Poetry

The Hands of a Man

These are the hands of a man But I don’t know what that means. These are not the hands of a son of toil They have not worked the fields From darkness to darkness. They have not hammered out

The Lake

I have seen it all And the electric blue sparking Of dragonflies over still water As deep and as still As an unanswerable question. I saw you too, Brown and naked confidence

A Flame into Being

A languid sigh and the luxury of motion as you rise up from stillness and silence shrugging off your redundant clothes all at once, like a cat washes off winter by a warming fire.

A Ghost Song

Days are like wind chimes floating on the breeze. So much that is forgotten is forgotten. So much that is remembered haunts this waking dream. This is all that was ever offered

A Moment Of Balance

Poised on the sheer edge, purposeful and tense, as though this one act could be the significant moment of a lifetime. A point of perfect balance on the fulcrum

A Possibility of Holding

Out where there are dreams of distances and silences I dare to reach towards your nakedness with hands that can only do so little. I never learnt to make things

A Possibility of Holding

Out where there are dreams of distances and silences I dare to reach towards your nakedness with hands that can only do so little. I never learnt to make things

A Sign

Move slowly down to the sea. A solemn procession, silent, Dressed in black, hooded. They wait at the water's edge For some sign of recognition. The waves lap around their feet,
Cherry

A Slight Delay

So talk comes to a halt again as the rail tracks curl off into the distance parallel lines curving off together like some long unresolved argument. The train we are riding on

A Water Song

I saw your hand make shapes to catch the falling rain. I saw your hand as a cup under the weight of a waterfall. I saw your hand slice through icy waters rushing away from melting snow.

All the Secret Moments

She walked through all the days I set out just for her. She opened all the doors I’d closed, turning the key On each new morning’s world To step out into all

Ambition

All those bodies left in fields blood seeping, soaking deep like rain into the thirsty ground. I thought I knew then. I thought, I believed I was there to wear the holy crown,

An Apology for the Inconvenience

He will regret speaking, As he regrets so very much Of a life not really used, Except to pass slow time In timid consideration Of carefully-chosen options, With well-defined limits
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An Autumn Morning

A time will come to us When these children run away. Over the horizon and gone To the lands of their own lives. What shall we do then? Shall we wake up suddenly One autumn morning, wishing
Cherry

Another Obstacle

And distance falls, becomes another obstacle. It stands in the way, guarding against The possibility of movement. A turning becomes a kind of stillness As motion turns in on itself.

As the Tide Turns

All down along the shoreline spread, the waves are making edgy progress, while the tide advances like a cautious army crawls. But still the walls of castles crumble down

Bare Rooms

We have nothing left to show each other except empty hands that can only make these futile gestures towards the boxes that now hold so much of our once-shared lives.

Beachcombing

Each day is a ship, sailing on the horizon. There, and then it is gone. We search the clouds for the memory of its sails. On the shoreline we seek among shells and stones

Becalmed

This morning all my thoughts are gone. Gone to wherever thoughts go when they are lost in their own seas. No longer tossed by vindictive waves that churn and boil in useless fury.

Beneath Arching Wings

And would you ever soar on up so high All over these forests and mountainsides While following the twists and turns below Of my own bluest river under skies

Between Words

Her hands took flight and moved to sculpt her words to give shaped elegance to all she said. She made each word a frozen moment, held beyond another wave of moving air.
Cherry

Bird Watching

Down by the stilled green water that offers no clue to depth, except that there is enough for some heartless bastard to drown six puppies in a sack, I wait, as I hear a dragonfly

Birds

With hands that flutter like trapped birds, she sees only the bars of her slow-rusting cage each time she looks up, searching for the sky. Preferring to look down and see the birds

Breathe a Name

The world becomes familiar an inventory of possibilities hovers near your open lips. You take each delicate moment into cupped hands to breathe a name over what you can hold.

