Wednesday, 31 August 2016


And she, the stuck up, would be academic, said
ok clever clogs, what’s your definition of poetry

She really shouldn’t have
I drew a deep breath, took the floor, drew myself upright, and then began:

Poetry, my dear
Is anything I fucking well want it to be, that is
Whenever I am
Writing poetry, or
Reading poetry, or
Listening to poetry, or
Reciting poetry, or
Touching poetry, or
Feeling poetry, or

“Hang on” interrupted she, also known as the intellectual one
“How do you ‘touch’ poetry”

So now I’m in the driving seat for I know she knows fucking nothing of sculpture

I recite Tennyson’s ‘crannies’ poem from the plaque on his statue, outside Lincoln cathedral, I recite it in its entirety
"And how does that explain ‘touching' says the intellectual one, looking far too pleased with herself"

"Well" says I, now looking far too pleased with myself, and smiling mischievously, at the attentive audience:

"I learnt that poem as a blind person reads braille. I learnt the poem, letter by letter, word by word, by stroking with my learning finger" 

(the class laugh at the gesture of my upright finger)

"I learnt Tennyson’s poetry by touching his words, and by feeling his feelings entering my cerebral-cortex, in such a way that I might be able to write the words, or read the words, or listen to the words, or speak the words, or imagine his, or any other poets words, of anything that I might like to think of as poetry."

"That’s what poetry fucking well is my dear; and those are my final, and our closing words"


Tuesday, 30 August 2016


He reads the words he wrote before
He cannot weep, he knows no more

The sun it rises, the day it dawns
So few surprises, in days of scorn

He treads those boards he trod before
He cannot keep on, he shows up no more

The clouds they cover, the cold it sets
There is no lover, it is for the love we bet

He leads the life he prized before
He cannot creep, he sorrows no more


Monday, 29 August 2016


I wish that he were sincere, yet I fear not
For he smacks of insincerity

He appears to thrive
On the histories of other mens stories
He walks too calmly for a hero
Through the unseen battlefields

And yet I read on
For his style engages me
His fluency with modern English
Speaks volumes for research, and education

Not that I despise his position
(Although of course I do)
Especially knowing that I have neither
The intellect

Nor the absence of feeling
Which is required for such writing
Or for pontificating
In the establishments ivory towers


Sunday, 28 August 2016

Bathed In Love

How many more times
Of this thing called love

How many more chores
From the supposed Lord above

It was raining, it was grey
It was another Christmas

The wind was whistling
And I was feeling the cold

Then I saw a photograph
Of you, or someone like you, for
All I could see were your forearms
And your podiatrist's fingernails

As you delicately shampooed
The young orangoutang (who was smiling)
And I thought; yes, this is what love is:

A lifetime
Of the joys of sensation, and touch

available on kindle

Saturday, 27 August 2016

Working Out

With the guide of life’s compass
I see you by the willow tree
With the life of my guide
I will that you were free

In the divide that I encompass
I see you by the wildest sea
With the indivisible stride
I will that you were as me

All thoughts subside, then pass
I see you, the prized eulogy
With no place left to reside
I will this time to believe

available on kindle

Friday, 26 August 2016

Preparing For Guests

In this bath
At once to be transported
To the spa
Beside the Giants Causeway

With these hands
At once to become the sculptor
With China Clay
Papier-mâché and potters slip

Thus to contemplate, and
Thus to feel the breath, and
The heartbeat

In this house
At once to be welcomed, and
With these easy words
To offer you thoughtful gestures

available on kindle

Thursday, 25 August 2016

Letting Go And Catching On

And so it is
And so the next step

A path
A journey
The search
For a calling
Name it
As you will

And then turn to me
and say what you have to say

For I am here
To listen
To learn
To grow
To free up
The spirit

And if I call it soul
And if I touch you

available on kindle

Wednesday, 24 August 2016

Creeping In

Is it only me, anyhow
Why not delve deeper
Explore the joy of creation
Feel fully the desperate
Sensations that those
Who have lost
As well as those
Who have found
Might experience
From time to time
From town to town
Turn down the gladness
Emphasise the sadness
Pick up clearly on the fast
Approaching madness
With the fickle, pick of the
Snap, crackle, and pop-shops
Only to stop short of saying love
Don’t reach for the stars above
Be entirely sated, hesitate, wait
And then, always, and then
Move on, be strong, sing that
Same old song, that same old song

