Saturday, 14 May 2016

Forget the stars

Focus on this day
the music rolling
around the walls of the room
almost like hearing
the sound of
a faraway thunder.

Inside this room
that the sun has turned
to the colour of ochre
I'm swimming deep in memories

Down I go to the
sea bed of my heart

where  sea grasses move~

they are the
weeping willows of the ocean.

What dreams may come,
this day?

Sometimes the beauty
and the sheer depth of life, love ~
overwhelm me
almost like dissociation

as I swim down to the cool depths
of Heaven's sea





Tuesday, 26 April 2016

In silence we hear so much


when a motorbike stops

in the early hours~

or when a baby stops crying.

Silence, when words  can say 

no more.

The  sea

when seagulls fly

against the wind.

After a snowfall,

that quiet.

Last night when you came home

I imagined you smelled of wildlfowers 
and little birds.

I was silent.


Saturday, 16 April 2016


rain ~
showers ~
and sometimes,

( and only then)
I'll sit in our front room
wrapping cold fingers
around a steaming cup of coffee
and watch,
as the world walks past.

The crazy cat lady
who lives down our road
scurries by
talking to her imaginary friend.

How everything gleams
in this early morning light!
The rust red rooftops
the silver glint of a seagull's wings
as it flies silently by

I quietly say my prayers
for a little girl
just new to this April world
her name
falling from my lips.

through the glass
I see the tops of the trees

their glittering leaves
shining with the remnants

of an April shower.

I rise,

I leave the room.

And dream.

Sunday, 28 February 2016

Blessings, all.

The winter sun

a balm for weary souls
from whom,

darkness stole
the light.

Golden fingers
stretching across fields
and down
long hidden roads

stealing in
through our windows
and drenching
the tulips
with love.





I've been soaked in them all.

The love of friends far and near

( Kathryn )



Warm coffee cup in my hands.


winter sun.

Blessings, all.

Saturday, 20 February 2016

Occupation, shop assistant

I stared at the patient's chart.

Just after another patient had hurt me.


I have the bruises to prove it.

Occupation, shop assistant.

after day
we care
we give
to every occupation ~
every walk of life.

And sometimes,
whatever the occupation,
they hurt us.

So when weekend comes
and a drive into the country to see our son
becomes a haven of
wonderful soup and homemade bread
smiles and hugs
and the mystery of
squeezing all that beauty
into words~

the vapour trails
of planes flying through
the first blue sky
of the week~

choral music ,
coffee and croissants
red lipstick that everyone said I suited..
white bells of snowdrops
and crocuses
bursting through with soft green spears

oh~ the mystery.

Occupation, Nurse.

Friday, 5 February 2016

Borrowed dreams

It took awhile

all that untangling from

the naked fields
with only the moonlight
to cover them.

My dreams
( always borrowed)

got pushed into the button box
as I dealt with things ~
to sacred to speak of,

I was soaked
to the skin

and yet

all the while

those dreams

of the hills

wearing white






Saturday, 9 January 2016

The house with the little yellow door


I had the words.

The ones for Christmas.
About Christmas.

Then  the ones about
New Year.

You know,
all that stuff
about a new page and so on.

As ever,
life decided to throw a bottle of ink
all over them.

I looked January full in the face
and listened again
for music in the storm blown trees.

Watched for the gold spun winter sun
that hangs low over the fields.

We marked our lives with little cups of coffee
and tea
as the globe twirled madly on.

What strange creatures we are

dancing into this new year

and driving past

the house,

with the little yellow door.