When winter’s cold begins to bite

and blue skies fill with clouds of grey,

we must prepare for nature’s night,

when winter’s cold begins to bite.

The world outside, all draped in white

through Yuletide games that children play,

when winter’s cold begins to bite

and blue skies fill with clouds of grey.

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Now that you’re gone

there is a part of me that’s lost.

Now that you’re gone,

my heart is shrivelled and withdrawn,

encased in creeping permafrost

so deep I cannot bear the cost,

now that you’re gone.

The loss I feel

afflicts me with the fiercest pain.

The loss I feel:

a strange emotion, so surreal,

despairing time and time again

my mind still struggles to ...

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There was a young couple from Norwich

Broke fast every day with some porridge

And this fact just denotes

That they both loved their oats

But sometimes they fancied some sausage

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My resolution every year,

to cut down on the wine and beer,

is made with laudable intent,

and at the time sincerely meant,

to keep the faith and persevere.

As soon as January’s here,

familiar cravings reappear,

and it’s not long till I resent

my resolution.

On winter evenings, dull and drear,

or when the snow becomes severe,

the feelings turn to disconten...

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Tomorrow, my daughter is 40.

I knew it was coming of course,

but it just didn’t seem real.

How could it have happened?

After all, the 80s were just

a few years ago, weren’t they?

I mean, I watched her flourish

through schools and university,

growing, learning, maturing.

Then she left to forge her own life

outside my control, and in my mind

I guess th...

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A day to dedicate to me,

to sit at home and watch TV

while eating what and when I choose,

with maybe a postprandial snooze.

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I

often

wonder if

Christmas could be

the brilliant brainchild

of cunning shopkeepers

just to augment sales volume

using guilt-induced purchases

to bolster flagging year-end accounts

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Tell me, where is the joy of Christmas time?

And where can peace be found around this globe?

Goodwill’s a thing that isn’t worth a dime,

betwixt the misanthrope and xenophobe.

The thrill of giving at the season’s heart,

is now subsumed with thoughts of what we’ll get,

while every year the selling seems to start

much earlier, to urge us into debt.

No more a blesséd...

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Stars

look down.

Christmas trees

with fairy lights

in vibrant colours.

Tangled tinsel twinkles

with a warming festive glow.

Children stare in wide-eyed wonder.

Once more, Yuletide weaves its wondrous spell.

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Oh let me take you by the hand

to take a trip with me,

and let me show a wondrous land

of distant memory.

Those heathered hills will always call

as summer segues into fall.

Those heathered hills,

those heathered hills

of Derryveagh in Donegal.

Oh let me take you by the hand

to Erin’s golden shore,

and walk with me along the strand

where ocean breakers roar.

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With seven billion people round the globe,

poor Santa struggled more each passing year;

it wore him out to wear that crimson robe,

and fly behind his smelly ageing deer.

So Santa Junior came up with a plan

to modernise the yearly Christmas run,

and make it easier for his old man,

so he could have some time off in the sun.

He reckoned that deliveries could be

co...

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A death knell echoes ‘cross the land

while the piper plays his dirge,

and at the Crimson King’s command

his grieving subjects surge.

The Black Queen keens a requiem

to salve a breaking heart

then joins the crowd to stand with them

and watch his soul depart.

The sapling planted in his name

amidst a flower bed

stands sentry as eternal flame

to keep his lege...

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Rankine 672

is hot, let me tell you;

enough to make your tea

like Kelvin 373.

If Fahrenheit’s for you,

just make it 212;

but for the rest of us,

one hundred Celsius.

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Primaeval omen of the seas

whose passing dooms us to our loss

in Neptune’s deep, or to disease

foreshadowed by the albatross.

Be he deckhand or master’s mate

that braves the seas to sail across

where sirens’ song may sing his fate

foreshadowed by the albatross.

The fickle lure of Davy Jones

through briny depths that roil and toss,

forever covets sailors’ bon...

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God, I’m bored! How long is this going to take? I feel like I’ve been sat here for days. And the way Leo sticks his tongue out when he’s concentrating almost has me full-on laughing. I’m having to bite my tongue here to try and keep still. He gets so angry when I move, and goes on and on about how he’s a professional and has to work with fidgety amateurs.

I’m sure he sometimes seems to loo...

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sudden soft mizzle

cloaks heathered hillside pathways

muffled sheep bleating

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On my screen, the answer feels right

and I admire the elegance of it, a worthy use

of the publication that inspired it.

At the desk my father stands, extending

invisible tendrils that reach out to each shelf,

searching for books that will serve a need.

He knows each volume, the wisdom it holds,

unerringly guiding the borrower to his goal,

by section, shelf and Dew...

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Bowler hats and spotless spats,

teamed with neatly tied cravats;

shouldered suits with wide lapels,

mobsters dressing up as swells.

Gangster movies, black and white,

sound of gunshots in the night.

Double-crossing, double-deal,

engines racing, tyres that squeal.

Night-club singers, cabarets,

dancing girls in chic berets;

bent casinos, Mr Big,

cards are ma...

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When I got home, the room was already full.