Broken Wing

If there is a moment you call your own. If there is a time you can hold in your hand, Soothing the broken wing that had once flown Far over these green hills where you stand

Burst

If I had words that could burst through the dark of your night like sudden fireworks of desire, to cover you in a healing rain of gold and silver, green and red and all the possible colours

Butterfly Fragile

Dreams are this fragile, insubstantial as a thought. Drop all these moments when they become almost real and the dreams can tear like tissues, to fall slowly as paper snowflakes

Candle Flames And Butterflies

Would you like to see this thought start out burning like the yellow-golden flame on the white candle, skittering and stuttering in the soft breeze drifting through the open cottage window?

Cat's Cradle

Follow the thread of history back along these corridors, contrived turnings, so many corners. We passed this way before. We followed the thread back to where all this once began.
Cherry

Chaos Theory

Words. These are words. Words, I do not need silence. Silence speaks like a sullen child. A child standing at the edge of a deep river. Rivers are like lives, we flood and drown the plains

Circumnavigation

Can your small room take the place of a whole wide world? Can you walk the arid deserts of this threadbare carpet? Can you explore the jungles of all these dense memories,

Closer

CLOSER Instances of motion, frozen paused by dreams we call out without sound across the wide blank spaces where time never moves. If we could only (...

Cold

There are no embers now. Only dusty ash lying still, cold as the silent night. There is no fire left for us. We sit, each alone here wrapped inside the blankets

Come a Time

Revealed as only what might have been there will come a time. Revealed as a whole sky burning fire red in the stark morning there will come a time. Revealed as dreams torment

Condemned

Something moves and something turns and you will learn the shape of it. It grows out of the near darkness and out from the sounds of fear crawling through these dead streets.

Crystal

Naked, she runs, pale as a ghost of my desire

Cunning

A roundness of curving and taut skin stretched tight and neat round from the curved bottom between the opening thighs. A warm heartbeat of a place snuggled deep in its forest hide.

Dance of the Spheres

Dance of the Spheres Leaning against the turning world waiting for the sky to ask for a dance, she moves and the world can only turn around her. When...

Dark Shadows

Dreams are far more dangerous than this. All I have is a small moment still in the quiet heart of the night, woken suddenly by something strange that takes shape out of a dream

Dawn Chorus

I too could rise up hopeful, like the dawning sun. I too could start here at the day's beginning hour. I too could burn away the shadows, hiding mists,

Dawning

Now the dawn rises up like some new monster like some mythical beast old and new promise and threat. It begins and always will begin once again. There is nothing new.

Dead Leaves

The trees are bare, skeletal, their leaves toyed with by the wind floating free like loose pages torn from photograph albums. Leaves are memories that fall to the ground, around our feet

The Seas of Life

Do you still go down to that shore these days To search for something new on the horizon? Do you still dream, or do you turn to walk Away slowly, back to that same old house

Sea Horses

Now the sea horses are still, poised, ornate like delicate jewellery. What that means, I do not know. We move on, in shoals, through the depths of dark shadows

Snow Storm

Here is a moment I found just for you. A memory of winter days. Tip it up and see slow snow falling. Take this memory that can sit fragile as a snowflake in the open palm of one hand.

Sheets

Such easy days, and the time drips by, like rain off a leaf. We stand and laugh, sit and smile, lie and kiss. I feel the warm easy pressure of your skin on my fingertips.

Flying

I hoped to break free soon, and learn then how to soar on up toward the bluest skies and, reaching out, forever taking handfuls from the empty air.

Kneeling

I turn back towards a ghost of memory. On some sun-defined morning I could have found her there, kneeling by a limpid rock pool holding her long black hair back with one hand,
Cherry

The Note

The note is held, there, in the centre of the still room. It seems even breathing stopped. As though that one note holds all living pulses within its own bounds.

