Flooded Silent, stood by the Current swirl and rapid flow. Flooded with thoughts. A moment to pause, While ceaseless waters rush. Flooded with memories. The river swollen, pours Pain channelled, mercury heavy. Flooded with sadness. Crisp air, sharp inhaled By river's cold beating heart. Flooded with tears. Dusk lights silver glint; The waters invite reflection. Flooded with hope. The waters are now still. The mind flows in gentler streams. Flooded with life. -- Flooded A poem

Old Eyes The old man lent me his eyes, Cataract clouds, yet behind the milky hue Lay the memories and wisdom of life. The clarity & experience of decades. The old man lent me his eyes And I saw the world in a different light. I blinked, understanding the one with cataracts Was me. _______ Photo: Taken near Jaipur, Rajasthan, India, November 1992. There is so much wisdom in those who have lived to an old age. We should revere our elderly, we should respect them, not discard th

The Language of Clouds Borderless, wind drifters. Across the divide they look Up to the drifting white; The cloud journeys begin, Unhindered by man's obstinance. Undisturbed by man's chaos. Unnoticed by man's violence. Unprepared for the cries below, Carry us with you! We seek only that which you have. Freedom and silence, Anonymity and presence. The clouds spill great saddening raindrops; Yet, it is the safest water they will touch. The rain falls, absorbed In skin that dark

Midnight. Dreams. At midnight's close The day past. Piled higher still, Stacked regrets and What should have beens. The days to come Diminished by one. Life lessened. And so to dream. We wake, A day less remains. How many more To fulfill those dreams? _________________ One day less to fulfill our dreams. Seize the day, while you still can. #dreams #hopes #ambitions #life

Bump and Hide We don't Bump into each Other anymore. No more Oh I'm sorry, Let me Pick you up Off the floor. It's orchestral manoeuvres In the street, Elbows touch If we dare to meet. The eyes have it, One blink for yes Two for no. Masked intentions, Don't move with the flow. Just step aside, Don't take the chance, Thou shall not bump into me This way, that way, Do the Covid dance. ___________________ Every walk outside nowadays involves the Covid Dance. A choreographed displ

Coronachievements Lockdown 6 months on...Before and After I'll read every book I've got. I read half a page and stopped. I'll exercise, be lean, fit and trim. The most I did was take out the bins. I'll diet, eat healthily, lots of fruit and veg. Bed sheets covered with crumbs of banana bread. I'll redecorate the house, then write that novel. Computer said No and I live in a hovel. I'll ring all my family, my colleagues and friends. Ah communication breakdown and so it ends. I

Piece Every day I watch the setting sun Knowing it has taken A piece of me for safe keeping Every night I wait the rising sun Knowing it will return The same piece of me So I can keep on Living __________ There is something so resonant, poignant and final when witnessing the sunset. Yet at the same time, witnessing the sunrise is restorative, hopeful, affirmative. The time between holds a piece of me. In limbo, in stasis, inactive. Photo: Parangtritis Beach, south central Jav

A Life A life That rose with the sun And cast first colours, Scattering dawn's final mists And spread an optimistic warmth. A life That glowed with a Burning desire to do good, To shine with an intensity That pervaded and banished all darkness. A life That shimmered in an afternoon haze. Warming oceans of friendship with Sparkling diamond motes of seaspray. Happiness refracted and rainbow dissipated. A life That soothed and calmed in the dusk. Where blue skies were riven in h

Morning Faces I pass the smiles, I pass the frowns. I pass eyes straight forward, I pass eyes staring forlornly down. I greet the joggers and walkers, I greet the lonely in a world of their own. I greet the silent ones and the talkers, I greet the mums and dads, the children who moan. I note those who are happy, I note those who are sad. I note those who are homeless, I note those who are lost, wild or mad. I see the faces, I see the eyes. I see the questions, I see the whys.