Uncles, aunts, cousins talked in whispered

voices, so’s not to sully the silence.

Nods welcomed me, quiet glances spoke

a kind of code, untaught yet understood

in the aftermath of such occasions.

My mother was in her usual chair.

We’d been expecting it, but when the time

finally came, it still took her by surprise.

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A quiet road in Donegal

is where I found this modest bridge,

a mundane thing built long ago

to cross a tiny mountain stream.

Beside it stands a chiselled plaque

with Gaelic words to tell the tale

of all those friends and families

that tragedy would separate.

A blight upon potato crops,

the staple food of common folks,

meant they would starve if they remained...

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That summer’s more than fifty years ago

but all the memories are vivid still

of happy times spent working on a farm

on Ireland’s coast; long hours spent making hay

with scythes and pitchforks, scorching ‘neath the sun.

There was a day with not a cloud in sight

and yet we saw a shadow on the sea.

A massive shoal the farmer said, and so

we left our tools and headed for the sh...

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The morning brings a nothing kind of day,

can’t see the sun, and wind is just a breeze.

Up overhead, the clouds float high, mid-grey,

that says the threat of rain is but a tease.

No stirring of the blood with summer storms

set loose to blow the dreariness away;

a day that strikes the normalest of norms

to dull even the drabbest sort of day.

Why can’t there be a ga...

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Of all the loves throughout my many years,

there’s only one still with me when I waken,

whose absence would give rise to streams of tears,

for who could do without the taste of bacon.

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Time for the tennis

in South West 19;

Wimbledon’s courts are

a beautiful scene,

love all to begin.

Crowds start to gather

as battle proceeds,

frissons of pity

at tumbling seeds

when favourites fall.

Big baseline rallies

and thundering serves,

smashes and volleys

while holding their nerves

when match point comes round.

Who’s gonna win it?

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I am frozen.

Rooted in place, locked

in your mesmeric gaze.

And you, barely moving,

move me, still me,

hold me in this moment

where nothing else matters

but the boundless depths

of your eyes.

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If I were taller, maybe she would look,

or managed to reduce my weight a bit.

The trouble is, I really like to cook;

with what I eat, I never will be fit.

Instead of showing off my ready wit

I’m so tongue-tied I’ll never make her see.

Despite all this, I know I just won’t quit

believing she’s the only one for me,

and if there was some hope, I’d love her endlessly.

W...

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Daily outpourings of gobbledygook

Engender these feelings of such disbelief,

Learning they’re led by a devious crook

Under the guise of commander-in-chief.

Seizing control like a tin-pot dictator,

In contravention of longstanding laws;

Outsiders view as astonished spectator

Noting that no one has dared give him pause.

Anyone with more than half of a brain

Longs for a tim...

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There’s snooker on the TV here this week,

where everybody plays with coloured balls,

competing for this year’s World Championship,

with half a million quid for the first prize.

The players have been honing their technique

at home and in the private snooker halls,

and hoping that their form won’t take a dip

resulting in an early round demise.

They’ll want to take t...

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There’ll come a time in days ahead

we must anticipate with dread

for all the tears that will be shed

so bitterly.

When wars at last are so widespread

that no one’s free.

Behold the future bathed in red,

with millions maimed and countless dead,

while you lie safely in your bed

and will not see;

the dreams for which our forbears bled

will never be.

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Sometimes she got impatient, angry.

The girl that came in was late, or different

today and didn’t know where things lived.

In there, she would say, next to the fridge.

She’d want to do it herself, but it took

five minutes just to stand up, get her balance.

Simple tasks became impossible;

pulling the top off the tea caddy,

carry a drink without spilling.

S...

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I fed her sixties pop with her porridge;

seventies rock with roast potatoes

and she thrived on it.

Prog rock was only a passing phase,

but Britpop grabbed her, took me

out of my comfort zone.

The Christmas keyboard held her for a while,

surpassed my faltering Chopsticks, but then

she outgrew the toy.

A proper organ took her to music school

where she hea...

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Glance at the clock as the movie ends.

Time for a drink, but not too much,

or you’ll be up all night.

Open up kindle, pick up where you left off,

read a couple of chapters.

Waken the laptop, check email, Facebook,

reply and comment.

Lock doors and windows,

switch off lights, carry out

bedtime ablutions.

Get into bed, punch

pillow into shape,

set the alarm a...

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When day is done, perhaps I’ll sleep

Without the need for counting sheep,

and Lethe’s flow will drown my dreams.

The nightmares of nocturnal screams

all gone, although the price be steep.

If Thanatos decides to keep

me in his grasp, then do not weep,

for I’ll be done with such extremes

when day is done.

Across the Styx I’ll softly creep,

where you won’t hear...

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Trees stark,

tall in the park;

scrabbling limbs reach up to the dark.

Winter day,

children play;

running and shrieking, oblivious prey.

Shrouded eyes

fantasise,

ever aware of terrible prize.

Quiet word,

no-one heard;

straggler split from clamouring herd.

Raised shout,

searching out,

recrimination all about.

Vacant stare,

deep...

