Love and swans

Another day’s twitter poems that seemed to follow the same theme.



From the otherworld you come,

mist-wrapped, blue-eyed, smiling,

and in your hands

all the love that ever grew

in either world.


Thrill of the sun on my skin,

your eyes in mine,

and the sky above.

Waves lap about our feet,

while the gull carries our song.


In the sky above the shadows,

swallows swoop

in the last light,

before the dark inks in the blue

and their wild dance

bows out before

the stately minuet

of the stars.


Is there poison in this sweet honey

that drips so slow from your red lips?

Take it away, and I am left lonely,

longing to be the bloom

where the bee sips.


The touch of your hand enthralls,

your soft words enchant,

but when you kiss,

the sun stands still,

and no shadows grow.


Gulls, waves, sun,

glint and shift,

and in the bright air,

stolen from the dusk,

we rise, swans enlaced,

to follow the path of dreams.

Flying and falling


Waiting, tranquil, on the cliff,

ears full of the ocean’s roar

and the swish of the surf,

hands held out

to the falling light.


The red kite drops,

rust wings folded,

into the reeds.

A scream, and the air quivers,

a small death.


Life lingers in the blue air,

but the gull calls,

the seal beckons,

and with the setting sun

I will fly.


Beyond the edge,

beyond the last shores,

into the misty blue,

the last gull soars,

taking my soul home.

Sea and birds

A sequence of twitter-inspired poems.

Photo ©Pdpics


No sail upon the horizon,

no bird to show the way,

no path to show where you’ve gone,

no hope in the salt sea spray.


Gull dips and soars

with diamonds in its wings,

spray scattered,

sunlight caught,

so much unconscious wealth,

spirit untrammelled

and free.


Ploughing north

on grey-white wings,



tireless navigators.



Wave breaks,

green glass shattered,

scattered foam,

flecked with salt,

and in the mist of boiling sea,

the sleek-plumed masters of the sky

weave and plunge.



joyous clowns,

lead me home

and find the smooth strand

far from the storm,

kelp-wracked and turbulent,

pebble-piled and thundering

with the song of the deeps.



A bottle of sea stars



Throw a bottle in the sea,

fill it with stars

and send it to me.


I take your bottle full of stars,

will I pour them out in silver streams,

watch them sparkle in the pools

of night and light and half-light dreams?


Where stars dance on the ocean’s skin,

torn by the wild wind from the sky,

from your blue boat with bellied sail,

throw me a lifeline and watch me fly.


Holding tight I skim the waves,

gull-backed and calling out to you,

hold out your hand, the one that saves.

Winter gulls

Short poems

Photo ©loggedout


Ice winds murmur keening,

Through scented petals falling,

Winter cold is coming,

Tender green is dying,

And will not see the spring.


Wind blows the blue sky clean,

The sun’s broad field revealing,

But there is no warmth in your thin smile,

And in the air a hint of snow,

Though Easter bells are pealing.


The sun breathes loud on the open sea,

And the clouds sing low their song,

I soar with the white, wave-tipping gulls,

Because you would not sail with me.


Is this hope you offer me or despair?

Do I stay or do I go?

Will you clip my wings,

Or sail by my side,

Over the rim of the sky?


Blue, blue or is it green,

The sky and all that’s in-between

The sea and the yellow upper air?

Follow my gull-flight if you dare,

To where the sun swims in fiery haze,

With moon and stars to the end of days.


Come in out of the cold

Another quatern


Come in out of the cold, he said,

And wrapped me in sweet summer light,

His hands were soft as south wind’s breath,

His heart’s pulse warm as summer night.


A bitter wind was moaning when,

Come in out of the cold, he said,

A chill wind blowing off the sea,

I heard cold voices filled with dread.


Within his arms the summer reigned,

Blackbird sang, the roses falling,

Come in out of the cold, he said,

Listen to my own heart’s calling.


Grey gulls called for me to follow

Down to the sea, where’er they led

Among the waves, his voice so faint,

Come in out of the cold, he said.



Beneath the trees, where the vixen burrows,

Kicking rime from cold-crisped leaves,

Blackbird scratches tiny furrows,

Patterns in the earth, he weaves.

Feathers ruffled by northwind sighing,

He digs for scarce, elusive grubs,

Cocks his head at the old year’s dying,

Ignores the tumbling roistering cubs.

Scratching, hunting, seasons turning,

Snowclouds billow where the grey geese fly,

In the sky a black sun burning,

Snowflakes drift where spring seeds lie.

And far away, where the northwind mutters,

Where white bears stalk the fat-sleek seal,

The ocean rolls, the white gull flutters,

Round and round the eternal wheel.