Monday, 31 December 2012

All but there

In her absence she often turned to meet him
With feigned presence
He always returned her greeting

In her absence defeated amusements begin
With indiscrete diffusions
She renders him unworthy of further meeting

Sunday, 30 December 2012

Curved Ball

I will close down, so soft, so slow
Walk again
Where the cherry blossoms grow

I say these words
On a wind worn night
With peace, not fear nor fright

The time may be long
Beneath the light of your moon
Let that I may be strong

In the swathes of poppies
Through the fields of corn
Sworn to beholden, feet worn

Howling gale, beating rain
Sounds so loud
They drown the retreating pain

Saturday, 29 December 2012

Artist’s Model

Water-paint of upturned breast
Impenetrable as the dawn mist
All else hidden by a scarf

That I imagine surrounded you
Untouchable as the dusk’s light
That laid low your shadow

I have a desire to touch
Disturb your soft free locks
& whisper my first soliloquy

Friday, 28 December 2012


Coldness creeps in
Through the open door
As light fades
From the once blue sky

His conversation
Easy and eloquent
A tale of a life
Passed staggeringly by

Window’s on to poppies
Girl in a printed dress
Art that takes over
Caressed as we fly

It's true I could scream 
To be there again
Back into the last
Christmas that I cried

Out on the cold moor
A derelict landing strip
Sat so clearly alone
Old ideas slung out to dry

Thursday, 27 December 2012

Home Hope

The snows await, the
Low sunlight’s strength of
Reflection suggests so

Last summer’s leaves
Flicker and fall
A sharper breeze blows

Pink and crimson
Blossoms now a memory
Past limes laid to rest

Replaced by winter’s
Cherry red, prickly
Hawthorn berries

Wednesday, 26 December 2012

Tuesday, 25 December 2012


Through hallways and shopping malls
Teenage girls, beside spotlit mirrors
Snowflakes fall, her sisters call
Why the hell you running with scissors

Why wouldn’t we think of that winter
When we walked on ice floats
Tripped unsteady, by the fissures
Thinking of you, running with scissors

from the collection

The Curved Ball of an Artists Model
Love Encouraged By the Breakout
Available from itunes by clicking here

Monday, 24 December 2012


Killing time
Still they mill around
The blue bloods of injustice 

The faded grey line of injustice
Watch out for the signs
Walk in line
It’s the killing time of injustice

Killing time
Still they mill around
The blue bloods of injustice

Killing time
Still they mill around
The blue bloods of the justice 

The ministers crime begs out for justice
Watch out for the dimes
Step out; resign, resign, resign
It’s the killing time for the justice

Killing time
Still they mill around
The blue bloods of the justice

Sunday, 23 December 2012


Lost and found
Gone to ground
Lost and found again

Lost and found
You're not around
You've gone to ground again

Lost and found
Gone to ground
You're not around again

Lost and  found
I pound to out of bounds
I'm lost and found again

from the collection
The Curved Ball of an Artists Model
Love Encouraged By the Breakout
Available from itunes by clicking here

Saturday, 22 December 2012


I was all for looking neat
The painter at your feet
A weekends lost receipt
I put myself to sleep

You were all for being deep
Conscience that you keep
For all their failed deceit
I put myself to sleep

Friday, 21 December 2012


The one last probable great imponderability
That calls you back into my life

That I can pick off the pages, or dissolve 
From another young woman’s photograph

Years have passed
Way beyond absolution
Arches of roses collapsed
Bicycle of joys trundled

Certain as the stones
Laid out before
We, as all others
Caught by institution

Homogeneous in a few lines of text
That neither you nor I wrote

Worthy of being named the great imponderable 
That rolls you back into my life

Thursday, 20 December 2012

Listen & Observe (Spring)

A creaking door opens
Birds chirp
A solitary eastern cabin
Placed on an island platform
In the middle of a lake

Strings of bells chime quietly
The teacher yells at the young boy
It is time to get up
To sweep clean the boardwalk
Before we jump into the rowing boat

from the collection

The Curved Ball of an Artists Model
Love Encouraged By the Breakout
Available from itunes by clicking here

Wednesday, 19 December 2012

Listen & Observe (Into Great Silence)

From the mist to the prayer
Rising and falling
Knock on wood
Patience comes calling

Quiet, stillness; silence jinxed
An identity parade
A single eye winks
I am seduced

from the collection

The Curved Ball of an Artists Model
Love Encouraged By the Breakout
Available from itunes by clicking here

Tuesday, 18 December 2012


Lavender fields steal away my resentment
Instead to reel off the whiled away hours
Wander among the rows of fragrant flowers
Shower the love; as once upon the coastal towers
Powered another kind of war

