Monday, 15 July 2019


Sunday, 7 July 2019

the air show

the air show       sky       where
every child’s jaw hangs agape
at the end of the longest pointing finger
for there never was a blue sky so torn 
by the rip of jet engines flaring
in all the colours of all the eyes
they ate the whole wide sky

Saturday, 6 July 2019


I can read my cat 
                           just like a book

she can lead me  
                               with just one look 

Tuesday, 2 July 2019

mower fodder

mower fodder

the mower killed
     the daisies
          the frogs
               the slow worms

and it is killing me

mellow meadow 
tell me please
all about the bees
and the wind in the trees
the buttercup days
in daisies chained 
convoluted high in
convolvulus skies

lay the mower-man under his sods
and sing your heart unto the blue

Friday, 28 June 2019

how much litter can
a litter picker pick
if a litter picker can’t pick cans

Thursday, 27 June 2019

the gestation of terror

the gestation of terror

a plastic doll with fluttering eyes 
in the ruptured uterus of the earth
the plastic caesarean scalpel tries
but fails to weep at another still birth 
in clingfilm wrapped
and so beautifully delivered
    another still birth
 in the oven that is the earth
      another still birth
        another still birth 
in the oven that is the earth

Thursday, 20 June 2019

man on the moon

man on the moon

man, oh man on the moon,
of all the moons, in all the universes,
and you had to take one giant dump on mine.
manage a small step over it,
bag it,
the pale blue dot,
on a clear night with a telescope
you can just see it.
from the moon, even on a cloudy night,
the whole world is a bag of …

Wednesday, 19 June 2019

Dorothy and Lyn

Dorothy and Lyn

Dot and dapper,
Smooth and sophisticated,
A linnet in a summer full of song;
The kind of kind people we treasure,
for they are pleasantly so like minded
as us.

Can I have another slice of pizza please?
Lyn - No! … Laughter.

The spice on the plaza of Mumbles;
Promenading good morning to you;
A cut above the gardens of welcome,
rare flowers in their pleasure and hue.
Come, let’s clink glasses, say cheers,
for it is a pleasure to be dinning with you.



i’m climbing a ladder 
rung rickety with words
roosting with night owls
bright-eyed and glowing 
upon a morning that might

Tuesday, 18 June 2019

is it knot?

is it knot?

the past is a neuronal configuration
we are all neuronal configurations
slowly tying amyloid knots
in the dementia of being

i was now i am not
they were now they are not
we were so maybe
just maybe
you will be too

Sunday, 16 June 2019


when I unwrap the parcel of today
I am long past caring what’s inside,
for tomorrow, tomorrow, come what may
that true pleasure I’ll ne’er dare deride.

Saturday, 15 June 2019

her bum was as white 
as two blind mice 
cut in half
with a carving knife
the alarm clock 

not a #tanka 

Friday, 14 June 2019



June and the sun’s gone yo-yo
go go  yes yes  no no
teasing teasing forever teasing

out when the tide comes in
in when the tide goes out
and in this heat I’m freezing 
looking back

70 years
  60 Years
    50 years 
        40 Years 
            30 years ...

this bloke
  he was a prick
    i mean - he was a real prick 
do you think
i’ll ever change

this girl
  sweet sixteen 
  peaches and cream
snow white

she’ll never change
never change
  she’s still waiting 

for that kiss

what goes around

what goes around

eventually the spinning top
and then
a child is no longer a child
those long coloured of life
lie dead

Wednesday, 12 June 2019



Breathless, in the solar plexus 
of a black hole, two neutron stars 
spin in this pulsar heart;
drawing down our horizon of light-time
unto the edge of our insignificance, 
minuscule, and so very, very dark.
Spiralling in this milky backwater,
we may yet find consolation, 
even in the profound silence,
of the big bang. 

Tuesday, 11 June 2019

tidy like

tidy like

the ebb and flow of
an ambivalent tide 
says come and go
away and abide
bottom water
slack water
full deride
is it half 
way out
is it half 
way in
you decide
to swim 
or knot to swim
that is the 

Friday, 7 June 2019

RS Thomas man

RS Thomas man

Turn now to this man,
kneeling in his nothing night; pleading to the
silence of a cold atonement; this complex man,
ministering to the simple man, high in the fields
of a low field life; the stone church his fiefdom.
How we love this man wedded to their weathering.
How we love this hard-soft man of men, when
his words reign in the candlelight of their tears,
to cascade, drying down the lonely years,
staining his pages here and there, where
he questioned the dearth of his faith, and their
loneliness, stranded upon their death beds;
the people of his years, hardened in their land,
bowed under his dark sky; he under his question,
why, why am I still waiting for His answer?
What is my place in this, their place?
Forever on his knees he called repeatedly
upon the empty words, unanswered, gone to earth
in the wild hedgerows of his mind; and now, long
gone, way past this final peninsula, flying with
his birds, passing forever over the indifferent sea.
Now that he has released the hens from his wild pen,
We must ask for this man: was he not Welsh, he who
lived his days in the dereliction of their deprivation?
Had he not prayed for their indifference; forever asking,
what right have I to speak for them? At them?
When the crag trees bleed their black tears,
and the cottages crumble under my feet.
I hear the stones call, far away, in the black rain,
RS Thomas, man of the hills - come home again.