Princess

I saw your dream, held in an open hand offered to anyone who dared even pause in that impatient busy city street. I saw the dance on the wide-open stage

Footsteps

I remember too much and I remember nothing. So many names have danced through my longest nights. So many times have been lost between dreams and memory. I grow older and I learn

Shoreline

But those were early younger days. So eager, waking with the dawn and old enough to walk alone on down to the deserted beach. I never searched for shells or stooped

She Is

She is the sky. She could be a bird, she could soar so high. She is the sun. She could be the moon. She could be the stars. She is freedom. She has no limits,

Drowning

I Under water where the deeper depths are down where breathing doesn't happen for me a slow motion is movement, like waves breaking. None of us knows motion like this, poised, delicate,

Our Lives

I can look into her, or any woman's eyes and see our lives together. All the days have candle-lit slow dinners with soft talk. The barefoot moonlight strolls along the beach
Cherry

Images

Memory takes motion and freezes it. Each moment captured and held, there, a picture on the gallery wall. Here's where those moments will all end. Here's the last picture, where she turns

Shadow

I shall grow out of the ground at your feet like a shadow at sunrise. I shall protect your young growing grass from the searing of the scorching sun.

Mother Land

She grew eternal, like the sky, out of horizons and mists enclosing me like some blue cotton sheet of childhood, letting the sun shine through, while I invented new cities

The Waters of Time

A sudden falling into water. The sharp flashing splash that echoes into falling rain, and ripples that grow outwards from disturbance, like rumours of disaster. Then silence, except slow

Sacrifice

These are such slow days taken on a summer wing. Lazy and languid in breezes, hesitant as butterflies over the green rained grass and gentle nodding flowers. You are a flash of nudity
Cherry

Stations

Should I have forgotten the way your eyes looked away to stare along the route that would take you from me? Eyes which shone like polished metal in a face framed by the rust

Ghosts and Shadows

We haunt this deserted landscape between all the ruins of what were once our lives. We have become mere shadows now, or ghosts. What remains of us haunts these broken buildings
Cherry

Someone's Daughter

She was someone's daughter. And now, I have daughters too. So, these days, I can understand why he hated this world and every man alive in it. Because he knew, as I know.
Cherry

Theatre

The mists draw back like curtains to reveal the theatre of morning. You appear, centre stage, and lead the children by the hand down to the sea of adventures. I sit, in the stalls,

The Shores of Morning

I The hesitancy of waking surfacing from the depths up and through the dreaming sea out onto the surface of sleeping. The desire to remain floating here

Procession

There is so much out there that does not chime. We only hear the muffled, muted bells as the procession passes down the street. A stately slowness through the stillness holds,

The Dancer

She dances alone, in the still centre of the empty room. Slow turning, a poised delicacy of seamless motion. Her long white dress becomes movement shaping swirls around her legs.

Devotions

We would kiss these holy symbols as though they're almost as sacred as the genitals of lovers.

Mountain Stream

The shallows, clear as sudden understanding. Your bare pink foot hesitates into water, swirling mud clouds eddying upwards like an insignificant world destroyed
Cherry

Spring Morning

I can see how it will happen on some new spring morning when the day is eager to begin in sharp sunshine and birdsong. The way you rise up, naked and free to taste the sun on the bright air

The Snow Falls

The snow falls, closes us all down. We stop and all things come to a slow halting. We stand motionless. The snow falls, hiding our tracks. Turning the world white,

Star

There are times when it is all just an idea in the night, hanging, like a solitary star. Pick out each of those moments taking each one down out of the skies of time

Labyrinth

Once gripped tightly in eager hands, the thread has long since unravelled. Fallen apart. Nothing more to be revealed now, except the darkness and empty spaces. It is easy to slip,

Jewels

I have to go down to the ground and put my feet on bare earth to feel the living moment. I have each of these moments ready to become precious jewels of memory.
Cherry

Green and Roses

I saw her dream on a white pillow patterned with bright defined roses. Just like the garden she dreamed of, as she ran through the green and possible, to that place

Downpour

The rain is always falling down so fast as though we live so deep below, submerged far underwater, never coming up for air and seeing how blue sky can be.

