Friday, 15 September 2017



like the night fox.

Listening to the sounds of the city and

wondering how noise

can be quiet.

Autumn has entered through the door

bringing her soft,

misty mornings.

Church spires poking the early sky

and coffee scent stealing up the stairs.

All these little rituals.

Our day to day livings.

Some times even words,

fail to express the fullness

of the human heart.

Sunday, 11 June 2017

Where time went

Summer ,

driving while
watching all the pretty dresses
flutter in the breeze

armfuls of fresh flowers
and the smell of coffee
from the outdoor cafes

it's dreaming of blue skies
and golden sand

castles with little flags atop
seagulls screeching
for your food

you remember a summer in the seventies
when you wore flares and tie dye tees

and all you listened to on the radio
were the songs of Simon and Garfunkel









Sunday, 9 April 2017

The old man with the sticks

I saw him

walking with the sticks

bundled ,

under his arm.

Shuffling along


going home,

to his fire.  

Sunday, 5 March 2017


This month

the one

that tears into us

like a lion

and leaves
like a butterfly
with pale,
green wings

Then the earth is happy

she looks to the sky



Saturday, 24 December 2016

He will come

He will come like last leaf's fall.
One night when the November wind
has flayed the trees to the bone, and earth
wakes choking on the mould,
the soft shroud's folding.

He will come like frost.
One morning when the shrinking earth
opens on mist, to find itself
arrested in the net
of alien, sword-set beauty.

He will come like dark.
One evening when the bursting red
December sun draws up the sheet
and penny-masks its eye to yield
the star-snowed fields of sky.

He will come, will come,
will come like crying in the night,
like blood, like breaking,
as the earth writhes to toss him free.
He will come like child.

© Rowan Williams

A very happy Christmas to all the silent footsteps that fall this way, and a blessed and peaceful 2017 to you all xx 

Sunday, 11 December 2016

{ 22:38 }

Another Sunday.

I love this time of day
the rosy glow of
our twinkle lights
inviting ~
shutting out the dark.

You've gone to bed
and it's quiet,
only the sound of Voces8
singing Christmas carols
from another room.

I wonder are you listening.

You are the soft Christmas lights
and these notes,
hanging there,
in the winter air
are you,
always you.

It's lovely,
this being drenched
in the hours
of Christmas.

If only these days of hope
could linger
wrapped around our hearts.

Saturday, 29 October 2016


on the night air,

through the attic window~

the sound of
distant fireworks.

Tiny booms,

that belong to this
Autumnal Saturday.

Tiny sparkles
in the black  sky.

In the wings,

and scattered all over
our dining table

Christmas catalogues.


Like you.


Awake, like the night fox. Listening to the sounds of the city and wondering how noise can be quiet. Autumn has entered...