Tuesday, 4 June 2019



rough rocks turn into smooth pebbles
smooth pebbles turn into sand 
and the identity of the hand
that held the pen
when the long ink dried     may then
be lost on the shore of a terrible sea

so write as the eye in the lighthouse
whose beams all may see
and many averse in identical ships
will owe the life of their words to thee   
even the grit on the oyster’s lips
can make a pearl shine in the eyes of glee

Sunday, 2 June 2019

the cove

the cove

every dream may seem
a mist upon the sea
for you and for me
and every one who deems
to have seen and touched
tomorrow in the deepest eyes
and vouched safe
that here their secret lies
calm upon the water’s breath
of a sigh so deep long drawn

Thursday, 30 May 2019

Laughing all the way to the Banksy

Laughing all the way to the Banksy

There’s a hole in the wall,
where the Banksy was.
They have taken it away now;
(Careful! Careful! £££)
but they left the hole
that Banksy had
under the Banksy
around the wall.

"You would have thought they would have taken the hole
where the Banksy was, and not left a telltale hole." - "Uh?’

It was too expensive to keep,
and holes are cheap.
It’s in a museum now, on loan;
not the hole, but the whole Banksy.
They have all gone to see it
and left me admiring the hole
that ignored them ignoring it.
And the wall around the hole wishes
if only, if only, Banksy bach, 
it was just a little to the left.

It’s dark and cold and lonely here now,
in the hole in the Banksyless garage,
when there’s a spotlight shinning on the Banksy
and sparkling in their admiring museum eyes. 
Banksy, are you any good at repairing walls?
Plain, old fashioned, breeze block, walls like.

Saturday, 18 May 2019

The moon’s cold stare
Who are you looking at
Apollo 11

The moon stared at me
I stared at the moon
Apollo 11

Friday, 17 May 2019

the poetry pharmacy

your you are our gateway 
enter says the sign and the bell
says stay over every cobwebbed exit

Thursday, 16 May 2019

genetic engineering

genetic engineering 
tomorrow is no longer
the day after yesterday 
but the very first day ever
when we shall never say die

Wednesday, 8 May 2019


All future haiku will be published on my haiku blog ‘Haiku eye’

I’ll reserve this blog for ‘conventional’ poetry.
spots of heavy rain 
branches of the bush shiver
the birds take shelter
cars collect the kids
extinction rebellion
long forgotten now
nettles and wild garlic
bluebells and forget me nots
wet springs in my step
raining on the sea
we go swimming in the sea
wetter and wetter
apple blossom rain
windfall on the glasshouse roof
tomorrow’s fruit
when the music flew
then the seasons flew with you
no buds are left now

Tuesday, 7 May 2019

Sunday morning on Kilvey hill

Sunday morning on Kilvey hill

Upon the mauve the sun light lies across
the heather, in its lucky white guise, shining 
lancet of the night, upon this suckling morn,
warming the dew's breath lifting dawn; and
standing above the docks wrapped around
the piers that hail, good morning Mumbles,
this breathless morn, primed as a church organ 
waiting for the suited to take their solemn pews.

While up here, on the hill, all time stands still;
trilled by the lark rising in all clarity to slake 
the mists away. And hot in quivery shakes 
the boy, above the bay, long in tarrying says:

stay soft, bewitched, upon this hill;
deign fall to sleep in the long grass,
and in the turned grass dream
until the last sunbeam 
is drawn across
the malted moon,
and all too soon, my son,
all too soon, 
the day is done.
summer afternoon 
knowing the touch of every fly
bygones are bygones

Monday, 6 May 2019

the spider and fly 
washed down the same plug hole
so whose house is it
prevailing winds
the trees look at their toes
now let’s get this straight
first snowflakes lamplight
golden halo of the night
chip shop steaming ahead
clouds and wisteria
waterfall blue bursts the wall
climate eyes widen 

Sunday, 5 May 2019

the middle of May
blackbird sitting in the sun
song of the earth rests
a copse in the marsh 
hot reeds are still listening
cuckoo  again  cuckoo

Saturday, 4 May 2019

the sun is sand warm
sparkling ripples raise the sea
war over the horizon
we dance the Maypole
eyes locked together implore
neutron stars explode