Create multiple lines. Blood lines, tear lines, love lines. Multiple directions that multiply upon the world more blood, tears and love.

As a child grows, lines unfurl in borrowed darkness until they reach their own light which grows and grows until the time of their own

darkness, when new lines multiply over theirs and then grow away, as they did, towards light, towards darkness.

In his tale of two cities Dickens said ‘The day came coldly, like a dead face out of the sky’

What is there to fill this grey day?

Is there someone for whom

It is not grey, is there someone

Who switches on the lights with

Every blink? Is there a place

In this grey city where life flows

Strong and people are enjoying

Their work and loving themselves

And seeing light in every eye even

Though the sun’s switched off?

Light pollution

Oh I wish they

Wouldn’t sing at

Night, the birds,

When my chest

Is tight and the

Road to Day is

Spiked with dreams

That cannot be

Seen in light of bird

Noise, rogue

Dawn speech strayed

Off the sun.


Please sit quiet

On your branch

And wait, if sleep

Is too heavy for the

Light state of a

January that knows

No snow but isn’t



Blossom is already

Breaking the tired grey,

Confused from lack

Of sleep because

Autumn forgot to turn

All the lights off and

Let the heating run all



Yes, I will


Slowly, with smoke

And sticks.  Life’s

Bark will stratch,

Then rub then spark

Then flare

Then flame

Up and

Scorch bright –

A taper, scarlet

Through the

Night of sceptic haze,

Burning tinder

To black carbon,

Putrid rot

To clean dust.


(23rd November)



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)

A Man Trapped, Now, Outside

Dew drops came

Thick, sticky

Things in the mist,

Gone as soon as

Seen, washed

In the morning rain.


His sorrow bled his

Soul and gauged

The pupils deeper

Through his eyes,

Bored through brain.

Pain pools welled

Round these holes,

And bounced

The light back, blue,

Ungrateful at the

Interrupted shade.

Thoughts welled up

Inside his head,

Of loved ones

Crudely detached,

Cords severed,


The restaurant

Dimmed, she,

Opposite, receded

Into Silence, as

The Past caved

In, confining him

To Memory’s passages,

Flickering, beckoning,


Occasionally, sounds,

From above,

Outside the cave,

Her voice, something

Trivial, no guidance

Through these tunnels,

Only proof of Present

Beyond his prison,



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

Following the Mind

Twin step

Full on the

Broad mist

Of hope

Sometimes round

Always fast

Bent a day

Spent somehow

Awestruck by Life,

The rhythm sing

Of light through


3 Thoughts


Save me a tune when the light

 Is gone

Make my mind sweet with

That thick sound,

A compliment, well sent,

Swelling up from the tender

Root of a heart entwined

With mine

In knots, the wynd and bind,

Again and again.

Cut me a rope I can use

To climb down, down to

A place where I can sit

And eat lunch in peace, thoughtful

For the morning, eager for the

Afternoon, but happy on the bench, whatever’s in

The box.

Still, sitting by his side,

The sage who knew all

And spoke it freely

With tea and rich tea,

One leg here, the other

In Italy, 1945.

 (23rd August 2009)