on looking at a mountain lake

 on looking at a mountain lake

the breadth 

of a water breath

a sky breath

a mountain breath of

a shore line’s breadth

it was all there

held in a held breath

variations on the theme of pigeons

variations on the theme of pigeons

grey day

a flock of pigeons

leaves the church roof

grey day

a flock of pigeons

returns to the church roof

grey day

a sudden flock of pigeons

left the church roof and

returned

returned

returning a flock of pigeons returned

leaving a flock of pigeons left

grey day

a sudden flock of pigeons

feathers her hair

 

stuff and no nonsense

 stuff and no nonsense

let’s rename poetry

let’s call it ‘stuff’

let’s write stuff

let’s let people no longer

analyse it into ubiquity 

let’s let it move us

to say

don’t let it stop

doing it’s stuff to us

let’s forget the word poetry

stuff it i say

sun you are a star

sun you are a star

the star became a red giant

the poet a dwarf star

a binary pair

they spun many a yarn

across the sky

darkly brightly

daily nightly

they knit many a brow

telescoped many a punch

until the supernova 

exploded onto the scene

then the iron became a nib

carbon the inky night sky

and the book ended 

noting that something isn’t

 noting that something isn’t 

why has life got to be 

for something

why cannot life be for

nothing

more than a 

temporary existence between 

two nothings

or a virtual vacuum 

inside nothing 

i am therefore

     i soon will be not

but sometimes i laugh

at the absurdity of it all

noting that

nothing more to be said

is quite something 

asystole

      
            asystole

      silent scream of
   ——- asystole ——-
       the flat line that
     leads downwards 
    everyone moves on
 you move away from me
        forever closer

a picture of a morning coast

 a picture of a morning coast

nature’s coast of many colours

of many layers

thought’s eye wanders

comes home then wanders

like a border collie

rounding up sighs

that slip the breeze

rustle down the grass

soar in the slow clouds

lay down in the pull waves

a snow-angel thought comes

and raises the widest smile

a homily of home 

indeed it is