I wish that I could build a nest

of feathered down


a deep retreat -

a place of safety


and hold you there

and let you sleep -

without re-occurring dreams

 - -   or voiceless fears


I wish that I could build a nest

a warming hug - -


a comfort for your future

where the tangled bonds that bind

fall fast away -

- and free your mind



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You don't understand

that what you think I said

is not what I meant

what I meant to say

is not what I said

what I did say

was not what I meant

and now I have to say

that I forgotten what I  said

or what I meant

but what I did say

I said with good intent


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Jagged white screams

sharpen to icicles

brittle tears lie scattered

and ground under foot

diamond cut streams

lost in the labyrinth

fast frozen in time

at the moment of truth.


Holder of secrets

the cut glass of plenty

sharp as a dagger

the chilling white wine

cruel as a cutting edge

shards of bright silver

encrusted with sapphires


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I hear the soft thrum

the pulse of the drum

far - far in the distance

- - spurring us on -


- louder now louder

a thunderous sound

demanding - insistant

vibrating the ground


beating out the old rhythams

-  -  turning us round - -


- - drawing ever nearer

controlling our minds

hearts beat to the rhythms

drums beat across time

an emerg...

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Written for Paul who has had his  problems.


Clouds gathering

not the lazy drifting

feather floating

clouds that I have come to love

but a tumult of thunderheads

a boil of molten lead

energy laden

burden heavy

explosion ready

rapidly closing the gap

on the final glimpse of summer blue

the glimpse of what was

the glimpse of what can't be

of birds that c...

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I lay my colours down

one over the other

creating hues

and shades

that drift like smoke

across the page

creating scenes

that change and change about

abstract curves

that curl and swirl

and change direction


at my whim

autumnal trees

intertwine within my mind

with springtime scenes

of life and birth

of waking earth

then softly fa...

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Fear screams

through a fragile mind

while those who pass

are deaf and blind

to the the world

beyond their focus.


Commuters hurry

and heels tap tap

as snows first flurry

covers the back

of the dooway's

destitute sleeper


The bottled spirit

held loose in the hand

that's too cold to respond

to the feeble command

of a wreck of a man

who ...

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Now take heed and understand

we are the Dreamers of this land,

we're not blessed with winning ways

and may look like waifs and strays,

but remember this - we have a place,

a part to play - a path to trace.


When you speak of us be kind

for we have the power to soothe your mind.

The songs we write that bring you joy,

and the pretty phrases we employ

to ca...

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This ancient art

and feral craft aligned

deeds the wish that dams the silver stream

and turns the torrent into stagnant pools.


- and who shall seek

- and who shall find


those shallow prints of padding feet

whose owner instigates divide and rule.


the blind are left to lead the blind

the lame can only sit and wait


while men who claim that noble ...

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I am the mist that cools and soothes

parched valleys.


I am the iridescence trapped inside fat raindrops

that rehydrate half empty pools

and swell reluctant rivers.


I am air,


I am breeze,


I am the wavelets that play games

in sunlit seas.


I am light.


I breathe and share my breath -

- I share my very being.


I am no ancie...

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You don't have to understand,

that's what they said,

just believe - have faith,

don't doubt the things

that God has planned.

                                        That's what they said.


You are blessed,

faith is a gift

given to a chosen few,

it's up to you

to make the best of it.

                                         That's what they said.



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Beak gaping - head held high,

he hurls his heart

at the leadening sky.


No tremulous songster this,

no shy diva,

but a full-throated singer -


- lionized.


The gathering storm,

thunderheads boiling,

tension mounting,


while his small form,

bravely defies

stabs of white lightning.


Wild aria rising-


                rising ...

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Flocks of autumn crows

glean the scattered corn

from newly stubbled fields,

greedily they feed

before the onset

of winter's scarcities.


Wise birds these  -  -


Resourceful  -  -


Successful - -


Each maintaining it's own personal space,

aware that together - they are safe,

and that sentinels will rise

to ward off dangers from the skies.


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The guns are silent now

packed away into shiny cars

with much back slapping

and well bred haar-ha-hars.


The birds are flying well,

not too high - or fast,

plenty of time to 'aim and squeeze'

and watch them tumbling,





onto early morning grass,


necks routinly rung -

and then in braces -

          - strung and hung...

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I am a women well past my prime,

born to obey,

to acquiesce,

to follow always were I am led

-  -  -  - my Mother's daughter.


As I watch my younger Sisters rise

I hide the envy in my eyes

and wish them well,

I'm happy for them.


Now in reflective mood


I recognize the age-old strategy,

depress the spirit, crush the child,

produce a servant meek ...

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This England

this land of pleasant green

"Long live The King"

"Britannia rules the waves"

and other jingoistic phrases

that were used,

while flags were waved,

so many years ago.


This England

that grew fat on trading slaves

and subjugation,

the struggling poor controlled

by lack of education.


This England,

a land of pleasant green


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Will you walk with me

will you walk

step for step

stride for stride

across the freedom fields

where dreams fly wild


Will you sing with me

will you sing

note for note

verse for verse

in that place where song-birds trill

and wildflower seeds disperse


Will we falter on the way

will we falter

cease to talk

cease to walk

where our chos...

