Thursday, 30 September 2021


They’re shrouded in mist almost

as dark as the shrouds

they wear to cover themselves,

to cloak themselves 

for their journey.

Shrouds like dusty abayas

uniformly grey,






Only their mouths still red,

stained by their final feast.

The feast of what was left.

And now there’s nothing,

nothing any more.

No more.



This little piece of gold

will not be enough

to feed the fruit 

of my swelling belly.

And it will take bigger scales 

to weigh out the quantities

we will need to survive.

But I still have jewels to sell

and I think they will be


I shall weigh them carefully.

It’s in the balance

but I think there will be 


To The Time Of The Season

It’s that time of the season


coasting from 

one year 

to the next

from old to new

facing both ways 



to move 



a gleam of light

caught in the falling

all too briefly

before it becomes

part of the old

before it turns

to mush

and decays

like all things passed.

 God Given 

If such a creature didn’t exist

we’d have to invent it for sure.

Whether Zeus or Allah,

Jehovah or any of the rest,

all fulfil the same 


All create a framework 

of behaviour,

the laws of god

which must be obeyed

without argument,

without thinking,

without due process.

All create a framework

of rights.

Some have them,

others don’t.

They’re god given

so no argument,

no thinking,


And all need a territory,

a god given territory

from the beginning of time

and for evermore

No argument,

no thinking,

god given.

Saturday, 25 September 2021

 Brides of Fire

Who will be the chosen one,

the one to join the virgins

wedded to the fire

the one to keep it burning

until the new prince comes.

Who will wait for him

to put it out 

remodel it

then rekindle it

as the new era begins.

A new fire for new times.

What will become of us then.

Wednesday, 22 September 2021


From The Beach

Nature is the best of artists, 

able to render down to beauty

the decayed life forms of the past

into a form that can grace my walls and shelves

and remind me of the stories about where I found them,

about where they washed up, 

the chances they took.

I strain to hear their stories,

strain to hear

the trees from Loch Ellen

once blown by the wind 

now rustling silently.

But I think the dragon fish can hear them.

He looks as if he’s speaking, 

telling them all

about his journey 

from a living tree

to driftwood on the shore

and now he’s here on my wall.

waiting for the next wave to break

waiting to see what happens.

Monday, 20 September 2021


When I was nine

I stepped on a caterpillar


stepped on

one end of a caterpillar

and it’s caterpillar shape,

bright emerald green,

shot out the other end.

Since then,

I have taken great care

never to step

on a caterpillar


Monday, 13 September 2021

 Are We Any Older?

Am I any older

my dear, tell me

I cannot tell 

can you

tell me,

are you any older,

my dear tell me

if you can 


can you tell?

Can you tell

if we have aged 

from the inside out

or the outside in

or is it just on the outside

only on the outside.

I think 

we should keep it outside.

Tell me

that we can keep it outside

my dear, tell me.

 Come On In

“Come on in the water’s lovely”

they called out to me 

with their arms outstretched

and the sweetest of smiles.

And I was tempted for sure,

their smiles were as entrancing as sirens

but their arms waving a welcome

reminded me of spiders

with their stretched out legs

waiting to pounce

in this watery web,

or the tentacles of sea anemones

whirling and waving

while awaiting their prey.

Come on in the water’s lovely




The word echoes through my head

enticing me

for sure,

entrapping me


I’ll soon find out.

 Sirens Call

I wanted to know her.

With her silken hair

hanging past her waist,

yes, I do believe she 

was sitting on it

and it was everything 

that mine was not.

It hung straight down,

Straight as a dye, 

not in the crinkly waves 

and corkscrews

that were the bane

of my life. 

And where did she find the lippy

to make those bright red lips

while sitting there on a rock

in the middle of nowhere.

They told me that she was a siren

who would lead me into temptation.

I told them that I would take a chance.

 The Lady In Red

They called her the ‘Lady in Red’

Seen only in winter walking near the trees

she emerged from the mists and muted colours

so vibrant

so colourful

so elegant,

so they said.

Should I believe them?

Could I believe them?

I hid in the trees

and waited


I think I saw her.

I don’t think she saw me,

except maybe

as a figment of her imagination

or a face hanging out in her dream.

Sunday, 12 September 2021

 Flight Of Fancy

Fly with me my fancy man

and I’ll take you to places 

that you haven’t been,

but only if that’s what you fancy.

We’ll flit over mountains flapping our wings 

on our magical flight of fancy.

We’ll hover above cities of silver and gold,

and stopover wherever we fancy.

Come fly with me, my fancy man,

and find a little of what you fancy.

But hold on tight as we climb up

close to the sun, then go 

sliding down moonbeams

avoiding the planets, way over the spires

and the earth towers, over the clouds,

right out of the rain showers.

There’s no plain sailing for us in my fancies.

Then hold on tight as we start speeding down, 

down under the clouds in our fancy

we’re still tripping the light fantastic.

But we’re frantic to find our fantasy land

at the end of our flight of fancy.


Saturday, 11 September 2021

Friday, 10 September 2021

 Voice Of An Angel

Once I thought love

would be enough

to fly us away


past planets and stars

reaching up to them

breaking through 

the atmosphere

to grasp that moment

and put it in a glass,

our own shining orb

that would stay forever

gleaming and shimmering

and singing at my touch

with the pure notes of

the voice of an angel

breaking through 

the atmosphere,

your voice

a voice so pure

it will never shatter

the glass.

It’s lustre has faded now

but it will stay forever

a still shining sphere

in my memories 

and dreams.

Thursday, 9 September 2021


She’d always loved to watched them

as they swooped and swerved

riding the thermals raucously

as they waited for the tide 

and it’s flow of fish.

She could see them now

from the mouth of the cave

and she wondered 

if it would be enough

to sustain her

she wondered 

if it would be enough

as the tide flowed in.

 Holding On

I love the rock pools

when the tides are gentle 

and the sea creatures survive

their comings and goings

sucking at the rocks

holding on tightly

or hiding

in the sand

in the gravel

under the stones

always holding on.

But now the tides are angry

and few can hold on

tightly enough

to survive the ebb and flow.

The crabs

and molluscs

the shiny stars

all lose their grip

and are washed up 

then washed away

disappearing like a dream,

a dream 

which becomes a nightmare

crashing them into reality 

on the turn of the tide.

 Scorpio’s Secrets

I’ve kept our secrets a long time, 

the mystery of our passion

and, ever resourceful, 

I stored them

deep in the watery underworld.

But now I’ve forgotten 


they were buried

and my crabby comrades are long gone.

Their hard shells tell me nothing,

perhaps they never did,

but they was guarded by Pluto

to make sure they were safe.

We had a deal then,

back in the days 

when I thought him reliable

now I’m not sure

if I can trust him.

Perhaps he’s already dug them up,

he wouldn’t want them to rest in peace

but I won’t know till I find him,

if I can find him,

and when I do 

their resting place

will remain

my secret.

I’ve already lost our passion,

it’s buried for ever.

And now it’s ended

I shall transform myself,

become a hermit,

give up my hard shell

keep myself secret,

I need no one else

to judge me.