Poetry

To live to grow takes work. Like dough repetitive actions combine and stretch and mould. Too dry is no good. Too wet is no good. The key is time and patience to achieve and be elastic and stretchy malleable and flexible. However at times the work must stop. Be like dough to rise properly there comes a time when you need to rest.

You’ve heard maybe seen in the movies of the green screen. Where the actor can be anywhere any time in any world only limited by the imagination of the creator of the images superimposed behind. Now move your thinking to the world outside the world of green of leaves and grass. A green screen of nature of your own to have your own adventures be in your own world. To be the actor in your own story only limited by your imagination. So get outside and breathe and absorb yourself

A silver mirror or muddy own? Either way, on a still day you reflect the world above and yet, do you? When you shimmer in the breeze, or a being has disturbed your slumber, do you truly reflect or represent a different world? If I put my face to you and lowered through your tensile surface, would I see a reflection of other possibilities, other places and times? Reflections have such power: a picture fed back, though back to front; showing a different view point. Even ripples

Driving along low autumn sun through the windscreen making me squint and peer to see the road ahead. lined with golden trees as I drive through the maelstrom of blowing leaves some slapping the windscreen others whirling by. Pulling over I get out and peer up and down the road. No one coming empty and so I run laughing jumping spinning trying to catch as many wishes as I can. Still no traffic and pause stop still panting but this time waiting for the wishes to come to me. Wit

White horses gallop free manes of spray whisked away in the wind Wave upon wave of equine splendour speeding by mouths foaming fountains...

Puffs of pink. Rolling balls of cottonwool float in the distance, in the early morning sky; the sun not yet up. But its presence is felt...

Lost in the world around me, as if detached from everything; a ghost among the living. No sensations. No breeze can be felt,...

Broken bricks and masonry, old slates and slabs; smashed and discarded, left behind. And yet... What stories do you hold? What lives have...

Where are you sleep when I need you? Lying in the dark: waiting, wishing. Awake despite the late hour. Tossing and turning, twisting,...

As I sat yesterday  In a queue of cars  A woman caught my eye  Late fifties  At a guess.  Not a beauty  Not in bright clothes  Not...

Lined  Lived in  Lived  Experiences  triumphs  failures  learning  etched on our bodies.  A map of our past  no key  but a picture  of a...

Why couldn’t you see me  For who I was?  For who I was trying to be?  For the me I was offering  The me that was yours  The me who stood...

Stars in the sky Black turns  to a deep blue  as dawn  peeps over the horizon.  The silence of the night  left behind  as the chorus...

Big droplets.  Falling almost lazily  from the pregnant clouds.  Imagine if you will,  that you can slow the flow.  Not lessen.  Not...

Those days.  Yes, you know them;  where you could scream  and rant,  for nothing has gone your way.  You’ve struggled,  you’ve wept, ...

Rising on the thermals, wings fixed, yet ever moving.