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Tuesday, 23 August 2016


And as the natural light fades
The artificial illuminations
Strike a chord of their own
Blues, and greens, and sharpened

Reds, from the box of decorations
Ghostly whites, and blossoms of
Blues, from the heavenly gates
Of unconditional love

In this prepared environment
The table is laid for dinner
Yesterday's presents are set aside
To create space for cold turkey

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Monday, 22 August 2016


With this desire

To slow down
To make more time
To become truly observant

For in that future

Calmly embrace breath
Calmly capture thoughts
Calmly deliver tranquility

All the while

Look fondly on others
Look out into the world
Look towards creating a past

Then, or even before

Remember the good times
Remember the troubles
Remember those breaths of yesterday

available on kindle

Sunday, 21 August 2016

Work Worlds

We find our time together
Kind of forgetting our times apart
Making a start on conversation
Our reserve holds the open heart
With broken bonds and boundaries
We play rounders in the park
Stark words of observation
We recall rising with the lark
Thus in the depth of darkness
We are sharper than the snark
Our Arkwright and their Harbuttle
Share dyestuffs for the fabrics ark

The star of the east is rising
Prizing out all colours, patterns
And persuasions; situations vacant
Statements from the bank, thank
Heavens for the brethren, and
The brotherhood, the mother
Who held you in her arms, her
Charms no less grounded, by being
Found out in the choice of distance
The voice that chose again to part

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Saturday, 20 August 2016

Float-Some & Jetsam

Silhouettes, of many kinds of birds, furnish the yellow morning sky

As if the artist had caught the frenzied flocks with his deftly drawn blocks, of pelican pigment ink

Is it the dawn rising that brings such life; is it the season for migration to the land of his rice paper

Do the gulls play with the swallows, or are they each as oblivious to the others presence as he to the canvas

Outlines, of many kinds of questions, filtered through my mind

As if the soul had sought such fragrant stocks, to lay on my sweethearts frock as I smile and blink

available on kindle

Friday, 19 August 2016

Fair Game

I see the woods
I feel the breeze
The light is on
I hear her leave

Out on the path
Between here, and there
His raucous voice
Her wanton stare

I sit and wait
And wonder why
She’s on a date
My turn to cry

I wished them well
What else to do
Just as with bagatelle
I’ve rolled on through

I see the river
I cross the bridge
My flow continues
I climb the ridge

available on kindle

Thursday, 18 August 2016

City Republican

It interests me to sit
One day I will sit a little longer
Today it was a fleeting glimpse

A painter’s impression, of St Petersburg
With a glossed up foreground
Before the romantic misty backdrop

And just how does society
Build such a sociable place
And why does the contrast

Between his vagueness, and her clarity
Create such a heavenly beauty
Such that I desire to observe her more

available on kindle

Wednesday, 17 August 2016


On a photograph
I saw the stones of Avebury
Shrouded in a dampened mist

It took me to thinking
Of the monks, walking over
The moors, above Buckfastleigh

On their way to Tavistock market
I hope, one day
To meet those soulful souls again

In the realism of the physical world
I have left a trail, just in case
Of which theres is a part

Such that, should they ever wish to find me
The difficulty, if not the surprise
Will be ever more so lessened

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Tuesday, 16 August 2016


It doesn't have to be like that
The disingenuous one
The simpleton
The alley cat

It doesn't have to be like that
The beauty gone
The angles all wrong
The socialist art statistic

Misfits, and implicitly
Prescriptive; subsidising
All those easy riding
Past and present mystics

