Today

September 21, 2016 at 6:34 pm (Poems) (, , , )

There’s a wasp between my fingers
and a bee behind one ear,
Two slugs above my eyelids
and a bird’s nest in my hair.

My body is a tree trunk
my mind a crooked path,
My life juice is a river
my feelings are a raft.

Fulfilling earth’s intention –
imperfect and impure,
with love as my redemption,
intuition at my core.

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The Daddy

September 11, 2016 at 3:43 pm (Poems) (, )

Respect the daddy longlegs
Get with his knobbly knees
Take care his fragile body
Treat kindly if you please.

He doesn’t like your vacuum
He doesn’t often rest
But hangs about the corners
It’s just where he feels best.

The daddy doesn’t harm you
He’s generally good
He eats the things that pester
and is misunderstood.

Respect the daddy longlegs
if you see him on your floor
please cup him very gently
and let him out the door.

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Folly

May 31, 2016 at 9:56 pm (England, Poems, poetry) (, , , , )

Upon Mow Cop, there stands a castle keep.
Close by on high my humble tent is pitched.
Soon, snug in nature’s covers lie me down to rest.

Light stays up late in May’s last restless gasp
and those who latch and lock miss this great blessing.
Close by on high my humble tent is pitched.

In night’s deep lull, there is a frosty chill,
which holds me to the earth and marks my bed,
and those who latch and lock miss this great blessing.

With morning dew I dip and rise anew,
my body fresh with hospitality,
which holds me to the earth and marks my pitch.

And Biddulph stretches morning arms aloft.
The cows stand tall to greet the coming day.
My body fresh with hospitality.

Toil beckons and I pack my tent away
and boil a kettle on my little stove.
The cows stand tall to greet the coming day.
Soon, snug in nature’s covers lie me down to rest.

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Stick

May 16, 2015 at 2:07 pm (Poems) (, , , , )

We have this habit of defining

the nature of our beast

and an eye for definition

which may limit, or at least

prevent us from evolving

in a helpful sort of way

to keep up with our surroundings –

the environments at play.

.

There are countless endless junctures

at which our cells could switch

from those well-remembered patterns

to a stronger bolder stitch

but our stubborn prolongation

of the sequences we know

keeps us circling our shelter

even when the changed winds blow.

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Sage

September 30, 2014 at 9:22 pm (Poems) (, , )

Persistent coughing
assuaged with clay sage pipe:
inhaling nature.

CARPE DIEM HAIKU KAI

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Garden Party

June 25, 2013 at 10:52 pm (humour, literature, Poems, poetry, Shropshire, Stories) (, , , )

Today, midweek, I is garden chillin’,
no pesky mean metal mamas mowing,
they is the weekend boys.
Nope, jus’ I and the big blue sky
and hey what even?
That old girl Sun is open for shine.

Then what do happen? Dang.
Those flaunty sparrows tip the Tit and Jay
I got seeeed!
Moly, that the end of peace fo today.
They get so close me is movin’ up!
In I’s own gardin! Serious.

But this not the main deal yet –

Well bless I’s odd socks
if the entire ‘nature thing’ begin
make the biggest darn racket ever:
they bees bumblin’, they crows cawin’,
old man Slug chewing on me lupin…
I’s gardin so loud the world is rockin’!

Well, think on it. Be churlish to vamoose.
This some kind of party, maybe?
Nature doin’ what Nature do pretty best.

So

Me is coming out, creepy sneakin’
from under I’s pot. Segments wavin’,
fourteen hip dancin’ legs groovin’ at a time.
Get with Nature’s freaky beat,
Coz, man, we is the party, bro –
we is the real deal.

Tellin’ you. Come on down I’s gardin bro,
Givin’ it some WOODLOUSE WELLY!

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Breakfast

April 4, 2013 at 9:22 am (literature, philosophy, Poems, poetry, Shropshire, Stories) (, , , , , , , , , )

Walk out with me in morning feet,
along the edge of spring,
still steeped in snow, our woollen coats
pulled hard against the wind.
There, gowned and slippered, see she stands,
Nature is summoning the land,
It’s time to shine
It’s time to shine
She holds the sunlight in her hand.

Walk out with me in morning feet,
and catch the swooshing loud,
of Nature smoothing cotton sheets
and plumping  pillow clouds.
She lifts the verdant grass to grow
and lusty, showered in the dew,
It’s time to shine
It’s time to shine
will dress our  hillside all anew.

Walk out with me in morning feet,
to greet the waking day,
when preparations are complete
and humans on their way.
Our breakfast on the quilted hill
a secret unrevealed until
It’s time to shine
It’s time to shine
She sweeps our breadcrumbs from her sill.

 

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Thaw

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

Forgotten

in locked allotments

bracing brass monkey feet

she

dug

deep

with clenched teeth

through frozen clods

customarily turning over old leaves

 until

she                                                                     slipped

and gripping glass

g

u

i

l

l

o

t

i

n

e

d

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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Rainbow

January 1, 2013 at 11:25 am (history, literature, philosophy, Poems, poetry, politics, Stories) (, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , )

Today, in the town squares of all great cities

around this beautiful globe,

we will, by common consent,  remove divisive flags

hung by history’s tainted shreds of angry pride;

folding them away like old aunty’s table cloths.

.

And see draped instead, from mountain heights,

a more fantastic sight; our real heritage.

Reflective of all earth’s passion and intensity

absorbing in amazement all our pain,

this is our rainbow – and the music of a shared song.

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Moon Man

December 11, 2012 at 6:24 pm (literature, philosophy, Poems, poetry, Stories) (, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , )

There is a man sits in our crescent moon tonight

with jocular face and monocle.

Hunter-warriors beware,

he will rock away this precious slice of light

should you prey on easy meat from a high-handed horse.

.

There is a man sits in our crescent moon tonight

tickling xylophones with whiskery fingers.

As ice drops flicker

give time over haste to winter tunes,

to taste his gruffle-sung stories of stars and wonderment.

.

There is a man sits in our crescent moon tonight

making immortal space for us.

He cradles kindness

in extraordinarily long arms,

and gifts weary travellers with chuckling beneficence.

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