About Me

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I am a great admirer of English poetry from the time of Chaucer up until the middle of the twentieth century when it appeared to lose its way. I love all aspects of this planet but are sometimes sad when I think of what we are doing to it.

Wednesday, 26 August 2020




Grim slag on bare hill,

Soft shoots begin to open.

Nature paints out grey

Thursday, 30 April 2020


Bright her face upon that day and
light the touch of silken hair, like
mist in May, when first we met and
kissed in flowered fields and swore that
we would snare the sun and keep him tame.

See how dark and dry these days drag
out. We sit and sneer at our Love’s
rout with hate that gnaws in guile and
lies. Ah, ash in veins and dust in
eyes – all embers now where once was flame.

Tuesday, 17 March 2020

The Crag


* * * 

As I stood there alone with my hand against stone
and the tears of the wind on my face,
I wondered if stone recalled ages unknown
when life first blossomed out from its base.

In the swirl of the rain, a voice spoke in my brain,
a voice deep and lonely but strong:
"If I could but forget the long pain and regret,
the foul horror of Life's endless wrong.

"For my thoughts can still find the long path left behind
That leads from the light to the gloom,
from the day of the dawn in cataclysmic morn
when the seed gave forth its bright bloom.

"From the cold sands of space, by the Weak Force's grace,
mixed the dust and detritus of stars.
Grain piled on grain in a chill, soundless rain,
glued by static and enshrouded in tars.

"Stone smashed on stone and world hurled on world,
till the rocks crazed and shattered and flowed;
and blazing I came from a placenta of flame
to a shore swept by rivers that glowed.

"Those dim ages flew by like swift clouds from on high
as the land cooled, and then fell the first rain;
and the soil drank the dew and it yielded anew
the first streams that now fed the first main.

"Yes, how still were those days in the sweet lightning's blaze
as the waves swept the yet steaming shore.
But then came the day (nevermore, now I pray!)
when there was movement where none was before.

"A faint globule of gel that squirmed in the swell
I saw in the waters that hour.
As the aeons flashed by under the comet-strewn sky
More came and divided in power.

"On the cold ocean's floor; near the volcano's red maw; 
In the deep and the heights and the skies
swarmed the things from that seed, that slew in their greed,
for warm flesh and sweet blood was their prize.

"The pollution of pain from the nucleotide chain
spilt over my stone like a tear.
If I could but sleep! If my rock could but weep!
for I heard your faint footfall pass near.

"For you are the bloom from that root sunk in gloom; 
the dark blight which crawled from that pool.
Your lips prate of law but your hands swim in gore
and the axe! Was it not your first tool!

"You smash flesh with steel: wounds never to heal;
your children you feed to the fire.
Though some lisp of God, where your armies have trod
Shards of hope still hang wet on the wire.

"All life feeds on death and blood is your breath 
- but the forces of night are now massed.
Soon the ape and its lust will yield to the dust
- Lo! Time's javelin already is cast!

"Swept like chalk from the board while the cold stars applaud
your day and its darkness are passed.
A cloak of new fire is your funeral pyre
and the world will grow quiet at last."

I ran from that height with my mind wrapped in night,
every step seemed to drown me in mud.
Was that dread judgement true? Or will we rise anew
and forget our beginnings in blood?

Many years have now gone yet my doubts linger on
and they come and they mock me at night.
Does the stain run too deep? is there no faith to keep
with the slaughtered now gone from the light?

It is still not too late! Let love replace hate -
still are there ploughshares to mould.
Let us turn from the sword and cut the strong cord
which ... Ah, but I, and you too,  - we grow old.

* * * 


Wednesday, 8 May 2019

My Muse With The Soft Brown Hair

How I wish that I were there
where laughter reigns through dark and light
with my muse of the soft brown hair.

Long are the kisses we would share
in torrid day or star strewn night.
Oh, how I wish that I were there!

Rich are the joys for those who’d dare
to spread their wings in love’s swift flight
with my muse of the soft brown hair.

Her smile can make the storm seem fair;
Her lips bring joy that’s lightening bright.
Oh, how I wish that I were there!

In life’s grey paths of aching care
my thoughts soar skyward, height on height
with my muse of the soft brown hair.

Grey are these days with dark despair
and pains that grow like a creeping blight.
Oh, how I wish that I were there
With my muse of the soft brown hair!

Monday, 25 March 2019

The Lovers' Calendar

I kissed her lips on that frost-rimmed day
when the lake lay still in an ice bound sleep.
Cold were her lips but promising fire
as the snowdrop brings hope of bright roses.

I kissed her lips on that sun-swept day
while young clouds moved slow on paths of blue.
How soft were those lips and warmed by love
as her face met mine in a butterfly touch.

I kissed her lips on that autumn day
as dead leaves swept by in a dance of red.
How sweet those lips in the chastening wind,
stilling false fears in the day’s drear dusk.

I kissed her lips in that storm’s grim heart
while ragged clouds closed the sun’s pale eye.
A swift year has passed into remembrance.

But each stored kiss shall hasten the spring.

Tuesday, 8 January 2019

Love Renewed

The world has turned about its fire
With the seasons’ cycle forged anew,
Sweeping back in its endless gyre
A hemisphere clothed in wintry hue.

The world has turned: the buds await
The call to bloom in the springtime sun;
Orion stands guard on Evening’s gate:
His trembling hounds now strain to run.

The world has turned: and you and I
Face our rebirth hand in hand
Our love reaching for the sheltering sky,
Our roots deep in the warming land.

Saturday, 1 December 2018

In School

A smell of fresh ink
and I instantly think
of warm days in school:
Those dim leaden skies,
that buzz of small flies;
I hear children’s yells in school.

A harsh bell rings out,
an eager loud shout
and dinner ends in school.
“Now turn to page Four.”
- But Euclid I abhor!
But this is life, in school.

A quick glance to my right
- Yes, she’s still there all right.
But she sees me not, in school.
If I had that new bike
perhaps me she’d like:
But I’m just weak weed, in school.

It’s biology now
and our determined vow
is not to snigger in school.
But with “womb”and “sperm”
It’s not like “The Worm”!
(And some girls still blush in school.)

And then the bell rings
and my tired hand sings:
No more writing in school!
And then out we pour;
A big crush at the door
and we swear – which we don’t do in school.

And as on the loud bus we go
we slander teachers we know
and swop our adventures in school:
“We had fun with those cows
I had my hand down her blouse!”
Yes, there’s lots of excitement in school.

But now there’s homework for me
Instead of TV
For I must hand it over in school.
Then it’s out we go;
Follow females we know
and forget all our troubles in school.

But it all slips away
with a new-minted day
and it’s back to the textbooks in school.
Cornflakes and a fuss;
Chase after the bus
and then dodge all those prefects in school.

Yes, it all sweeps back like a wave
as I wander on to my grave.
The tumult, the joy in school.
And as I work amidst grime
I remember the time
when the world was clean – in school