Refugee

Loose hands fall by her sides. She stands, expecting nothing, except more of this world's pain to fall on her narrowed shoulders. Defeated by the weight of a life of enduring, unending,
Cherry

How to Begin

There are ways of beginning. Take a handful of nothing and breathe a living breath all over it, as you shape and create a new meaning. There are ways of beginning.

Shared Dreams

I move as you move and we will move together, joined together through the night, all night long. We follow each other across this bed as in our dreams we walk hand in hand,

Salvation

We do not need to wait for signs these days, we’ve seen the stars are distant, further still than distance we can know and reach out for. They are no longer watchers over us
Cherry

Flowers

These flowers were forgotten left in the waterless vase until they turned brittle brown, became bare dry sticks; leaves fallen, petals long lost. Flowers in memory only.
Cherry

Seasons (Naga-Uta*)

Then, when the rain stops and you step outside, to walk once again, barefoot over the wet grass, like that long lost girl-woman of innocent summer sex, you remember how

Dreaming of Summer

"I was fast asleep," she said. "I dreamt of summer. But all we have here are these long cold dark winters where no fire can warm our lives, to melt this ice sheet that covers it all,

Ritual

Are these the hands that shaped these times from soil, and took each precious stone down to the sea to wash it, bring it back, arrange like shapes that will become significant and pure?

One Such Morning

A misty early morning, barefoot run in dewy grass. You in a floating dress so thin, I can almost see right through it. And your night tumbled hair and summer smile

Roosting

A form of words, a shape carved from discarded silences, taken from the untidy piling of thought. Used to make these dark formations taking to the still evening air

Six O'Clock

All distance is a sweet lie now the world is mere electrons beamed from there to over here, and disaster is only a switch away where the world is always ending. And those same dark eyes stare

How to Fall

I now understand how to fall so that I can land gracefully. I have perfected the small art of how to lose with dignity, and walk away with ease without needing to look back, not even once.
Cherry

The Open Road

The silence of the night, so quiet you can hear every tremble of your heart. And the whisper of your wheels on the rain-wet road are secrets that just have to be shared.

Stain

You stood there, in front of me still with a desire I didn't deserve, or understand, but only shared. Your head bowed down staring hard at threadbare carpet where we had come together.

Remembering

I remember such younger days, and how beginnings were made to grow out of what could be found nearby, left within easy reach of childhood. and what small clever hands could make

Dropped

A day gone is a day lost. Lost and gone forever. We cannot walk back to that day, dropped only a short week ago. Pick it up, dust it off, and smile at our good fortune

Discarded

To search for what is found, there by the edge of roads and pathways. Places where time is still against the movement taking all the world to somewhere else, just the same as they left

Your Own Dreams

So, do you turn away, back into the night like you used to, all those years ago? Diving deep into your own dreams to swim across the night time seas in search of that one far-off land,
Cherry

Ribbon

You wore a blue ribbon, over white stockings for your wedding day. The land opened up in front of us, spread out towards the horizon. And you said, how the river could be a ribbon too.

Lost Names

An enemy makes life simple. Drunk on heroes and legends, uniforms and marching songs. As if there were not enough ordinary tragedies for them, they marched off into history

Hesitancies of Reason

A pause between the now, and then. Understanding, like these ancient rivers forming slowly. All the centuries of reaching desire. A need to hold. Formations carved by so many seasons

Empty Hands

What silences can take their shape through this dull mist of morning rain? The slow black figures easing past on through the frosted grass to stand in stillness, verging on a pit

Summoning

There's a time for gentle carving, perhaps in front of the fire during the long winters, when the possibility of spring seems as hollow as a promise no-one is expected to keep.

Footprints

We turn and see our footsteps curving back. Our every step recorded by damp sand. This empty beach acquires a memory. But, history is never straightforward.

