Visuals

Fallen leaves
Laid out at random
On the early morning
Frosted garden

A dry stone wall
Gives adequate protection
From the sparkling white light
Of a peaceful meditation

Available on Kindle

Ludovico Shares Our Room

A piano plays
A light shines
We are happy together
We are happy also
When we are apart

A radiator warms
A curtain closes
We are as happy as ever
We are as happy
As we were at the start

Time passes by
Time moves on
We ought not to say never
Or put the horse
Before the cart

Darkness comes
Illumination fades
I don’t want to write clever
Neither to be the dartboard
For the penetrating dart

Inside the mind
Of our well-being
Isn’t it always, and forever
Unlike that swinging
Pendulum that is the heart

Available on Kindle

05:45

In this quiet room
In this still cocoon
In this place
Where my mind can zoom
I think of you

In this early hour
In this idle power
In this space
With time enough to flower
I think of you

In this artificial light
In this lux way too bright
In this haven
With no desire at all to fight
I think of you

Available on Kindle

Slowly Molten

And the words we write
While free of all consequences
Might well talk of brilliant light arising

At or around four o’clock of the morning
Or speak of a pristine darkness falling
Into our souls, sometime after midnight

And the joy we feel, interminably
When caught out by past coincidences
That too is able to be rightful, or seasonal

Such as any time, in breeze, or calm
With love absent, or love by your side calling
To all those doubts hidden in the shadows

And the time to be delirious
With the warmth of well-fired furnaces
That burn now, or that have burnt before

With sparks, and flames, and magical
Vapours filled to overflowing, as if volcanic
Gasses, surging with red-hot desire, and emotion

Available on Kindle

Repeats

Words may be chosen at will
With formalised structure
Or randomly placed

Their roundabout; of path
Or journey, or coast to coast
Narrative, is of footsteps fallen

Lonesome steps, in the dry heat
Of summer; looking out to sea
From a haven of meadow grass

Lonesome steps, in the cold frosts
Of winter, piercing into the distant
Fields, where nature is taken to turn

To be the chosen one, or silently unspoken
Or the mildly flamboyant, and once more awoken
Onto whose hopes we might rest

Smile at their compilation, pass on
Some sense of their richness, and colour
For the days whose heads they may countenance

Available on Kindle