More than I bargained for!

You stood behind the counter,
my shopping in your grip;
and as you pressed hard on the till,
you spoke with narrowed lips.

“The nights are getting darker,
a chill is in the air;
we can not warm our bones at night,
what ever clothes we wear.”

You squeezed my yoghurt tighter,
and looked me in the eye:
“I think evil’s getting closer.”
I said “Thank you and goodbye.”


We missed by one idle moment
the autumn oak leaf held aloft as faerie cup
soon dew dashed, splashed and spilled away;
a gluttonous thrush throating scores
of red rowan berries, dish of kings
one paltry clue left upon the path;
pink tongue of parched rock salt
drinking in the evening air;
a well travelled magic lantern list
and burst still burning through the leaves;
the excitement of ripe Russula mushrooms
spontaneously shattering;
but there is just time to hold one long finger
of the mother of all sunshine
as she combs the trees
bringing burnished heaven to our hillside.


A man flew over the corn today. I glanced him sideways, caught his flight, an impossibility on days when anxiety peppers experience.

He wore a long brown overcoat against the gold, and when I did a classic double take, he had simply done with flying and left the vicinity of Myslow Peepers.

There is so much more in the bigger picture, things too fast or far away to see. But if fortune takes a shine, you may catch a glimpse of something wonderful in the distance, as you abseil down the abstracted slope from Mount Busy.


Make merry dance with me

step- ball- changing

until we lose our breath


light shimmying across morning eyes

put your feet to the floor for a pas de deux

all jazz hands and exuberance


Get on down to breakfast

rockin’ on bran flakes

turning around a cup of tea

toast post one two three

raisins to be cheerful you and me

contra bodies a crochety tango


Work those dancing miles with a steady beat

past back aching roundabouts

endless do-sa-do Pontiac Peugot surge n slow

waiting permitting pivot power and pass


Go with the flow

friendships comfortable as a hand on the waist

spinning through days and years

a conga of trauma and dilemma

altercation followed by locked step impasse

relative calm – a smooth foxtrot that never lasts


Let memory’s moonwalk gather us up

chassé back through good times

hilarious moments cha cha cha

others we danced with some we didn’t

waltzing towards the end

a final pelvic thrust

and no time to curtsy.


Each hair-fine twist of a writer’s wrist
the least tiny parting of every pair of lips
may hold the latent energy of an inky thought
excavated by curiosity or care with great import

Each gardener’s slight leaning on a spade
an individual swimmer’s push through pregnant waves
may leave a lasting deep pressed indentation
enough to drive a wedge or heal a nation.