Sub Rosa

You keep the real shape of you safe inside your secluded world, where you no longer need compose a public face to face the world. You open your cupboard of secrets

She Was The One

She was the one who didn't let the day go. She was the one who held time so tightly. She was the one who wouldn't let the weeks go by. She was the one who saved up, stored,

Haunted

The house will haunt you long after you leave it. Opening the doors of all your dreams, to take possession, never let you go. The night, once more, will find you there,

I Did Not Fly Back From Mumbai

I too have wasted my life. I did not fly back from Mumbai early this morning, as you slept deep between expensive sheets, to bring you gifts and warm romance.

The Bride

She was there and dressed in white I thought, for a time, she could be a bride, my bride. But she is not there for weddings she is no-one's bride. She will not be tamed.

Something about Flowers

Down there in the dawning light she stands like a frozen gesture: a shadow frozen on the ground until she recalls the necessary motion and turns towards the morning.
Cherry

Distant lands

I knew you then, you had secrets and such dark hair that kept you hidden like some eastern veiled bride-to-be floating though our more ordinary days with the scent of exotic unguents

Eternal

Down here, we let the dust run through our fingers as we wait for rain to fall. We hear voices on the wind and see stern faces in the beards of the clouds. We search for reasons
Cherry

Promises

I do not want to search the night's dark skies just for the possibility of stars when I can watch as you undress again at this, another ending weary day.

Fogbound

The years fall behind me And I grow too old to hope For dreams that are not regrets. I invent new memories Of what life ought to have been. I should have been someone else

Low Tide

These are the shores of my mind And today is low tide And all I have is this beach Littered with small evaporating pools And the flotsam and jetsam of a normal life

Fireworks

(A Bonfire Night Poem) These times take the shape Of beginnings for you. But I've lived a life Like this before. The sharp sudden colours Of fireworks exploding Into instances of creation
Cherry

Infestation

I warned you about the danger of letting poems into the house. Now we have verse everywhere, sonnets asleep in the kitchen and bawdy ballads in the bedrooms.

In The Name Of Blood

We speak of this blood As though it has some property beyond The sheer magic of its redness. We give names to these dreams and call them true, Expecting the world to conform.

The Sculpture

The rusted tank by the roadside, grass, even a few flowers, growing around and up through the turret. Its broken-backed gun barrel reaches like a pleading, dying hand.
Cherry

The Beach

The sea sighs like yet another lonely night. These are dry dull days when even the sand Seems dead and bare of flotsam, Not even having the energy For some wind-blown shapes

Windows

I look from the outside Through careless windows Left uncurtained And note that life goes on. A different kind of life Behind each window. A new created world Behind each clear pane.

Sleeping Beauty

Each day it is a new gift Waiting to be opened. Boxed, neatly ready For the kiss, it waits Patiently behind beauty's Entangled brambles, Sleeping with parted lips. A cunning disguise.
Cherry

Headstones

The headstone fallen, broken and then lost In high forgotten grass, the brighter weeds Where only busy insects and the occasional fox Wanders by. There is only distant birdsong

Old Monsters

There were stars out there once for us. Standing on these cold hillsides, We could see only the covering sky. Not satisfied with the limits of ordinary sight

We Had Times

We had times for dancing under starry skies, But I never wanted to dance. We had times for moonlit sea swimming, But I cannot swim too well. We had all the young days, But I wasted them
Cherry

Something Could Happen

But, all days can start like this Here is nothing to be found, Except when walking the beaches For what the tide leaves behind. We expect a treasure, But find only stones, shells,

Ordinary Dreaming

No springtime will come back to us, not now, Our day is gone, our chances are all missed. The train has left our station without us. We never did get to that special place
Cherry

What Lies Beyond

Distance grows like the space between times When we learnt how to hold onto those moments That can so easily slip by, and be lost forever. Silence grows around us and fills those spaces

