The lighthouse keeper fires up the light.
All you have done is seal up a crack.
Reading at night can’t shut out the doubts.
Nothing you think is quite as it seems
and unwelcome thoughts keep coming back.
Praying is futile. You drift out of dreams,
hanging suspended, close to the edge.
The horses are running.
They’ve broken the lines.
Water is rushing over the ledge.
All that was small has now become large.


Or, horses

The days go round and round,
One dragged hour at a time,
In minute variations of the same,
With no specific aim or destination
And no aid to emptiness in passing.
The gradual fading grey of shallow light
Towards a long and lonely night
May lead to near-forgotten dawns
Of frosted daisies growing in damp grass,
Where the hawk cries out in grief above the meadow
And life is full of streams and running horses.
What a sight!
What delight!
How willingly I’d follow.
Damn the clocks.
Damn the wishing.
Damn the dark tomorrow.
Damn the hollow call that draws the heart to sorrow.

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.

Morning Ritual (a sonnet)

Each day the morning ritual’s the same,
I wake to hear the traffic in the street.
My mother, from her bedroom, calls my name.
I wish that I could stay in longer sleep.
Preparing breakfast, brewing morning tea,
I throw the heavy window open wide
Breathing in cold air, throwing bread and seed
to waiting birds that gather there outside.
But now my lingering dreams all fly away
A Raven came, down swooping from the sky!
His presence here a blessing on the day
My heart awakes and lifts my spirit high.

Mythic bird, bringing darkness from the night
On wings outspread and lifting up in light.


lost in the land
where the grass is always greener
on the other side

they wander about,
plucking at this and at that,
never satisfied

the next will taste better
the herbs they select will be sweeter
the sun will reveal all the last light belied

to sit in a field ,
under one tree
and see how it changes,

how day becomes slowly night,
would bring a more lasting delight
through sunsets and dawns.

cold winds may blow and the sun grow hot
there may be storms,
and the leaves will fall.

without sun and rain there’s no rainbow
the pot of gold is right here




So Sudden

all night long i dreamed a dream
a dream i dreamed before
and now all day its sadness
comes to hold me in its thrall

vague scenes of loss so long ago
fires lit in the snow
the burning trees, the mountains tall
harsh voices down below

the slaughtered sheep
the children, mothers,
lovers intertwined
unwitting in the night

one hour that turned the world about
brothers, fathers, wives, are gone
red seeps into white
my life was overlooked

i alone, must journey on
there is no solace for this loss
but silence in the hills
filled with sadness still

imagine this,  look about,
family, friends, gathered round,
in each breath and passing moment
treasure all the love you  found

Shooting Stars

The lamps shine down from windows high above,
Burning moths, white wings singe against the light.
Old roses hang against the well worn walls
Amongst the darker tangle of the leaves,
Their blossoms gleaming as each petal falls,
While lovers sleep entranced in tender dreams,
Turning now and then throughout the long night,
Entwined and locked together by their limbs.
I stand below here, pierced and polarised.
The galaxies are singing psalms and hymns.
Seeing, I lose all sense of who I am.
I see a sky that’s full of shooting stars.

No wish I make can change our mortal fate.
It’s beautiful, it’s passing and it’s late.



Go Gently


Go gentle, gentle, into that good night

Old age brings acceptance of this last fate

Fly, fly to the beckoning, golden light


All seasons will end by pre-ordained right

The wise men know that when the hour is late

Their soul will take leave for eternal light


Good men do not fear the long, deep dark night.

Do not rage, sadly berating your fate,

Go gentle and rest, return to the light


Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,

Will sing in their dreams with no wish to wait

They will fly swiftly, to shining, bright light


Grave men will ponder the beauty of night

They will pray tenderly, knowing their fate,

Remembering all that was loving, bright


And you my father,  in that blessed night

Look upon me, with no sadness, and wait

I will not rage at the death of the light

I will go gentle into that good night



(sorry Mr Thomas – you know this means no disrespect – you are my favourite poet after Shakespeare – and I will pray for you often)