Roses at dusk

Roses at dusk

Pale as pale flesh,
roses at dusk bend and bow
beneath the weight of memories
of dead fingers tending,
beneath the weight of the world,
the weight of the day’s sun,
the weight of the waiting stars.


Gogyohka: autumn rain


I look for light where there is none,

taste the wind

for a salt memory of the sea

and touch the wild grasses

for the fleeting presence of a hare


wind blows

full of damp grey ribbons of cloud

streaks and shafts of steely grey

rain-wet and dew-wet

and a scattering of noisy finches


dusk seeps and creeps

beneath the cloud

between the rain drops

among the raggedy grass soldiers

still standing

In the dusk of the year


In the dusk of the year

we stand wreathed in flying leaves

and restless skies watching

the dark half of the year turn closer

remembering the cold that bites

beneath snow-filled cloud

and our dreams full of fire.


In the twilight of all things that matter

we lie down on scorched grass

and watch the storm clouds gather.

No rainbows will follow this deluge

no ark no saving graces.

No dawn will follow this night

of no moon and no stars.


Night falls

and falls











Dusk swoops


Dusk swoops and skims on owl wings,

grey in failing light where the deer,

faint leaping slender shadows

fill the trees with husky barking.

Bat-flutter and frog-laughter,

cricket-throb and the soft sinking of the sun;

such peace when the nightingale sings.



Along the border of the field,

A hedge of briar and robins’ wings

And pierced with secret tracks of fox

And badger—this is where I walk.


By the stream beneath the willows

I listen as the world falls silent,

As owl and fox reclaim their own—

I leave the dusk to those who stalk.