Blue is gone


Blue is gone

swept up by bird wings

and sky-glitter drips only

in the bright trickle of bird call

sun yellow lapped up by buttercups.


Wind blows from the north

cold is coming

red as ice

cutting bone and marrow

and what will poor robin do then?

Hands flutter scattering food

we watch fear pass along the lane

holding breath


listening to the ocean roar among cloud billows

seeping rain


a a a

dream cries from the depths

run please the black is coming

breath belching where the tractor rumbles

over the wild hill.


Sleep whispers from her blue yellow boat

(waves heaving rain streaming)

the storm is close

but but but

there are cracks in the sky

and beyond

we can see the stars.

Old ways, new world

For the dverse prompt. I haven’t taken a particular political standpoint, but Utopia isn’t going to drop out of nowhere without some kind of philosophy to guide it.


We can’t say we love those we never have to meet,

and we never have to live with those who are not like us.


(It’s easy to love those who are just like us, who keep their

cars clean like we do, have good dental work and don’t raise hell).


We can’t say we care if we take more than we need, because

the treadmills keep turning to give us what we throw away.


We can’t say we respect life when we sanction poverty

to keep us rich, misery to keep us overfed and sleek.


Learn how to love, care, respect, and do, be, act, give not take,

find joy in sunsets and sunrises and the singing of birds,


turn off the reality show, dig the earth, plant, create, not sit

open-mouthed before the pap that falls in sugary drifts from heaven.

I’ll believe perhaps


I’ll believe life is good

when you can show me

the faces of Syrian children,


I’ll believe life is good

when you can show me

the empty stalls

of the last veal calves

closed forever.

I’ll believe in life

when the trees tell me

they can breathe again,

when no man wields a gun

and death

with the impunity of a god.

Show me justice, compassion, respect,

then I’ll believe,

not before.

Rain and fire


When rain falls a (grey) veil

from a sombre sky

where no (light) strikes sparks

of fire from poppy (and) rose

(I sink) to the level of mud and sodden grass

poke fingers (in) the loosening clay

to feel life (writhing) beneath

and deeper still

the fiery (veins of) the earth’s (blood)


Cold seeds salamander-coddled

need (no hope) in tomorrow

to burst (in) green sappy stalks

leaf and flower-furled.

(Stars) wheel

fire calls to fire and the tides shift moon-struck.

Between fire and (falling) rain I wait

with the patience of a seed

for the wheel to turn to sunburst.

Three Line Tales: Dreamworld

This story is for Sonya’s Three Line Tales photo prompt.

photo by Emily Morter via Unsplash


Through the bars of the window she looked across at the dreary skyline, the turrets and towers of the public buildings shadowing the squalor she knew lay beneath, silent and desperate.

The dream had come back, stronger and more vivid than ever; the soft colours of the strange landscape still clung to her retinas, and she seemed to sense the gentle breeze on her skin and the smell of perfumes, exotic and mysterious.

Dawn broke in a blaze of pink light and, catching her breath in awe at the unheard of sight, she let tears of joy fall unchecked when she recognized, behind the veils of morning cloud, the glorious landscape of her dreams.

My dreams for you

The subject of the Redon pastel drawing is Pandora, but what she seems to have released is beauty.


I dance among the debris of my dreams,

Scattered in a cloud about your head.

They fall as soft as feathers, shine as bright,

Though you may never see or taste their light.

My arms are full of moonbeams, roses sweet,

And robin’s song fills every heart but yours.

Listen, to the truth his music brings—

There is room for you and all your fears

In these silver arms, where moon-sweet beauty sings.

Colours of hope

A poem for The Secret Keeper’s writing prompt. The words to include are:



How do I count the colours bright,

that paint the fields and fill the light,

across the waves and out of sight?

All these hues a heart can hold,

the reds and blues the green and gold,

fiery hot and winter cold—

a wealth to store against the past.

It fell, a shooting star, so fast,

our love no longing could make last.

With no regrets, I look ahead,

with green of hope and little dread,

to find a new love in your stead.


Starless times

This is a cascade poem for the Secret Keeper’s writing prompt. The words to include are



Starless times, I walk the paths of darkness,

All through the inner reaches of the night,

The sound of rushing waters fills my ears.


No bright day breaks to chase the ghosts away,

Bleak is the morning that will never dawn,

Starless times, I walk the paths of darkness.


Soft silence falls to fill the starlit space,

And gently silver moonbeams brush my face,

All through the inner reaches of the night.


You take my hand; we watch the sun return,

To brave the shadow-madness, all is bright,

The sound of rushing waters fills my ears.

Where will we go when the darkness falls?


Where will we go when the darkness falls

And from green depths the ocean’s voice calls?

Are there safe places in city sprawls?


We could follow the swallow so swift

And hope for a wind, black clouds to lift,

But flight, narrow-winged, is not our gift.


Air and ocean are bound into one,

All are equal beneath the bright sun,

We’re left with our hearts, when all is done.