The Hand Of Day

The coloured skies of dawn that hold The promised day there in the palm Of morning. Close enough for you To take the hand of day and walk On down these paths, between the gorse

Sand Through Fingers

Cupped hands hold dreams That sand through fingers Like clouds across your night time skies. Turning, you reach out To hold onto a single cloud That will blanket you

Some Secret Too Big

These are the stars that hold us here as green is filled with living worlds to turn around and all around again, until we grow alone, and feeling lost, are pushed up close

To Dust

I fall slowly down To lie on dead ground And be forgotten. I turn to dust And am spread out Everywhere on dry dead winds. Then, that young woman daydream walking Of her marriage dread

Entanglement

It burns and purges deep the hollowness That lies inside the pain of your recall. To turn away and leave all your distress Between these shadows haunting every room

Time And The Sky Revolve Around Us

The stars beyond the distance, everywhere Too far away and nothing close to touch, Beyond our grasp, and reach. We only stare And long for hands that hold and comfort us.

This is like Forgetting

In the darkness, we form shapes Of lovers with our hands reaching Out for the comfort of closeness. Outside, the clouds grow darker Heavy under the weight Of all we have left behind.
Cherry

We Want It Now

The stars are out beyond, too far to touch. We are here, too close together for words To separate or destroy as we clutch This too brief moment before the night turns

Sunday Dinner (With Grandmother)

These formal situations. We sit like disapproval, Our backs straight as hard chairs. Hands, an unnecessary indulgence, Lie defeated and limp in laps Like the vegetables set out

The Day Is Slow - [Terza Rima]

The day is slow and waiting for the time When stillness falls away, and motion turns This life towards a newer paradigm. To take up all that only waits and yearns,

The Wind is a Child

The wind is a child Wanting to play with all it finds; Leaves, rubbish, hats and umbrellas. The wind is a child With a child's tantrums destroying easily,

I Am Not The Sun

I am not the sun Even if you are the moon. My meagre light is not enough To illuminate the face You show to the world. I am not the sun So, this one simple flame

Heatwave

She pours the coldest waters over heat, Her head of summer, heavy, languid thought, A cooling of all desire, bittersweet. The weight of summer’s long and hot onslaught

Rain

The rain will fall, we will forget The sun and all its burning light, Forget these long days of regret. The too hot nights are unpaid debts Against our time spent there, so slight.

Wreckage

Your storms churned Tossed the ship of my life To lie wrecked On the rocks of your reef. Your island, distant Bare and unfriendly Unredeemed by human habitation Just the sea-teased flotsam.

Mists

The days will pass in misty silences As we go walking through these landscapes made So suddenly into substantial dreams, Where anything that looms abruptly out

The Shells And Stones (Villanelle)

The waves will wash the shells and stones As flotsam tumbles over shores And leaves the bodies and the bones Of creatures water now disowns. Despite the secret hordes it stores

Spring

These are the bad days. Cold and dark, they perch On the chest, pushing down And the only hiding Is to hide inside and wait For green spring to take you By the hand, ready

Twelve Small Dreams

Twelve small dreams take hold and take you down to the sea. Floating over the dunes like soft summer breezes That caresses every blade of grass. You are free,

This is How

These are our hands, And this is how we use them To make shapes of our lives. We carve meaning into moments That shape us and give us names To take through into the distance.

Out of Reach

So, we are left behind Alone on this cold shoreline And staring far away To the horizon’s end While telling all those tales We can recall too well. We know his story ended

Working World

Now I watch from this one window As the ordinary world passes by. It doesn’t seem to need me now, Managing quite well on its own. Its days can start and dress themselves

Heroes

When your heroes are those Who lack the courage To live the life of an ordinary day. Talking only of horizons And what lies beyond. You know you will awake Alone again.

Nameless

It comes out of the darkness. It comes out of the silence Stretched like wings Of pure blackness. Enveloping. Suffocating. There are so many things That need to be said,
Cherry

Petulant Goddess

I should have used the silence held between Each sleeping breath to take these scattered blocks All spread across your bedroom floor. A scene From a disaster film, or TV news shocks.