What right have I to say what fits
Sticking to how it knits together
Leaving out the lonesome bits
Believing love lives, goes on forever

What right have I to pace and rage
Standing aloof of the human race
Chasing fame from my own perspective
Thinking aloud, of criticisms irrespectively

What right have I, an irksome sod
With no beliefs, or grounds to call
Hooking all, with the line and rod
That's rock and roll, that's all there is

Freedom from the work of stuff
Silence for the classroom tears
Making firm, so brave and tough
Music, poetry, and o, just those years

available on kindle

Monday, 15 August 2016

Tipping Point

Driving in my car I listen to Runrig’s music, on the radio; I am going away from where Lancashire, Cheshire and Yorkshire all meet

So there I am, leaving the brutality of the Pennine Moors for the gentleness of the flatlands; the Wolds, the coast of, peaceful, agricultural, Lincolnshire

So there I am, I am leaving my past and my present behind me, as I head out to my present, and to my future

And with this message in my mind I observe the skies; passing over where Larkin’s Whitsun Wedding train may well have travelled

To the East there is greyness in abundance; I think to email my new found friend, of the frames of our world renowned ‘big skies’

To the West, and South there are pinks, and golds, and fleeting glimpses of that boldest, brightest blue; that oldest blue of love, which is all that I can say of love, in this precisely precious moment

available on kindle

Sunday, 14 August 2016

Optical Confusion

I wiped a tear
Ripened in the field of melancholy
I wiped a tear
Frightened by the fear of yet another Monday morning

I wiped a tear
Enlightened by the sprigs of mistletoe, and holly
I wiped a tear
Heightened, as if near to the deepness that is dawning

Power lines suspended
Between the marching pylons
All my life upended
By the feel of your fear

Grey skies open-ended
Above the motorway escarpments
Passions that descended
Into the flawed life department

I wiped a tear
Forlorn as the raindrops on your brolly
I wiped a tear
Born again, with a smile; o gosh, o golly

available on kindle

Saturday, 13 August 2016


Four crows to a sapling
Autumnal winds thus blow
Ambling through my mind
What brought my eyes to glow

As old thoughts rose again;
That put down by the teacher
As I chose to play the fool

The pressure and the pain
Unexplained absences
Forged notes for the school

Without now of competition
I search out for what I yearn
Not though born of discipline
Rather, it is the love to learn

To learn that I am happy
As I guess most people are
For a moment in the spotlight
Praised from near, and from afar

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Friday, 12 August 2016


I have a night-light, to share the high-life ethereally with you
Through the skylight, the twilight of stars burn themselves blue

It is absolutely true, that in the swan-song, of our fabulous years
Smiles replace frowns, making us downright free of our fears

With clear paper and pen, and the now and the then, and with zen
We appear set for the journey; with tourniquets behind to impress those dear

Nearby, the Egyptian Cotton, begotten of toil and strife
Laid to rest out a life, our celebrations are denied of all but love

available on kindle

Thursday, 11 August 2016

Major Minor Movements

As you grieve let your tears turn to smiles
As you leave say thanks, as you meanwhile
Step to the side of that thing named fear
Toe to toe, beside doe and deer, my dear
Become courageous, become worthwhile
Become beauty, that walked the extra mile

Beneath the skin we are blood and bone
Beneath the pastures, where you atone
Holding yourself together, as you so dear
Forge the steel, and grind my lenses clear
It is with your love that we build our home
It is with your zest our dreams may roam

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Wednesday, 10 August 2016


Love walks by
In both directions
The dark and light
Of pleasure and pain

I open my window
Onto these moments
To find love being joyous
Of the time to flower

I move peacefully
With a certain smile
Through a garden-house
To the erupting volcano

I am thus drawn along
Into this meditation
With a close-reply, to
A thank-you note

available on kindle

Tuesday, 9 August 2016

A Void

Should I see if
You have collided
I would of course
Be undecided

I am offered
That there is
Safety in nothing
It caught my eye

Yet, for one
Who's passions have
Been burnt
I earnt little

From serialised
Philosopher's notes

I would prefer moats with
Drawbridges, or
Those Himalayan ridges
To their white coats

