Tufts of dust 

Caper about my mosaic glass.

Blotches of ferric rust 

Offer me an unceremonious welcome at last.

Things I'd once befriended

Seem distant and cold.

Deaf ears to the chime of my footsteps

Tell me they've forgotten their companion of old.

I wonder when those mellifluous repartees

Turned into hollow echoes,

And the blithe breeze 

Into a stiflin...

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A cloak hid her weight

Or she hoped it did as

She scoured second hand bookshops and

Oxfam for

Thirty-five years of books that she

Never let go.

You can imagine that lonely bungalow, the kind

They clear out on TV, with explanations from a

Psychologist, so when

Annie broke her hip she had to watch

Other patients during visiting hours and

Although she seemed on the me...

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The Sunshine Is Ginger And White

Here comes the sunshine

Not our sunshine

But the ginger and white sunshine

From across the street

The little prince

With heart markings

He sits at the window

Silently imploring entry

And when the door opens

He trots his way to the kitchen

And looks up at us

In milky expectation

He’s still a kitten

With greyin...

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A visitor
(Arthur Mee’s England: Gloucestershire; 1939)

A book arrived yesterday
- a visitor from the last century
Visiting our modern-times day.

Carries news and views
But no photographs or maps.

Tells us all about
The places
And the faces

Of the people
Who went there.

But most of all of everything
It brings the smoke
Of years gone by -
An incense offering to the gods.

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I was surprised by an unexpected visitor today. She kissed my cheek with her warmth and enveloped me with with her brilliance. Few are the ones who see her true beauty. The world had been so dark without her, so cold. I missed her dearly but now she is back. She gives life to the frozen hearts. She fills the soul with laughter and bubbly expression. She loves me and I love her….. Her name is Sprin...

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