The pouring of the water, the smell of the leaves
The shapes in twisting vapour as the tea breathes
The heat against the fingers, the tinkling of the cup
The bitter taste on the tongue, the warmth wafting up.


Watch half a cup of tea get cold
sure it’s not like you’re getting old
watch your timer lose it’s sand
nothing done that you planned
but then if you enjoy to see
your tepid cold turning tea
there is no rush or haste
enjoying is never waste.


Let the tea get cold
There is better thing to do
Take a sip and sling the rest
Wear the sole on your shoe.


Meditating upon where wants and needs start
I want love and sex and I want every kind of art
My need is for food and water and clean air to breath
Sit and think what you really want and what you need
When want drifts to need, contentment departs
Clear the mind of needs to save a swollen heart.


Chimes sound time passed, air changes from warm to chill,
The trees show the calendar of every seasons will,
Skin hides in shrouds of warmth as orange comes in fall
Take the last of the fruit to shelter with us all.





Have been concentrating on splitting apart
Each fracture flying to repair broken heart
A foolish wish for a perfectly shining world
Reality are wishes washing away unfurled
Today’s love sent unwittingly building hope
Some day I’ll learn I have to cut some rope.


Twisted dark soul
in a polite jacket
hateful slivers
glint like teeth
through splitting


Tribal mentality, the strength in numbers
listening to the drums of warrior men.
The rush of the feeling of invincibility
pouring arrogance into the world again.


He lives in a huge mansion
Has more cars than Ford’s got
More than one yacht in his harbour
Walks right past the homeless man’s pot.


The cat looks down on me with condescending eyes
a mind so far above the thoughts of us mere humans
then his eyes widen his ears fall back
scrambles after his tail in madness.
OK, which of these was an act?



Few and far between

She sits in the nest and settles
this is the only nest there is
he returns and pecks her
a nice comfortable nest
but for the pecking
one peck more
then flight
to new


The metal posturing and placing, at the lights with two places, do you sit behind the other driver, or slap him with a gauntlet and pull alongside?

Me inside at the lights, my car is old, the other car pulls to the outside to clear this old car, the light changes and I leave them to pull back in behind me! Hoho.


Heaven and earth, the devil and thunder.
All these icons we always plunder
To pull our heart in every way
How our souls do rip and fray
Not to be weaved again
Only to be lost in vain
For the devil has no refrain
Under leaden skies and pain
Rather we tempt the angels down
Yesterday’s anger no longer found


When we find those inhabited orbs out there
when we have gathered enough thought to travel
We can reminisce of the old times
as we travel for weeks to new destination
as this world was explored
so will be the universe
in long perilous journeys.




Trapped and escape

Down the entry ramp, onto the motorway, ahead the traffic is at a standstill, but it is too late, no choice but forwards. Looking in my mirror, a car has stopped on the ramp, stopping it seems in fright, it shrinks as I drive to the tail of the endless queue. I keep an eye on my mirror, eventually the car is coming to join this human mess. Now nearer I see the driver of the car directly behind me, a lady, she is sobbing uncontrollably. My heart tumbles. The traffic edges forwards. The claustrophobia builds and I glance in my mirror again, she is still crying and my heart leaps to her, though I am frozen. Is it the traffic? or perhaps a bereavement? The traffic edges forwards again. I try not to look, then glance and she seems to be more together, till my next glance. We edge forwards again. I think to get out, to comfort her, but what to say? I do not know, and my fear is too great, trapped in torment, both her’s and mine. Looking around, faces are forwards, no acknowledgement, they do not wish to see her. We edge forwards again. Cars in endless train ahead, endlessly behind, there is nowhere to go.



Walking into the forest, the quiet gives other senses a chance to listen, the nose takes in the fragrance of the trees. The eyes taking in the gentle views, the only movement at walking pace, the trees endless patience reflected. Some of this forest joy must be the oxygen the trees are feeding us, enriching our brain. Though now I miss the sky. Leaving the ancient sentinels behind, walking out to the moor, the land sits low, letting the sky have the stage, no plants growing high here, as low as arms when asking for volunteers in a classroom. This gives a magnificent grace to the horses roaming free here, silhouetted against the sky on wavy hills. One group is in high spirits, they start to throw their heads back, wafting their manes as they mock shampoo ads, kicking their legs then starting to run. This feeling is infectious among the herd and soon forty horses are galloping across the hill. Stopping, I listen, the soft thumping of hundreds of hooves on the moor is hypnotic, they are running for the love of running, ears pricked forward, no fear, just joy, a privilege to witness.