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Monday, 8 August 2016

Vision On

From these city streets
Onto stars I gaze
Celestial Gods move
In mysterious ways

Into the night sky
I call your name
Conscience groove
The endless game

I am in dreamers work
Though with no fame
I ask that they respond
And do not default again

available on kindle

Sunday, 7 August 2016

Question Is, Why Am I Attracted

You are everyone
You are here
In all, and in everyone

You shake your head
You lay on the bed
You dip your toe
I watch you slow
You are everyone
You are in all, and in everyone

You close your eyes
You look surprised
You pout your lips
I touch your fingertips
You are everyone
You are in all, and in everyone

You stand in line
You smile so fine
You run and wave
I choose to stay
You are everyone
You are in all, and in everyone

You sit and pose
You sense the rose
You wade and look
I am the brook
You are everyone
You are in all, and in everyone

Your dress unfurls
Your hair in curls
Your curves on cue
I once was you
You are everyone
You are in all, and in everyone

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Saturday, 6 August 2016


Through skyscraper streets
Awash with fame
A zillion stars, amassed
Armies on the celestial plane
The night is clear
I call your name
You are so near
I call out your name

They move as one, mimicking
Passengers for the downtown train
The moment moved, passed on
They sadly dance to a quiet refrain
The night is clear
I call your name
You are so near
I call out your name

I hear the swirling wind
Tear at the husks of grain
I am but a country boy, caught
Out by an innocents stain
The night is clear
I call your name
I thought you were near
And, again I called your name

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Friday, 5 August 2016


The river flows
Over rocks and trees
It flows with vigour
As if life itself
Is being stripped
As a gift for the sea

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Thursday, 4 August 2016

Cross To Bear

The sacrifice to love
Was found before we found it

Great big grey skies
Long stretches of still water
Eye make-up, sparkling glasses
Dancing to the rhythm of time
Two days of ill confined
Desolation, forty-eight
Hours symbiotically taken
From what's left of this life

The sacrifice to love
Was found way before we found it

Where ones become twos
To embrace and support, to
Give a light to the darkness, to
Drink coffee so many miles away
With time to pen a few words, which
Can’t quite catch either the complexity
Or the generosity of two souls who choose
Freely, to share their precious times apart

The sacrifice to love
Was indeed found, way before we found it

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Wednesday, 3 August 2016


I might pretend
I feel to have
That last ounce of pretence still within me

Of course it will all depend
On the intimate senses
Of dependence which reverberate within me

To share such a stipend
To lean as we once lent
On those exquisite premonitions within me

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Tuesday, 2 August 2016


The unfinished works furnish my soul most of all; only time, time itself, has made them fashionable to hang now.

For in this time of plenty, when we have been delivered from all evil, and where we are now free from religion’s spell, we search out our spirituality in others evocations; to be found in their statements on everything, and nothing, to be examined through their portrayal of the escape from the great noise, and their dedication to the relentless pursuit of perfection; in this instance quelled to the calm seas, to the still waters, to the bathing light, that we too might imagine washes the angels.

And these are in a line after the moderns, after the post moderns even; it seems we have travelled full circle, gone beyond the moderns, morphed ourselves back, to the ages of enlightenment.

available on kindle

Monday, 1 August 2016

Tidying Up

In the courtyard garden a young woman sweeps the leaves
She wears a short sleeve polo shirt, yet I am sure it is December

The wooden seats, and concrete tubs are swept around diligently
The last life of autumn’s falling are cleared from the path

One earring is apparently missing; and so the search begins
A logic is generated that says they ought to be together

I sit quietly, listen to the aeroplanes, in the busy Saturday sky
Photographs of the Queen, and The Queen mother, hang in the conservatory

There is no sign of Prince Philip; the church was bombed in the war
Christians, hotel guests and those seeking peace now populate this retreat

available on kindle