Thursday, 29 November 2018

Reach Out
Where are you?
There was a time when
I knew where to find you,
knew the places and spaces
you inhabited
in my dreams,
in my day
and night
You would be waiting there,
waiting to be found,
waiting to come
to me.
it's harder to find you,
to recognise your shape and form.
You are becoming fragmented and ephemeral,
floating forms in a damp mist.
Reach out.
Hold on
to me.
Don't pass me by.
It's such a long time since you left,
perhaps it's me who's letting go,
me who has forgotten how to reach you.
Forgotten to reach out to you.
Reach out.
Hold on
to me.
Don't let me fade

Wednesday, 28 November 2018

What a tangle we’re in
even though we’ve moved outside
it still exerts it’s presence,
it’s determination to snarl things up.
We thought moving out would be better,
would straighten us out,
bring us into the light
but it’s still dark
only the tangle finds the light
and shows us
that things are even worse than we thought,
even more tangled up.

Sunday, 25 November 2018


Just raindrops
falling into wetness
running down
the glass.
Just raindrops falling,
like silvery teardrops
from glassy eyes,
which will run their course
and splatter
splatter like rain,
then disappear.
into wetness,
and become invisible
as if by magic.

Friday, 23 November 2018

The Shadows of Secrets
Secrets always lie in the shadows,
the dark spaces
where they can hide
a light shines through,
a dark drawer is unlocked,
a letter freed once more from it’s cover,
the missing piece of the puzzle
is found when the dust
is disturbed.
And what then?
when the secrets lie exposed
to the light.
What then?
the secrets create a new shadow
even darker than before.

Wednesday, 21 November 2018

Black Cats

I’m puzzled.
You can see it in my face, can’t you?
Traditionally, black cats were lucky,
especially if they could be persuaded to
cross your path.
Now they’re unlucky.
No one wants them,
not even to cross their path.
So, you can see why I’m curious
as I wonder what happened
to bring about this change.
Did they, ever catlike,
decide not to co-operate
with the path crossing business
and turn tail to scarper
in the opposite direction?
Or maybe stand their ground
and snarl
and spit
and bare their teeth
like fearsome demons.
Perhaps that was it
or perhaps it must always
remain a puzzle,
a curiosity.

Tuesday, 20 November 2018

Sweet Heart

He’d seen it glint earlier
when a shaft of light hit
the open box.
He kept watch till they left.
Back now, still watchful.
Turn his head this way,
then that.
No cats.
No humans.
Upturned the box
and seized his prize
glinting gold among the dull
browns and creams.
Carried it off.
Then carried it home,
a home now fit for his new lover,
his sweet heart.
But he didn’t unwrap it.
Didn’t discover the greater prize
lying under the surface glitter.
Didn’t find the jewel
of sweetness in the centre.
Soon life dulled the surface glitter,
screwed it up.
And the sweet heart
melted in the warmth,
Melted into sticky goo.
Melted away as
sweet hearts do.

Sunday, 18 November 2018

So to begin with, your little e-magazine here has brought forth its second issue with quite a success, but we had left something a little missing for you — the Featured Poems(s) segment of Issue 02…

Thursday, 15 November 2018


They put a fence by the waterfall
all along the high bank near the path.
It was ugly,
an eyesore
but it was supposed to make it safer
stop people climbing up the rocks at it’s side
and jumping in
though no one could remember an accident.
It didn’t work.
The children went under.
The adults went over.
It was more dangerous
as the approach was much narrower now
and slippery from the increased footfall 
on the restricted area.
But at least 
there was no accident
it was just ugly
an eyesore
someone took a saw to it
and threw the bits
into the water
to float away
down river.
They built it higher then
a bigger eyesore
and difficult for children
to climb over.
But they still do.
After all they’ve been doing it for centuries.
It’s probably in their genes
and no one can remember an accident.

Waterfall They put a fence by the waterfall all along the high bank near the path. It was ugly, an eyesore but it was supposed to make it safer…

Wednesday, 14 November 2018

The Fishermen
The wall ran all along one side of the bay,
steps up from the port at one end,
down to the beach at the other.
I climbed up the steps
and looked over.
So many fish.
Huge fish.
Swirling silver moons in a day blue sky.
A net would have scooped them up
and broken with the weight.
The fishermen were there with their rods set up,
like the fish almost touching,
so many and so close,
parallel black lines against the sky
like a blue print for lunch provision.
I walked down the steps to the beach.
Few people were there so early.
Morning was the fisherman’s time
of day,
not the sunbather’s.
I went back along the wall
when the fishermen were packing up,
heading home for lunch.
Carrying their fish,
I thought.
But no,
it was a delusion
to imagine
they would eat fish for dinner.
Not those fish, anyway.
All were returned to the sea.
Such is the sport of the fisherman.