Monday, 8 October 2018

Scribbling on trains

How many poets are there writing on commuter trains?
Does every carriage contain someone?
Are they scribbling in a notebook?
Or tapping their phone?
Each one reflecting on their own view reality.
While the world is too busy to look.
But each one wants to share something,
And sometimes someone peers over another's shoulder.
And wonders!
Meanwhile each one adopts the rules
Specific to writing on trains,
Pretending not to want attention.

Friday, 25 May 2018

Sunlight confounds my cat

Sunlight confounds my cat.
Warm in one spot she loves
She lounges and then sleeps.
The sunbeam,
As sunbeams always must,
Moves on.
The lovely source of warmth
Has gone,
The world has turned
And Socky wakes
To stretch a leg
And lick her belly.
Then, with resignation, she adjusts,
Finds the new pool of yellow light,
And sleeps again.

Wednesday, 18 April 2018

Roses, roses, all the way

Thus, the rose,
Is rose red.
Not pink.
No, never pink.
I'm not a pink.
Oh, why not pink?
Is pink too girly?
I don't do pink.
I do red, though.
The reddest red.
Even though
All passion's spent.
A dusty red?
A little like
Dried blood?
Oh, no,
More like an old red rose.
Yes, that's me.

Sunday, 15 April 2018

Spring Flowers

Spring flowers trembling
In a breeze too cold.
Small beads of light
In the brief sunshine
Of a gloomy afternoon.

My heart sighs to see them,
And then it sings;
As they wield
Tiny swords of hope,
Against winter's grey despair.

Sunday, 2 July 2017

I am the child of light

I am the child of light.
Tenacious child!
Always there,
Present, constant like the sea,
Ebbing and flowing,
With the breath.

I am the child of light.
The fluid child!
Forever in flux,
Dissolving and re-assembling,
Foaming and reforming,
Marking each tide.

I am the child of light.
Starburst child!
Born of the galaxy,
Closer than a heart beat,
Loud as a thunder clap,
And softer than a rose.

Wednesday, 28 June 2017

Spirit Music

I waited
And I'm waiting again.
And dreaming
As I did then
Long ago.

Far away I had
The same dream.
Now, it's a new day.
And, again you show me
A wisp of  reality.

But you play with my dreams
As you play with your music.
Making for me a lovely melody
That's lost on the wind
And forgotten

Thursday, 22 June 2017

The Sentient Quest

"Sentience" - the capacity to feel, perceive, or experience subjectively

The Thinker, Rodin

Figures across an expanse of snow,
Others, far down and hovering in the deep,
More, scanning screens for stars,
All hearing ancient echoes.
And on a quest
Started with sentience.

Somewhere out there,
Above, beneath or just further.
Maybe it's deep inside.
We seek forever.

Questing for truth or carrying it?
Outside, inside or hovering deep.
Awaiting the scanning,
Is there that cosmic echo?
So we shall quest
Perhaps, long passed sentience.