Throughout Nature

The water is all around us and can
Lift us. We will never sink if we
Drown doubt with open – eyed gratitude

The maker is continuous and so
Should we, a product, be, for
We form all in our own image

Continuity in Hope, and it repeats
Us so everything will come
Up at sum point, mathematically.

Hope never ceases, like Time, it is,
Bright, you will not find a black
Hole that’s not shot with hope – spots,

So little time

Can I make the space bigger,
between stops on the Tube,
for mind to breathe in
and out over the din
of the stomach and
thoughts and errands
and commitments and
distances between states
I could be or should be or
would be –

Space on Earth

We can see the
Beginning of Time
But we can’t find
A plane in our
Own back yard,
Such is the nature
Of our universe.

How old am I? My age is…

A leap of time
Between Death and

Round my soul,
It streaks out to the
Stars, becoming light,

It fuels
Me on or in or
Back or round,  

On how I look at it or
Listen in.

Nothing to do with the TV show


Will reign heavy in the song

When drums beat out for triumph

As I imagine that day

When sound will cloud

The sun with a brightness

That justifies the years

Spent searching for sounds

That beat the inner

Recesses like pinballs

That never won you

More change than


SAD, never mind, anticipate Spring.


This is the time of year when

Music needs to dig deep

To find us, rap a rope

Around our waists and wind

Us up to the light.


This is the time of year

When summer sounds are

Hollow and clatter round

Like flies scanning for jam

Round  an empty jar.


This is the time of year

When Love’s warmth is

Set in relief against the

Grey, when any ray is welcomed

 Like a hero from the war.


This is the time of year

When something as tiny as a

Crocus bud is all the hope

We need to prove again that

Life springs from mud.

Wake up from the daily grind

Wheels on the bus
Go round and round, round and round.
Carry us.

Cleaners, brokers,
One ear off or, surround sound,
All yous, hark

The timetable
Perpetual, it turns found
Into lost.

In good time

The Past bore us.

The Future holds

us – this very

second is that.

For now, we have

run out of Time.

Can once again?


Back track,fast forward

Or repeat or skip or cycle

Through,however you choose

To beat,keep,kill,waste

Save or use it, Time will

Creep off when you thought

You’d sewn it on properly,

This time,it will fall down

The grates in the gutter under

Leaves for someone else to

Retrieve as they walk past,

Someone else to pocket, a

Bit of luck, a bit of extra

Glinting between them

And a coin for a split second,

No nostalgia,just a penny

Someone else dropped

Their hand flew out of

Pocket to feel a

Vacant spot where a

Button taking ten

Minutes to sew on and a

Minute to buy, once was.


No Further

Actually the button is

Never lost and the

Coin is always dropping

The hand is flying

And the soul is stopping

In its split seconds as

We realise that the

Truths of time are

Erratic as the soul and

Times that by infinity.