For days we’ve been waiting for rain –

Predicted, it never came.

I am grateful each night,

as I turn out the light,

that dawn doesn’t play the same game.


The Bed

this daily journey, marked by constant icy rain,
filling streams and hiding tears,
brings me to this silent bed again

outside the windows, blossoms slowly fall in gentle wind
but these are not the flowers she see
as she leaves here, by degrees

Hidden Daffodils

the day is dim and poorly lit,
clouds are gathering in the west,
the leaves are shivering on the trees,
my shoes are worn, my pockets thin,
there’s no money left again,
the forecast warns of storms and rain

the shadows underneath the trees are full of hidden daffodils

the windows creak and draughts blow in
how bad can this old house become
there’s not much here to laugh about
this sort of joke is lost on me
the tap is dripping in the bath
the fire wont light, my cat is sad,
she’s curled up in a huddled ball
there’s nothing left to eat at all

the shadows underneath the trees are full of hidden daffodils

counting blessings I find some,
there’s still a roof above my head,
i still live, i still breathe,
my head is full of memories,
i can think, i can dream,
and winter always turns to spring

the shadows underneath the trees are full of hidden daffodils

Journey in Ancient Hills

This is a found poem. Found using two index pages from Welsh Folk Lore and Folk Customs by Thomas Gwynn Jones.

Journey in Ancient Hills 

The midwives pour milk and curd into wells,
with molten lead cures.
They bow to the moon,
mumbling magic.
The mountain hag is murdered
by trembling ghosts.

Naked infants, unknown,
with no names,
hear the night howl of dogs
predicting the omen days
of the one-eyed fish,
but no saviour remains.

Lost with my Otherworld lover,
we huddle with ravens
and brindled oxen
against the rain,
protected by trees
at the pre-historic hearth,
making offerings of pins and keys,
awaiting the reformation
and some incorruptible sign
of inseparable souls, at the last

The Oak

where to go
when i am lost
i know i knew
it’s somewhere there,
beneath the oak

when the rain fell
though the leaves
i heard them splash
and felt refreshed,
shaded by tranquility

shelter still beneath the sun
green light filters
reaching branches high above
reaching always for the light

clear bright veins within the leaf
an open palm, resembling mine

November 5th ~ Fireworks

this is the time when salmon leap
strong swimmers against the flow
reaching the calmer pools

it’s rained all day, softly falling
soaking my old worn coat
silencing all the birds

November trees stand stark and bare
black against flattened clouds
where sodden leaves cloak the paths

when evening falls
the children stand huddled
shining eyed, gripping sparklers
in safely gloved hands
tonight the world explodes
a riot of colour
glittering stars in the dark
rockets reach high
past the chimney pots
bursting in bright mandalas
they fizzle and fall to the earth
acrid smoke fills the cold air
lingers and hangs, long into night
awaiting the grey of tomorrow

the rain keeps on falling
flooding the rivers
soaking into the earth

this is the time to kindle the fires
replacing the summer sun
before the winter comes

Renewing Alice


An ageing Alice sits in her room
Leading a simple life.
Her big adventures are done.

An ageing Alice sits in her room,
Her once pretty face losing its’ bloom.
This is the nature of time.

An ageing Alice sits in her room
Remembering, quietly smiling,
Making a note in her diary ~~~

”The Mad Hatter sees to the deeply crazed core,
The central heart of the matter.
When he dropped in today, escaping the rain,
I was thrilled and delighted to see him again

When you look at the world in a different way
There is wonder, adventure, in each new born day.
Mad, a bit sad, never bad,
He’s the dearest friend I ever had.

Next time it rains I hope he comes back.
He reminds me so much of something I lack.
It’s always good to have a long natter.
There is wisdom aplenty in tea time chatter.”