Sun Worship

This sand churned by the mysterious Precise rituals of the beach By the rites of holy holiday. The offerings of anointed flesh Stretched out in eager sacrifice

Room

A slow movement and thoughtful gestures Towards making some sort of difference. Possibilities arise, but are left unstated As silence grows up all around us Like ivy over these ancient walls.

Naked Under Foreign Skies (Sestina)

I She sat there, naked under foreign skies On that high balcony and looking down To see the beach so far below her feet As naked and as empty as she felt

Summer Butterflies

“But words,” she said. “They Don’t mean anything at all. They flutter around And weave patterns through our days, Like the too brief lives Of bright summer butterflies.

Surface Tension

Skimming out across the surface, Leaving it unmarked, unchanging. Letting time slip right by, floating On the surface as my steps can Only dent the meniscus of Every moment like that summer

The Taste of Silence

I know the taste of silence, It is here, soft and metallic. You know the taste of disappointment Its bitter sharp sourness. We have tasted life And both turned away To face each other

Fingerprints

We stand and then we will see how this world Begins to form the shape of a new day Against the far horizon of our lives. We’ve seen the sun come rising from the dawn

Seasons of Time

Anyway the world moves, But it’s only the one way. There is no past here To cling to as the world turns Its old face to face Into the unknown future. While we are stuck here

Matriarch

All the days of returning when you are shocked By the strangeness of the familiar, and how Life goes on in the same constantly changing way That is so well-known in the way everything becomes

Those Darker Nights

We do not see such things as signs. We do not look up to see the sky, to choose foretellings of catastrophe from the movements within the spheres. In our heavens, we see only distances

Secret Keys

She has so many keys, collecting them All since she was such a very young girl To lock her secrets deep inside her dreams Where no one could rip them away from her

Nothing Else But Stillness

The world will grow so green around us soon While we wait for time to begin again. At night, still there are stars against the sky, And there is sound and there is silence too.

Falling Out Of Darkness

We have seen so many new days fall out Of the darkness into the dawning light. We have taken these paths down to the sea And stood on the shore, watched the changing tides.

Through Glass

She is walking through the door Stepping over cracked floorboards To her place near the window, To watch a world through glass Passing by, safe on the other side.

Still Dancing

Dancing through days that fall At your feet like bright petals, You see all your tomorrows Spreading out towards the horizon. You have lived a life like this before,

Our Father

He had confident safe hands. I wanted hands like that. The knowing hands of a man Who knows how the world works, And how to fix it, when it doesn't. For he is the one to fix things,

Dreams Will Grow From Turning Time

As night arrives to take your hands and go To places dreams will grow from turning time Around and twisting memory and hope Across the pillow held beneath your head

Forgotten Dreams

These beautiful things, delicate and small Are made for turning to catch the light and eye These are like dreams, and dropped so easily On the still warm pillow as you awake,

She Knows

She moves as she understands Easily, with a grace of knowing Light, like the breezes of spring Blowing headlong into summer. She flows like the slow stream Long after the snows are gone.

It Echoes Back

It echoes back from the heart of not knowing, This is a place where we must always stand As it is not always so easy to find a way Through to the hidden centre of these times

Found and Lost Again

And then the motion takes us further on To places found and lost again, as time Is turning on, far past those times long gone We lost or left behind, almost a crime

To Escape Again

I tried forgetting, but that never really works. I tried walking away, but still have shoulders To look back over and the distance always Makes these things seem more attractive

I Go With Regret

I go with weary reluctance And I go slowly – with regret. I hope not to look back with longing Leaving all we allowed ourselves behind. I have good...

Sifting Through

Sifting Through Can we form new days out of the ghosts Of memory? Or is it all lost, forgotten Left covered in dust blown in over it By these cold...