Sunday, 1 August 2021

 In The Wilderness

I may be in the wilderness

but I’ve not lost my way.

It’s far too easy 

to keep to 

the road

the dirt road

the straight and narrow

the predictable

way through

this predictable landscape

each second

each minute

each hour

the same as the next.

And I know that

each day 

will be the same

until I stray

until I find a way

to escape this desert

of dust baked sand and clay

sand and clay 

and clay and sand

sun dried desiccated

and deserted 

dressed in it’s orange brown uniform.

If only I could see another way

if only a door would appear

to take me off piste,

a door that I could open

and pass through

into the unknown

where I could

lose myself

wet myself

in a muddy pool

and find the dark or the light.

 Far Horizons, Distant Dreams

Once the light shone so brightly

that time and distance stretched for ever,

the horizon at infinity strung with the pearls

of distant dreams.

And in between

a hinterland

of possibilities

just waiting to be grasped.

But then, as the light dimmed,

time and distance collapsed inwards

dragging the horizon closer

a hinterland 

of rubble

in between,

the spent remains 

of possibilities


or untried.

Only the dreams stretched further

beyond the horizon now

in the fading light.

Soon I’ll reach them

and perhaps discover myself

as part of someone else’s dream.

 The Shattered Glass

The glass has been shattered.

Safely shattered,

with no sharp shards.

With no damage to anyone,


But someone is missing.

Only her absence is revealed

in the shattered glass.

Perhaps she is broken,


like the glass,

but not safely.

If only the shattered glass

could reveal her


If only

the cracks would heal.

 What Lies Beneath

I dug up so many things 

to create my garden

not only rocks

and pieces of slate

but tools from those who

had worked in this difficult land.

I built walls from the rocks

and edged my new pond in slate.

The tools became decorations

to tell the story of the land.

Then I found the tractor,

or so I thought,

a toy 

that some child had played with

dreaming of flat land

with good soil.

Then I looked more closely

and saw it was a soldier 

in the driving seat.

Not a tractor



some sort 

of killing machine

I buried it back where it came from.

It seemed the best thing to do with it.

Wednesday, 28 July 2021


We feel free again

out here on the wild heath

and we’re whirling and twirling

like a dervish

with the devil in us

reclaiming our wildness

that was hidden for so long

when we were

just hanging on

our spirits sapped 

at home alone.

But we’re out now

feeling reckless 

with excitement,

jumping for joy

leaping with faith

ready to go again.

 The Place Where The Stars Are Buried

I’m on my way to the place 

where the stars are buried

under a roof of rain.

I won’t get lost.

I’m following the silver snail

trails and the muddy pools

with the little shimmers of spangles.

When I get there - to the place

where the stars are buried.

I shall dig a little, dig

just enough to let

a glimmer of light out.

Just enough to let

the love sparkle and

sizzle in the light

before it burns.

Monday, 26 July 2021

 Look We Have Come Through

Gather round the camp fire

there’ll be music and dancing later

but first, a picnic!

What a spread!

And none of it from a factory,

none of it well travelled

over turbulent seas

or skies

so eat and enjoy

then we’ll show you

how to make it for yourselves

and after, we’ll celebrate

how we have come through

with such joy.

Saturday, 24 July 2021

 Such A Wonder

They’re such a wonder!

They never eat their fellow creatures,

or trample them under hoof.

They don’t require the speedy dispatch

of rain forest acres

to meet their culinary needs.

Those in my garden don’t eat the plants

and happily allow me to garland them

with flowers fresh each morning

and allow the myriad of insects 

to alight and feed on them

without so much as a flick of the tail

or a toss of the head.

Such a wonder.

They’ll come for a walk with no need

for lead

or muzzle

as they don’t chase the sheep

or greet passers by with a growl

or take a hefty bite from an ankle 

or calf,

or shit on the street or path.

Truly a wonder

these unicorns.

And they’ll inhabit your dreams with smiles.


They emerged from the eggs 

of our snow white Silkies.

Every one a cockerel when grown,

we decided to have one for dinner.

The skin was blue, under the white plumage,

which was quite a shock,

a little alien,

but cooked, it was fine. Normal.

And the flesh was white,

But when carved, the bones were blue.


