more each day


What is so delicious about it is

stony limits cannot hold out.

Explore the magic toy shop with me