December 13, 2017 at 4:01 pm (Poems) ()

Breath in harmony
Politics is idle chat
But our souls are strong.


Permalink 1 Comment

Snow Ghost

December 10, 2017 at 5:27 pm (Poems) (, )

Behind the softest shift of snow
Beneath the winter weather
Beyond the places people go

There treads a pretty little girl
With hair of white and sparkles
And slippered feet, and hair a-curl

Then quietly stands and waves at me
That little ghost, upon my word
A friendly face you too may see

When snowflakes cover up the world.

Permalink Leave a Comment


November 25, 2017 at 11:57 am (Poems) (, , , )

One pulled out an iPhone,
showed photos to Another-
a car, a cat, a garden gnome:
no consequence to Either.

Other talked incessantly
whilst staring straight ahead,
Not even feigning interest
in anything One said.

Two talked with animation,
their voices harsh and shrill,
No pause for contemplation,
they had a void to fill.

The muzak wraps around us
and the colours pin our eyes,
and we’ve almost lost our bearings
in a sea of empty lies.

But halfway through an outburst,
Partway through a word,
Quietly, in the cosmos
Something waits there, to be heard…

Permalink Leave a Comment

Fear of Everything

April 8, 2017 at 2:20 pm (Poems) (, , , , )

Fake news – the buzz that

Eats away at our wellbeing

Attacking our thought processes and

Ruining our sense of perspective.


Of course, we could switch off

For the sake of humanity.


Each of us has responsibility –

Vandalism of our inner resources

Endangers the human species

Ruling us as much as any despot.

Young brains are malleable

Twisting into shapes that destroy

Hope and create depression and despondency.

I have no love of the status quo, but

No positive change is built without conscious foundation.

Goodness must be nurtured, and this takes focus and love.


Permalink 3 Comments

Made Up

March 26, 2017 at 11:40 am (Poems)

In the days when hair was big she would stand before the oval mirror to backcomb, and, spray in my rosy eyes, I sat behind admiring lipstick as an art form, built and blotted.

I knew she powdered on professionalism, glossing over foibles, preparing for the day.
There were layers, lines drawn, new brows to arch above and accentuate truly beautiful eyes. Properly late, anxiety etched there too, and I sensed her tension where I watched and learned, transfixed.

Permalink 3 Comments


March 25, 2017 at 11:27 pm (Poems)

Biting bullets

Running figures

Indiscriminate loss

Distant neighbours

Grief stricken

Every day.

When we walk across the Bridge rucksacks fill with empathy;
The River far beneath our feet continues to a bigger sea.

At times we carry pain alone,
we share more than we ever own.

Permalink 2 Comments


March 21, 2017 at 9:26 pm (Poems, Weenie's Poems) (, , , )

There’s a body in the basement
and a head upon the floor
and two arms in different cupboards
and some fingers in the drawer.
There’s an eyeball on the surface
looking down upon the teeth
that somehow escaped from the sink
and clambered underneath.

There’s a heart that’s fast a-beating
and a brain that’s running wild,
attending every meeting
with the bare face of a child.
And if you should ever come across
two legs in isolation,
please apprehend immediately,
and take them to the Station.

Permalink 4 Comments


February 4, 2017 at 3:08 pm (history, Poems, Stories) (, , , , , , , , )

He brought down the axe
on those prehistoric stones
that had regally edged his flower bed
public and permanent
undisputed leave to rule granted,
planted, for centuries.

Meaning to smash those stones,
dash them down to size
despising their indestructible
smooth confidence, since
his lay shattered,
he refused to be thwarted by disease,
disappointment and a blunt axe.

Raising his game he brought to bear
great anger and frustration,
torn muscles and brittle bones
screaming, tears streaming in rivers
past slivers of stone,
whilst they remained, undiminished
taking pain without complaint.

Permalink Leave a Comment


January 31, 2017 at 12:02 am (England, history, Poems) (, , , )

A striking array of architecture and engineering
split by a motorway: slipping away on the periphery,
age old churches with honeycomb spires,
stone walls structured by hands gnarled and weathered,
and where we walk, the canal, conveyor of commodities,
built with such precision and purpose,
then restored to peaceful glory
by people inspired by history and the benefits of tranquillity.

The other edge marked by smooth sailing windmills,
soaring tall and majestic,
beautiful beacons befitting a noble vision;
while their base neighbour, the monstrous, belching
rocksavage powerstation carcass, casts its shadow
upon weather beaten protesters
waving placards and drowning in fracked fields.



Permalink 2 Comments


January 27, 2017 at 10:42 pm (Poems) (, , , , )

Oh, for goodness’ sake
stop spinning your false gold thread:
Grimm Rumpelstiltskins!

Permalink 1 Comment

Next page »