Loss of love, touched along the shoreline 
Unable to handle that which turns sour
The smitten intellect weaves away with power
Seeds planted in rough ground; scoured
Redefined in a clumsy kind of score

Monday, 17 December 2012

Seasonal Ego

Yesterday the sun’s warmth 
Warmed my love of the world
Today grey skies & incessant rain
Reigns in my positive imagination

Photographs try to give momentary respite
Yet they throw out little thermal energy
For you I do recall the gentle Zephyr
Should you ever wish to return

from the collection

The Curved Ball of an Artists Model
Love Encouraged By the Breakout
Available from itunes by clicking here

Sunday, 16 December 2012

Life enhanced

Always with a surprise
Yesterday a kimono
A white fabric, hardy
And well hung

Your smile gives away your pleasure
Today and for a long time
A presence more than being
Softly strung

You get on and you keep at it
Whatever got you down
You got it, shook it
Worried it right out of town

In touch
With your sensitive senses
You mend those
Who broke, and fell apart

Saturday, 15 December 2012

Trust anything but time

Pastel colours in quiet refrain
Hands still on the chiming clock
Whisper in case I hear myself
Look behind the picture frames
Dust, a relief of many years standing
Unplugged, from the upright room lighter
Unmoved from a mother's generation
Flock wallpaper abides in the memory
Even of just and only the place
Billericay Close or Quebec Narrows

All I ask is contemplation
About and around a race of which I'm out
All I ask is elevation
About to surround myself, unable without
Pastels, flocks & dust; trust the
Background music, the mood, the blues
Create paisley patterns; young men, bare feet
Pylons, stanchions, mill floors flattened
Valleys of derelict cotton works
Countries of windblown cotton fields

Friday, 14 December 2012

Searching for a feeling, an essence, an evocation

In your room I am ironing
I feel pretty good about myself
I feel the goodness usually reserved
Or given a fairly lofty price tag

Much the same when you return
From your dutiful day at work
While all the while I toyed
With some unlikely protestation

Later, sat on the three-seater sofa
We feel pretty good about ourselves
We did kiss
But that was somewhat earlier

The iron is still, all else is steaming
Afterwards we mow the lawn

Taken from the collection Words in Aspect South Facing - Available from Amazon for Kindle

Thursday, 13 December 2012

Beyond the easily forgotten

Sentimental, awash with nostalgia
Do you remember, or are you scared
Think on - only from the past
No ideas for an unknown future

Nineteen Eighty Four is way back
A place no more than a wilderness
The Easy Rider’s have smoked
Their last cheroot, today is a reflection

But what of tomorrow
Walk naked down the high street
Or some other form of soul baring
Or extravagant expression; rose petals 

In gardens falling, more or less to dreams
To intensify - autumn’s fresher schemes

Wednesday, 12 December 2012

Turn away from the return

Escape to this piece of England
Determination your sensitised survival key
Something snapped; one final silence too far
One magazine article, one mission
Two hundred miles apart

You are going or even may have gone
Purposeful; with direction and organisation
Another way of life to give back a life
To vibrant youth; no more to carry the still 

Misplaced child found in a house lost of love
Once, twice, but never ever a third time
Sound of fortune cards pulled from the pack
Wise words taken with a wiser smile

Shall we go home now
The first song on the first date
Soon together & determined at one
Purpose with and in a single key

Tuesday, 11 December 2012

White light, clear evening

Always forwards with preparation
Except this time to give chance its chance
Unexpected, the floodlit clock tower
The touch of hand on hand

In such a rush to build a past
To look forwards, to look out, for
Flashbacks of the future, memory of now
Wait; spare a moment from the cobwebs

Feel skin pressed hard against skin
Teeth bite hard into necks
Sink into softer navels
Bodies clenched tight

For fear of misunderstanding
Risk all
But do not call it desperation
Tall towers …longer views

Monday, 10 December 2012


Even asleep the heat overwhelms to wake
With perspired skin; here still the prisoner
On the final journey, a courtesan about to fly
A writer to hold the broken lead one last time

Outdoors it is marginally cooler
The draught floats through the open door
Into the courtyard, into the library
Across the road from Grand Central Station

Backalong, in bars and sherbet fountains
We were glad; expectant in high summer
Mad with excitement, pretty dresses
Long legs, friendship, gaiety was all around

Surrounded life closed in & leaves fell
Four seasons, the reason for the winter

Sunday, 9 December 2012


So soft and still the irony
Times pasture’s thrill I mean
Rosebuds then tulips
Corn on the cusp
On the turn from green