A little alien.

And now these red feathered birds

have appeared as if from nowhere,

their eggs pink. 

When they hatched and grew,

all were hens,

 their clutches carefully hidden,

each batch of chicks larger than the last.

A little strange,

a little alien.

And then, at last, there were cockerels,

too many and too large. 

We decided to have one for dinner.

The skin was pink under the red plumage

which was quite a shock.

A little alien.

But cooked it was fine. Normal.

And the flesh was white.

But when carved the bones were pink,


more than a little alien.

There are more of them now,

growing ever larger.

I think that soon

the dinner tables will be turned

and they’ll make a meal of us.


Soon the light will be fading

and the rooks are circling

in a cawing cacophony 

of confusion

trying to understand the changes 

to their once familiar roost,

searching in vain for the water

which would explain 

the duplicity of their treetop canopy

now a mirror-less reflection.

They’re searching

for something, 


to give them a bearing,

to show them whether 

to fly up or down

which way is up

or down

in this rookery of dreams,

rootless as a dream.

Tuesday, 20 July 2021

 Rise And Fall

We thought we’d fixed it

buried the monster with a stake through it’s heart

so it could never rise again,

created something better

with our blood and sweat and tears.

We’d seen the rain wash away all the traces.

We’d seen the sun come out.

We’d seen the colours of laughter in the streets.

We’d thought it would stay there for ever.

But we were wrong

the monster was not dead

just lying dormant

it’s heart still throbbing



out the rotten stake.

And now there’s no laughter in streets

full of grey people

carrying grey umbrellas

knowing that it’s raining again

washing away the sunshine this time,

waiting for the blood to flow.

And here am I

re-reading the old words

re-living the old times

re-viewing the album 

of old photographs

of people locked in their past

forced to live there again

history gone in a flash




placing us on a treadmill

taking us back

to the beginning 

to start over

as the clouds gather

and the rain starts to fall.

 Waiting, Still Waiting

I’m still waiting for the revolution

in thinking,

in acting,

in feeling,

to happen.

I’m still waiting for it all to collapse

so we can reform



it from the ruins.

Still waiting, waiting

it’s too long 

to be waiting

for growing,




and then to watch

them rebuild it the same.

Only the masks are new.

I’ve not waited for that.

No, I’ve not waited for that.

Friday, 16 July 2021

 Only Believe

If I could only believe 

I would 

lie in sweet flower scented water

and dream ever sweeter dreams


If I could only believe 

I would lie there 


at peace 

and wake 

at peace


Whether fish or fowl,

dove or eagle

fly above me

it wouldn’t matter

if I could only believe

that peace lies within.

If I could only believe.

Thursday, 15 July 2021


What a fearsome beast she became.

Beautiful humans often do

when they make themselves up

to honour  the myth-like Medusa 

of their imagination.

To dress for power

or style

or fun.

To tempt,

or not to tempt,

that is always the question

to tax your thoughts

till it makes your head ache

with the stress of it.

If the answer lies in the hair

lying in it’s snaky tendrils

ready to pounce

then cut it off!

Cut it off!

But it won’t help.

It’s just a distraction

from those killer eyes

that will leave you standing


She’s no guardian angel

but she’ll take care of you

her way

and there’s no safety

in her death.

Sunday, 11 July 2021

 Did You See My Father?

You can see how small I am,

my mask is my protection

my only protection 

self protection.

I’m not like you

with your head to toe suiting,

your visors, your helmets, 

your shields

and sticks.

I have only my mask.

But it keeps me safe 

from contamination.

And if I’m contaminated,

it keeps others safe from me.

That’s what my mother says.

My father says the same

but I don’t know where he is now.

He went towards the square

where you’ve come from

where history repeats itself,

that’s what he said.

Did you see him there?

He looks a lot like me,

a mask is his protection

his only protection

self protection

keeping him safe

from contamination.

Did you see him there and protect him

He had only his mask for protection

and it may not be enough 

if the sticks start hitting

and the bullets start flying 

to stop the contamination

to halt the spread,

to give protection

or self protection

as history plays its old game.

I’m not sure how to stay safe now

not sure if a mask is enough.

Did you see my father?