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Some days I watch you walking down the street

and I must pause a moment as you pass

to still my heart and stay rebellious feet

from following, but I must not alas.

Your golden hair, I know it, every strand;

those laughing eyes of blue that shine with mirth.

The music of your voice has me unmanned,

believing you an angel come to earth.

And yet I know it’s right that you shou...

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A day to watch the mizzle ‘cross the bay

that masks the heathered hills in swirling grey,

and swallows the horizon in its sigh

where even hungry gulls refuse to fly,

and seek their sheltered spots to hide away.

Inside we wait until the gloom will pass,

watch burning turf reflecting in the glass,

and in that warm reflection reminisce,

relive those golden summers of the ...

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‘Twas early in the seventies my story came about,

a tale about a sorry trail of woe.

The airline was at fault for it, of that there is no doubt,

although they tried to say it wasn’t so.

First time I’d ever flown and then they bumped me from the flight,

decided I must take a different route;

not Leeds my destination, but for Liverpool that night,

and stop off at the Isle o...

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We’ve been living in this townland

for a hundred years or more,

and my father’s in the churchyard

like his fathers gone before;

but there’s black rot on the praties,

and the bailiff’s at the door,

so the young men are all leaving

and we’ll see them never more.

Now there’s black rot on the praties,

and the bailiff’s at the door

for the countryside is starving,

...

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Crowds clustered at the embarkation point,

eager now to find their cabins for the trip.

Some few I recognised, having seen them here

over the last few days. Others, unknown to me,

arrived in the final hours before departure.

Security was pernickety, as you would expect,

fingerprints and retinal scans keeping the queue

to a steady trickle. Only the chosen few permitted

...

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A fleeting thought runs through my head

and is as quickly cast aside

because of something you had said,

that common wisdom then denied.

But then I saw a grain of truth

within those words, despite your youth.

Out of the mouths of babes they say

comes insight born beyond their years;

on such a revelation may

philosophers build new careers,

when concepts long believ...

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The first day of Lent is the day we lament

the Tuesday that’s just gone before,

when we’re all content to bask in the scent

of pancakes that we all adore.

A beautiful taste so that none go to waste,

we fight to be first in the queue

and stand there straight-faced demanding post-haste

that I need the next more than you.

I much prefer sweet but might well overeat

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My memories are fading every day;

I sometimes speculate how long they’ll last.

Will they endure until I’m old and grey,

or dwindle till I just forget the past?

I recollect my youth, or most of it,

and revel in the highs, eschew the lows,

but even now I fear, I must admit,

there are some gaps; you all know how that goes.

I try to fill the holes in, bridge the breac...

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How many times can a man tell a lie

before we lose sight of the truth?

How can we see him and still not deny

he’s simply too long in the tooth?

And how many years must we stand here and cry

because there’s no hope for our youth?

The whole situation’s a mystery to me

it’s all just a mystery to me.

How many people across this fair land

are really so wilfully blin...

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Springy heather spreads across the land

masking the mazy web of sheep tracks,

so we are forced to forge our own tracks,

skirting pockets of scree and peaty patches.

At times we have to go back, seeking patches

of dry, stable footing in order to progress,

inching ever upwards, making slow progress

towards the razorback path joining the twin peaks.

We reach the top,...

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The far horizon swathed in red

has bid the dying sun to bed

as she slips slowly out of sight,

and daylight fades to welcome night.

I see this evening in my head,

the far horizon swathed in red,

where wavelets wash that dark'ning sand

that calls to mind a distant land.

A fleeting thought begins to gleam,

as if in some forgotten dream;

the far horizon swathed ...

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I cannot believe the tenacity

of someone who has this capacity

to push with self-righteous pugnacity

a programme so filled with mendacity.

And if you mistrust his veracity,

or query his claim to sagacity,

he’ll question in turn your audacity,

and say that you lack perspicacity.

He’ll shout you down with his loquacity,

attacking you with such voracity,

and wo...

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It’s a day for the bog, said the farmer,

so we hitched battered trailer to tractor

and assembled the few able bodies.

He drove, of course, with two of us

in the bed of the trailer, and two

perched on a plank between mudguards.

We arrived through layered mist hanging,

waiting for the day’s warmth to melt it away,

and trudged up into the diggings.

A multitud...

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In a chat with my long-time best mate

Who’d a penchant for putting on weight

I confided I felt

That he could be quite svelte

If he ate from a much smaller plate

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Far, far away beneath a southern sky

where unfamiliar stars shimmered on high

and Uluru loomed through the pale moonlight

Anangu tribesmen danced for our delight.

They danced a tale of how they’d live and die

far, far away beneath a southern sky

their history not based on written word

but verbally so everybody heard

a chronicle of sixty thousand years,

survived...

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W

We

had

a tree

that lived

in our garden

for most of the

year. And when it

was time, my Dad dug

it up carefully, so as not

to damage the fragile roots.

He ceremoniously set it in a big

clay pot, ballasted with stones and

packed round with soil, and placed it in

a sort of giant terracotta saucer, to catch the

water, he said, so it would stay alive for ne...

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