Youth was never ever lasting
Passed there in between
Here and now and casting
For the love I need to seem

Stickleback  and tickled trout
The hay loft and the stream
Quiet, quintessentially without
The shout of silent lest I mean

That no one knows, or enquires 
Of what I gleam

Saturday, 8 December 2012

Not even frustrated

Downbeat town
Otherwise known as Beirut
Cap and gown frowned
Otherwise known as shoot on sight

A racket or unjust interference
The down of depression
Is killingly real

Deadbeats, downbeats & druggies
Half life’s and those less hopeful
A bigger question needs a bigger picture
Wiser than government

Inexplicable to the ordinary man
Caught here among the crossfire 
I though don’t feel it
No chance that I can say it

No way for me to contribute to change
This is not a poem
It’s not even coherent
What or why is all that’s left

Undone, hopeless
Out of however many
You might wish to score it

Friday, 7 December 2012

Floppy hat, flowered trousers and a ladder

In East England
Lincolnshire, or any other
Back water

In deep & quiet country
A farmyard, a pasture
Or any other roadside stables

Old patient
Younger nurse
A driver without distinction
Or any other clues yet due

College together at Oxford
That they spoke so very well

Thursday, 6 December 2012

Redeem this song

Smile; always and forever
The first kiss of late evening
Anticipated excitement
Fingers touch

Missiles miss, much
Thank you, now or never
The first engagement of assistance
Unexpected, tough to come such

Unusual to trip the light fantastic fandango
Under the moons many colours
Detect, introspections hobbled crutch
Unease yet easy & plain to see

Together is the love of kindness
Life it seems redeemed for free

Wednesday, 5 December 2012


I send you a letter
That I love at the time of writing
And then forget
Next day another phrase catches my ear
But let  it not be called an internal rhyme

We talked of the camera obscura
A photograph, a thousand points of view
Through the window, over the valley
One mile more or less from the ford

In summer’s heat perspiration began
The muddled, befuddled mind…
To slow down, or jump in the pool
With or without question

In the letter I hoped for a reply
Did you

Taken from the collection Words in Aspect South Facing - Available from Amazon for Kindle

Tuesday, 4 December 2012

Who goes there

Prickly stalk of bramble
Who would not be hurt by your graze
Or by the loud voice of that bully of a teacher
The fat show off, full of arrogant contempt

Willows; sway in all those wild winds
Of slaughter
Show your flex to sustain your summer
Give your shape, it’s beauty, fair play and free

Tarmac, trodden with heavy boots
Braziers, flames, smoked aromatic moisture
Laid down over lost pastures, flattened
Trimmed, dismissive, with a massive machine

Freeway, autobahn, rhetoric
The rhetorical question
Listen - can you hear the tough guys
Hear them, they are all alone

Taken from the collection Words in Aspect South Facing - Available from Amazon for Kindle

Monday, 3 December 2012

A young man becomes an old man

Warm silence
Ice cold beer
Anger and forgiveness
Inadequate without complaint

Mellow gentleness
Distraught with blame
Shadows and suspicions
Unable to find a name

Whispers cold
Chilled; the
Sisters of mercy
Awash with fear

Soft sensitive
A quiet  walk
Before being buried alive

Taken from the collection Words in Aspect South Facing - Available from Amazon for Kindle

Sunday, 2 December 2012

Wait - please do not disturb

In between the rafters
Beneath the flattened lead
A regenerative recirculation
Still yet moving, slow air

The breath of silence
Slower than the breeze
Black cloaks stride out
Tread the aisle with purpose

All of those old words
Roof space freely had you
Praised other men’s verse
Worse to leave you left

Without your own memories
Absent of your own meditations

Taken from the collection Words in Aspect South Facing - Available from Amazon for Kindle

Saturday, 1 December 2012

Find only our fortune

White linen suit
Frayed fingers in your making
Can you turn me into a poet
Can you take me to Bohemia
How many wages were spilt
Before being distilled
Made ready
Into fashionable society
Arrogantly taken off the peg

The lost province of aristocracy
Past cities of the intellect
Advertisement executive
And Mr Big

Anyone but you takes the money
For your intricate handiwork
Your lyric, your chorus
Your woven weft
Bereft of any of their cluster
Instead to the isthmus
Or the black hole
Of singular isolated pain

We may find
Only our own fortune
Which may or not sustain
Even for a short while
Until tea or a late supper
Eventually we must
All step out

Bled and undressed
In time for the better fed

Taken from the collection Words in Aspect South Facing - Available from Amazon for Kindle