Giddy

Un something or other

Goes along

Unknowingly

Unsteady

Unruffled

Underneath

Unknowingly

Undone

Unjust

Just that

That’s all

Unkempt

Undistinguished

Unknown

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Time-Travellers

From a small space

To a nowhere place

A meandering stream

To a river in spate

From a village

To a county

Which I call my own

Yet where I don’t belong

From a main road

To a motorway

Over a suspension bridge

To a walled city

Where love

Invited me

To the gallery

Then the theatre, and finally the hotel

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Dark Light

My breath

Blows the candles out

My hand

Winds the blind open

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Wet Sands

Wallace Stevens

Let the fish go

I hung-on

To our sea-fret moorings

Now I talk of Saturday’s sunlight

In what is the overlong season of mists

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Gifts

Looking for a thought

With which

To begin the day

A place perhaps

Or a wave lapping

On a sun-soaked beach

Looking for a light

With which

To illuminate the idea

To present a future

From the past

Or maybe the present

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