25th April 2017

For goodness sake, it’s April
And yet the wind is wickedly shaking
The blossom from the cherry
So that it blankets the ground
In pink petal snow 

It’s April and on Sunday
We sat in the garden in the sun
Drinking chilled wine, yet
Just two days later
My cheeks are pinched red
From the cold 

All hail, its April
Ice crystals hit the window panes
The dog growls at them
Indignant at their intrusion
But then a flashy rainbow
Signals spring



The One


I see it hanging from the tree
it’s virgin skin
red and ripe
amongst the late summer leaves 

I long to bite into it
taste it’s sweetness
on my tongue,
feel it’s juices dribbling
childishly down my chin  

It’s high.
I have to climb
the rough
crumbling bark,
grazing palms and shins
in my pursuit

Until aloft
I stretch and reach,
but my fingertips
fail to grasp,
and it falls 

I jump to the grass below
to find my prize,
but every shiny fruit
es a savage scar 

and though I search
I cannot find perfection

In Peace?

In a darkened room the angels hover
while a woman sleeps

And thunderous rain sends morse messages
to the heavens

while down the stairs a raging fire burns
warming cold souls

Twelve bells as the old clock marks the hour
not recognising day or night

Blossoms in the gardens fold their petals
fearing the dark

And all the while, gentle clouds of breath
escape those red lips

Oblivious, cocooned in starched sheets
on a bed of down

The woman rests before her last descent
Weeping angels watch

As the fire rages on


Sorry, it just came out that way…

Oh dear, I am sorry about this. I don’t really know where this came from today.  I was in the mood for writing a bit of verse and just came up with the first couple of lines and, well, it kinda gathered pace from there.

Sorry, no accompanying picture to cheer things up either. I did have some beautiful dark velvety tulips last year, but the bulbs were severely trampled on by the man-fence men when they installed the man-fence a month or two ago, so I think I might be tulip-less this year…

Anyhoo…sorry again for this bit of quite depressing verse!!


They asked why
I chose black tulips for his grave
The petals
Unforgiving to the touch
with fragile strength
cloak a secret centre
Their elusive lustre
glimpsed for but a moment
then quelled in this perfidious place
How earnestly they droop their sombre heads
As lifeless they lie limp on burnished wood
And they asked why
I chose black tulips for his grave

Every Tiny Stitch


Creating the canvas with silken thread
Each day with different colours weaving
On whitest linen in smallest stitches
The complexity of life I’m living

Red jelly and custard birthday parties
a childhood spent in lonely play
Crepe paper hats and satin costumes
Kite flying on a windy day

Sunshine yellow of early teen years
Pop idol screaming in the park
Hot pants, boas, and minis and maxis
Cow bells, music, moon walks in the dark

Shocking pink in early womanhood
living dangerously on last tube home
first job jitters, first date delights
while family snaps to monochrome

Rich dark purple of dreams destroyed
Bleeding wounds traced in crimson thread
Tear tracks, pills, and Empty purses
Disillusioned, discarded, life filled with dread

But then the scarlet of surrender
The blush of finding first true love
Warmth of babes, new lives beginning
The tangerine joy of motherhood

Now the lavender skein is needed
As the empty phase begins
How my coloured garden sows those
Wild brown wrinkles on the skin

The final years with wizened fingers
forging murals bittersweet
‘til only the blackest thread remains
the tapestry will be complete