Worn Tracks

Dark outside
Friends, loved ones
Over land, under night sky
Pages turned, numbers dialled
Ease the throttle on imagination

Traces; worn tracks erased to dust
By bluebell skies the day after tomorrow
Sing on Joan Baez, sing of Diamonds & Rust
Faraway the closed caresses of sweet sorrow
Into the ether of spokesmen we no longer trust

Wait awhile
For the pain to subside
Blessed to be in this quiet
With a Cuban song in my ear

Available on Kindle

Out of Sorts

Signs of civilisation

Open prawn sandwich

With a ginger dressing

Sunglasses on top of her head

Glasses perched on the end of his nose

He browses a quality broadsheet 

There are younger couples

And retired family groups

There are ladies who lunch

And me

Being someone 

That I'm not

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Move In

If you find someone
To hold you the door
If in that dream
You enter with ease

The warmth with you
Among elongated notes
Within beauty’s droves

If you were touched
Soft with excitement
If the silence waits
Long after the kiss

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Southern Belle

Wave after wave
Lap, splash, roar, crash
Yes the blue sea
Clear for the first time

Also the dance halls
Skin tight jeans
Where previous the waltz
Had been true-loves token

Cloud after cloud
Drift, layer, blow, bound
Yes the blue sky
Seen through another's line

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Percolate

In the hollows of the wind

Half quiet of night

Immersed in nature

A jubilant hermits book

Good time before sleep

Reverberations of secret worlds

Hold on; remember skin

The half smiles of love

So desperate to share

AVAILABLE FROM KINDLE