Locked Down and Confused I've put the dinner in the fridge, Stirred salt in my tea. Put my pants on back to front, Written Friday where Monday should be. I've put my washing in the bin, Recycling in the washing machine. Defrosted the microwave twice, Dished up ice cream and baked beans. I'm locked down and confused, Not a clue of the day or time. Read every single book I own, But can't remember a single line. My twelfth cup of tea, Downed before half past eigh

Because This Must Be. Why from the olive dark sea The plaintive waves never cease. Why from the darkest clouds The rain falls indeterminate. Why when the long shadows cast The chill winds take away warmth. Why when the first snow dusts The happiness melts immediate. Why when when the autumn mists The shrouded trees part of leaf. Why when the dawn dew forms The grass remains unnoticed. Why when the moon sunlight chased The stars sparkle fades. Because this must

The Haters Where in the world Did you learn to hate? You do it so well. The ascerbic, bilious, Irascible and dispicable. The venoumous, toxic and simply inexplicable Stream of unpleasantness You wilfully pour forth. The shocking, mocking, Undisguisable scorn. Shorn of morals Sensitivity or empathy, Bereft of sympathy. Consciously hurting Wilfully blurting out Diatribes and streams of abuse That sting and burn And reduce the recipient To ashes. Where in the world Did you learn

Aging (A Poet at 51) And what has aging brought? Beyond the sagged jowl and chin, The eyebrows that flourish unbidden And the final strands of hair, Wisped and threadbare, stubborn And steadfast refusing to leave. And what has aging brought? To accompany the reluctance of The finality of youth And belt buckle loosened And the truth of girth's gain And waisted time. And what has aging brought? Beyond the slowness of step And blurring of sight. The straining of the ear And

Self How do you see yourself? Is it in the filtered deception Of instagrammed perfection? Or the truth that radiates From a mirrored reflection? The virtual, online presentable me Or the true worth and value of reality. For the self is not the same as the selfie. It never is, can or will ever be The real you. ________________________________ Stand and pose, have 30 goes to perfect the perfect photo....or point and shoot, one take, that's me. Like or don't like? The age of

Gone Gone Gone, gone, the way of the winds Harshly blown from a wicked sea. Flotsam gathered on sullied beach And weathered faces, beaten, lost. The downtrodden, the forgotten, the left behind. Gone, gone, the intolerance chimes On streets that declare, Be gone! You ain’t one of us! England for the English! The feted few of privilege gained. Gone, gone, no longer the welcomed. No longer a better life of village green No longer the rolling hills, but the brownl

Lifeforms by the Sea Fading shoreline and The evening watchers Mingle with the waves. Expectant for the Final sun colours. Fire flame pulled To a horizon. Extinguished to purpling Orange and crimson, The light coalesces, Seared to retinas. Memories burning pleasant. And the glow Of sea dark, Wraps the lifeforms In happy thoughts. Wave light recedes To abandoned shoreline. The evening watchers Sated and silent, Leave as silhouettes. Lifeforms fading to

Drifting Among Strangers There is silence in the crowd. The hubbub quelled And a stillness found. There is peace in the thousand eyes. And gentleness upon the lips That freeze frame smiles in passing. There is calm in the togetherness. Where heartbeats pulse and life flows A oneness in our presence. There is acceptance and belonging. Yet identity remains a secret, Forever unknown, but acknowledged, welcomed. There are no words, nothing. And the silence is a

There's Too Many Here There's too many here So send them back. Herd them onto Megabuses Heading south of the Watford Gap. There's too many here Taking all our precious jobs. Grafting and working and helping the country, While we shoot off our gobs. There's too many here. Nurses and carers and office workers. Depriving and denying us employment. We, the opinionated shirkers. There's too many here, But when they are good and gone, There'll be no one to care

The Rhythm Sun The rhythm sun Passed another day And remarked upon The impermanence of The visiting throng. Selfies and smiles Against the perma-stones. An instant capture, A clicked moment. Something to quickly Scroll past, the Here and history. Those visiting smiles, The dust makers. Fragility of flesh, Against the solidity Of dead hand's Glorious sculptured legacy. Impermanence and permanence. A reminder to Always remember who Came before, under T

Spice Up Your Life Sugar & spice And all things not nice Screw up your life A hit at a time And pay the price. To slump on a bench Comatose & sprawled Witness to the outraged, offended & appalled Passers by trying not to see, Wondering why this is happening On our streets & in our towns These catatonic, immobile, spiced up Down and outs, not out of the way, But scoring a hit in broad Daylight and in front of school kids And office workers and shoppers. Spic