Pot of Joy

April 30, 2018 at 6:28 pm (Poems) (, , )

When you plant a pot of joy
It’s not sophisticated,
Nor filled with such unusual stuff
it grows too complicated.

In fact, it’s more what is left out:
All angst and consternation,
The kind of things you hear about
In troubling conversation.

No, when you plant a pot of joy
It overflows with colour;
It’s filled with smiles and kindly words
and pleases like no other.

No matter what you plant it in,
On sill or stony mound
A pot of joy puts out strong roots
and spreads the joy around.


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January 2, 2013 at 9:02 pm (literature, philosophy, Poems, poetry, Stories) (, , , , , , , , , , , , , , )


in locked allotments

bracing brass monkey feet




with clenched teeth

through frozen clods

customarily turning over old leaves


she                                                                     slipped

and gripping glass












her pinkie finger tip.


As shock welled

to fill iced water butts

she saw her isolation reflected hard as winter

and lifting her mangled digit

in surrender

staggered bleeding to the gate.

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September in Shropshire

September 8, 2012 at 10:23 am (Poems) (, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , )

In our English country garden
morning arrives for breakfast
clothed in misty vagueness
to find arachnid market traders
already skilfully threading
silver baskets between bushes where
a snail’s early yawning turns the head
of a song thrush hoarse from dawn
dew drying in the wan sun smiling
weakly at Fuchsia drunk on rich ruby pallet
who bow to orange Montbretia and ageing
Buddleia bracing itself for the arrival
of those blooming butterfly and bee
bounders regardless of a definite
chill we sit thin jacketed drinking
coffee and eating bread spread
with cherry plum jam ruminating
on the day ahead and the need for
autumn preparation and repair.

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Lost Gardens

June 10, 2012 at 4:55 pm (Poems) (, , , , , , , , , )

Spilled seed

transient too

life limited bounty

so easy to neglect and lose

move on


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June 9, 2012 at 11:23 am (Poems) (, , , , , , , , , )

I am looking at you

through a tiny hole.

It took some doing

but I dug like a mole.

I grew you some onions, some beans and some rice

and I’ve cooked them all up into something nice.

I’ve tied a basket on a string and I’m passing it through

the hole in the world that I made to reach you.

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