Approaching Yuletide

The season of shimmering bliss when

Earth rusks die down and the 

Skies weep their burden and the 

Roads sing with winds that break

The torments of the dark into tatters

Of thunder that lighten the lid

Of winter marching on towards the 

Final days of the year, where intentions

Meet reality and greet and light 

The darkness for a short strip of 

Life, the grey large silence, wider

Than the horizon, at the rise of new year

Autumn leaves dissection


Chlorophyll breaks down to reveal the colours beneath:

Orange is the beta carotene (like carrots)
Yellow is another carotene called xanthophylls

Maple is red because anthocyanin is sugar sweet

Brown is tannin, like tea, the end, once all the other colours are said and done..

Hallowed trees

When branches sink their roasted
Leaves into next Spring’s earth

The Dead meet the Saints and Winter’s
Angels light the leafless dark.

Marching into April

The year is in its adolescence

It is trying its body on for size

But not yet used to its long legs

And sex and looks

Awkward when it walks and feels

Awkward when the full formed daffodils

Suggest a cheeky bit of summer before dinner

; –  )


There is hope, there is memory

But there is no knowing what will be

Beyond this time of promise, heavy with buds that

May or may not

 Bear fruit, depending on whether

Frost sweeps Autumn’s sweets or thunder

Brightens all souls to glinting parodies of Paradise

: –  )

Harvest lament

This is when we harvest

What we sowed in Spring

And saw in June, July and

August; this is the cut and

Dry, the funeral of the year

When we still have its aged

Flesh with us in the room,

Testament to the wind, the

Rain, the sun and the long

Days spent filling up with

Juice and flavour, ready for

The journey back to ground,

Earth, soil: core to core.

Autumn cycle

Rake it home and

Compost it out the

Back without thinking

Of your feet and

The mess they’re

Making in the hall,

It can be cleaned

Later, when the leaves

Are rotting and re-

Cycling through the cool

Guts of worms, beetles

And other vaguer traces

Of evolution.

Mown Down

There once was a girl with blue-tits

Standing on the corner

Of a dirty street

Letting them sing in the lamplight

At half past five on a wet autumn eve.


Lucky to have them

Printed on nylon, somewhere

In China in colours to match hers.

Lucky to be there, at the dirty

Street corner, no care but getting

Wet through the wet autumn eve.


Moving into the twilight

She breathes holes in

The air, past the day’s paninis

Left out by Cafes for tramps to eat

On loose-knit streets

Paved over fields, gradually, down

Decades, first cobbles then tarmac,

Bits of both, interweaved, gum daisies

Sprouting pink and yellow and green

 Through each kink-



About to cross the road

The blue-tits stop singing but

She ignores their hiatus and makes

For the van, white, common type


The blue-tits go red and

 Death fills the street.


A Morning, Late November


 Rod of silver

Wand struck

Soft on my head

Of thoughts laced

With sweet, dripping

Nectar beads

Sweet, dripping

Nectar drop.

The Sun shines

Nourishment on

Me on the bedclothes

And my day dawns

Thick, cool, clear

And tinged with

Autumn, crusts

Of the year, left to crumble, crunch

And pile their juices into compost

Fodder for the Spring.

I rise to meet

These orange-browns,

Lights dangling,

Lights drifting, drunken

Twirling through

The gusts,

Traffic wardens flick them off.

(26th November 2009)

Autumn Walks

Trees split the light


Prizing away


Like a surgeon,

Through to

The Sun’s

Fleshy core.

Leaves glow yellow

In the gloaming.

Sunny reds

Fleck the endless


No chestnuts rust

The grass,

Not yet. But

Squirrels forage

For crumbs and

Tit-bits huddled

Under-leaf, left,

Last morsels

Of the Brightness

Lost to Day.




The light recedes

The trees and lights

Fold out electric

Strips across

The Lake,

No thought for sleep.

The birds, in trees,

In lake, must

Hood their


Hide lids in down