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Russian Soldier,

did you know that you might die?


now here you lie -


discarded and alone -


scattered limbs flung far and wide

undocumented  -  lost  -  unknown,

no one to mourn your passing,

There'e no romance in death,


there is no glory -


no Heaven -


Heaven is a myth - devised by those

who sent you to your death,

to insti...

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We follow the hedges

in our time honoured way

around dusty field edges

gathering wild plums and berries

thinking of puddings and jellies

                      warming winter delights.


from the garden


french beans picked

packed and quick frozen

red tomatoes mushed into sauce

bread still warm from the oven

autumn is running it's course


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I sit - - -

My book lies open before me

but I am not reading,

enclosed by cushions, I am just lounging

and casually watching a program. -


The News - - -


Shells bursting - panic - Oh! see how they run - - -

seeking shelter - seeking safety - seeking in vain -

shelling again - -

The cry is "Man Down" - cameras zoom in

then swiftly away,

the scene not suitab...

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I am a poet,

not the fashionable sort -

more folksy in origin - more of the earth,

my roots grow deep,

I understand their worth and

I'm proud of that connection.

These hands, that nurtured life

and processed death, are now repurposed -

the knife, replaced by pen and brush

faithfully record the upward rush

of creativity's urgent need.

Gravity's pull remains a consta...

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Dear Flyntland


I like your poem m'dear

but not enough to print it,

it's good that you don't make a fuss

but I don't think  you're one of us,

do I know you?

I think that I'd remember - we are so few.

Are you qualified?

do you teach by day and write by night,

where did you study?

Ah! Yes! I thought that I was right

your poem is so commonplace,

You're new, an...

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It's over now

the sands have run

there's no return

this thing is done,

and joy belongs to yesterday

when we were sure of our tomorrows.


My son you were my other self

my present - and my future

and now this ash - this inert ash

is all I have - is all I am,

if I could ask - if you could say,

if we could change the outcome - - -

                  - - - but it'...

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Soft soapy water

spilling through my outstretched hand

so hard to hold

like windblown smoke

or shifting sand.


Whispererd voices

without sesitivity or grace

while practiced smles

conceal the lie

behind each shining face.


Soft soapy water

filtering through my wearying hand

dissolves my innocence,

while gods own godless daughter

asserts her cold con...

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Her voice still shrills down through the years

sharp with accusations - -

- - but confident in the knowledge

of her right to be right.


Discouraging ambitions

was a parental duty,


Knowing ones place was duly taught

firmly blocking any rebelliouse thought.


"Girl remember you're a servant

don't step above your station

your working class  -

you don't ne...

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I follow my own footsteps

always walking in circles

but I can't find the point

- - - or the reason

I go over old ground

- going round - ever round

obsessing the debate

getting nowehere.



Do we share the same demons

that mock from the shadows

- is that our shared birthright

do we share the same fate

- -  do you walk in circles

then I'll walk right beh...

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This foot-swept path

threads it's way

between gnarled trunks of brown and grey

without apparent reason,

and who of us can say

what was the intended destination?

as seemingly it chose its own direction,

maybe it stems from some ancient badger track

then upgraded to shortcut,

a quick rout back

                                    To where?

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PAUL ( A second time round for this poem )

a young man's brush with drug addiction


Pounding waves

invade the shores of my imagination,

salt-washed pebbles bruise my aching feet,

discordant voices ride the onshore breezes

and mock the need to close my eyes in sleep.

I watch the tide's incessant motion,

see peaks and troughs as win or lose,

hear gulls harsh scream of exultation

as they hunt the silver flesh in...

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Big men- - big guns

warriers with steely hearts




Ordinary men

extraordinary men

who carry within their breasts

a pounding fear


a fear for the life of their loved ones

a fear for their land

a fear of their deaths


ordinary men

extraordinary men

they fight

with courage beyond our understanding


we salute them for their bravery


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violins converse

one to another


softly at first


getting steadily louder

as quivering bows

excite wild crescendos


floating down


gently down


ever down



our privacy of silence


where we wait





on cello's tentative entry


soft as a dove


a comforting hug


a reason for be...

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We cut the bushes back for winter

working efficiently together

each to our own task




without speaking

we toiled on

job well done

easing our aching backs

reflecting on a life

well lived

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This descent to hell,

this one man's hobby war

is beyond comprehension,

beyond redemption,

where all levels of humanity

are crushed beneath

the brutal weight of a tyranny

whose deadly bullets -

and murderous shells -

are killing children where they hide.-

Is this the definition

of deliberate genocide?


There are no winners

the bloody deed is done,


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Who is this fool,

this stooge,

this clown,

that bows

to the whim

of its master?

who mustn't

be seen to wear

a sad frown,

but must join in

their mirth

and their laughter.

A sop for the egos

of much bigger fools,

for the weak,

a welcome deflection,

a target for bullies

who can practice their art,

without any fear

of detection.


- But Oh...

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I feel an overwhelming sense

of something missing,

a loss of sense -

perhaps a memory long gone.

A sense, once shared

accross the generations,

by those who went before

- and maybe -

by those who follow on.

A sense that lets

the spoken word fall silent,

while shared thoughts can pass

through time and space,

revealing secret leyland traces,

revealing hidden ...

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