Category Archives: Poetry

At the dawn of time you were born, a spark flung from the cauldron of creation. You journeyed onwards through cosmic dark, child of chaos and imagination. On your billion year swing around the sun your orbit gradually decays as … Continue reading →

Troubadour, but not the piping boy Strolling mediaeval landscapes, Or a vibrant dancer, Seductive with scarves and flares, At rustic fairs. This minstrel stalks a different tradition, Born not of romance but of aged necessity, Her pitch cruelly reduced to … Continue reading →

An hour before dinner, grey churning clouds assembled At the top of the lake and merged testily, Like cavalry waiting to charge. They filled the space, swallowed the strident rockface, Blanked the waterside villages below. Waiters hurried to strip their … Continue reading →

For this poem, I used the title of a poem by May Swenson (1913-1988), a US poet of Swedish descent. Single worm, now multiplying daily in a dense green plastic dome of kitchen waste,, devouring vegetation, feeding on the sweat … Continue reading →

THE CLOUTIE TREE Madron Well Cornwall She wakes, May day. Checks her phone, sees summer comes at last. Leaves sleeping houses Take the inland road, through greening landscapes strewn with granite quoit and capstone shadows – black against the salmon … Continue reading →

If only some of the past was a foreign country. Remember that teacher that ridiculed you 60 years ago? The scars as familiar as the London streets you walked back then. No map needed to traverse the route that took … Continue reading →

‘There’s small choice in rotten apples’, he quoted, as he sank his teeth into the Pink Lady. The sign had declared, ‘Choice Apples’. But why, he thought, as his tongue found the worm hidden within, had he chosen this one. … Continue reading →

Can you help me? Certainly sir I need something to be furious about Well as you can see on the shelves there’s plenty to choose from, sir. Yes, you always have a good selection at ‘Fury-R-Us’. Let me see, Brexit, … Continue reading →

It begins, as always, with the wings of a bat. The rest I tailor for you. A phial of shine from Sun. A drop of fresh dew, Taken from white petal Of daisy or rose, So mornings are new. For … Continue reading →

I’m passionless, devoid of all desire, an empty vessel in the cause of love. My libido has sunk into the mire of despond – I need a forceful shove or, at the very least, a helping hand. Oh, who can … Continue reading →