The breeze comes And blows me tales of summer meadows. The wind appears And hisses me stories of life on the far side of the hill. The gale arrives And roars me poetry from beyond the hidden horizon. The storm lands And bellows me adventures from a distant shore.
Can We Let Go of the Stirring Stick?
Bring me the blackness In dark empty shades Ebony, charcoal Then a touch of slate grey
A Name to Call Myself
Recently, I dipped into a book I’ve been reading on and off for the last couple of months. I may, if I am honest, confess that it is probably over a year that I have been it! The book in question is Poemcrazy: Freeing Your Life with Words by Susan G. Wooldridge. I reached the…Read more A Name to Call Myself
If I close a door, then…
I close a door and lose the chance For you and me to learn to dance I close a door and fail to see, that you are very much like me. I close a door, then stand behind My prejudice and fixed stone mind I close a door and what could be gain, is left…Read more If I close a door, then…
Still Deep Blue Water
Still deep blue water Embraces me. Still deep blue water Fascinates me. Still deep blue water Captivates me. Still deep blue water Wraps me In a world of simple contentment. Dreams can be held like prized jewels, Affixed in gold, Ripe for careful study: To contemplate, Formulate, Gestate. ...This still deep, blue water
Some Days
My day Is glorious With apple pie, Fluffy, white clouds A gleam in my eye. My day Is restful, With toast and tea, Calling, young robin A book on my knee. My day Is pale grey, With leftover swede, Heavy, mud footpath, A mind full of need. My day Is wild storms. No desire to…Read more Some Days
I Remember
I remember my dad trying to film a passing steam strain. The sound recording ruined by my sister. “Who the bloody hell was that crying?” he said.
