In a Village of Many Ash Trees
Palm Sunday 2014
the clock of St. Leonard will tell only
one time. Two minutes to eight.
a shattered sunlight catches on
gravestones, hides names from view,
keeps the late of this parish, secret;
causes you to struggle as you read their fate
in polished marble or mis-placed lead letters.
Sad tales of...
Friday 10th April 2020 10:55 pm
Not the messiah
Friday 10th April 2020 12:30 pm
On hearing about Easter eggs going on sale on Christmas Eve
No chance for cupid
To pick up his bow
Not yet melted
Those men of snow
When what was on
But a shiny
Replaced by bunnies
We're still in winter
Though a little sunny
Friday 3rd January 2020 1:49 pm
Not the cross or the thorns
or the blood or the nails,
not the spear or the whip
or the rumble of stones
from the mouth of a tomb.
Not the hatred and bigotry,
the small minded hypocrisy
of this clan or that clan
whose father is biggest
or most feared or cherished.
Not the myth and the fable
espoused by blind acolytes
heaven bent on venge...
Saturday 31st March 2018 2:53 pm
There are homes and then there's children's homes
There are children's homes and then there are children's homes
The one I knew was a home from home
Age four mum and her sister set one up
With hard work, love and courage
The biggest house my young eye's had seen
A large dappled wooden rocking horse to gallop and whoop for good
A magic garden with its own small wood
Friday 15th September 2017 5:31 pm
Take a bumble bee and bunny rabbit
Then introduce them to some woolly sheep,
Together as a group they will inhabit
A brand new home forever theirs to keep.
Pick a bunch of tulips for some beauty
A shiny button too for some pizazz,
Add a bunch of grapes to make it fruity
Perhaps some feathers for some razzmatazz.
Ensure a nest made out of shredded paper
Is filled with wobble-headed bab...
Saturday 2nd April 2016 8:50 am
Foot-torn, the path of leaves.
Dead, borders are green, still.
I am white. I turn.
I am now looking with paled eyes,
across a broken pit of river
up, above some untidy shack;
the train on the hill climbs,
smoke billows, a raincloud summoned
I turn back and see rows,
of autumn-blushed houses
fall silent on this minute.
You are only a passing mist....
Sunday 27th March 2016 10:56 pm
I'm eggshausted and eggsasperated -
I shouldn't have eggspected less
But in fact it's eggsceded my worst eggspectations
I've had too many eggs - eaten to eggsess
I'm not one for eggsageration
I prefer to be eggsact
But, I'll eggspound and eggspress myself further
For some sympathy, I wish to eggstract
Well, I took some advice from an "eggspert"
An eggstravigant egghead, called Ed
Thursday 24th April 2014 12:46 am
Roses are red?
No they're not!
They're an assorted mix bag of browns.
Cocoa, caramel, mocha and mousse.
Tasty truffles a treat for the tongue,
not just for Easter
but all year long.
Buy em on Easter Monday if you're skint
eat my body weight in Lindt.
Tuesday 2nd April 2013 4:07 pm