Peace and the North

A poem for dverse


Peace, the flame-crackle,

the yip yip of a small owl,

the vast dark, pressing.

Starspots and spangles,

embroidered light—

the Milky Way, a sash and so silent.

Light and dark

and the unseen, whispering trees,

and all this space,

but nothing between your hand and mine,

the pole star clutching.

We never lose the North.

Life pulse

This poem is the threading together of several small poems that all seemed to lead in the same direction.


Life throbs in ocean currents,

the rhythmic beat of rain in the rushes,

the booming song of the whale

and the tremulous heartbeat of a bird.


It coils and twists,

intricate as a snail shell,

filled with sand and diamonds and stars,

a capharnaum of treasures

and barbed ambiguities,


of things that drive us apart,

roses plucked from the tree,

a caged bird weeping,

contrary winds filling unruly sails,


and things that hold us together,

threads of sunlight,

tangles of roses,

strings that net the stars,

and the merest touch of your hand.


In the coiled nacre of our shell,

where night is bright as pearl

and day dim and cool as the ocean,

where stars fall and fish leap in the sun,

there is no end to me,

no beginning to you.




in the night,

to the beat of a double pulse,

I feel my thoughts slipping,

sand through fingers,

from me to you,

your lips,

my words—


What would you say?


What would you say

if I pulled open the sky

and tossed handfuls of stars

on the glittering lake?

What would you do

if I wove you a pair

of rainbow wings

that fitted your shoulders

like velvet gloves?

Would you shout with joy

leap from this high peak,

twisting and diving

in a falcon’s plunge?

Or with a pale, polite smile

would you whisper your thanks

fold your wings in a box

and hand me them back

with no regrets?

Night and the river

This week I could really do with a little balm, sweet soothing music etc. It’s been tough and tiring. I looked to the oracle, but she’s not one to spout to order. Unfortunately. I tried each word set, and ended up with a mixed bag.


Storm chants madlyScreen Shot 2017-05-27 at 14.42.26

with a bitter death cry,

rain water runs away

into the lake,

no sun in the sky

pours luscious light

and purple shadows

about these whispered dreams.



I listen to your lies,Screen Shot 2017-05-27 at 14.56.47

you kiss with marble lips,

we never find peace.

Like ghosts,

we embrace in the dark,

fever hot,

red as my secrets.



We two belong togetherScreen Shot 2017-05-27 at 15.23.12

in the dream of the stars.

Listen, as the world grows old,

our time plays out.

Fulfill your wish,

take me with you

along the river of night.



Always beautiful,Screen Shot 2017-05-27 at 15.34.52


wild soul of the wind,

follows the sun

dawn to dusk,

spring to winter frost;

like the river,


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.


If you say



If you say run, I’ll run with you

and all the flashing lights will stop,

the shrieking of nothing, but blue,

blue, electric blue,

the colour of the planet, glowing,

where we will live,

for ever and ever.

Blues, we dance

under the moonlight, glowing,

no hands, no hair,

no starlight flying,

but we can swim,

and we can dance,

and you know I love you very much.

I’ll take off those red shoes and dance

under the moonlight

because there’s nothing left to say,


I absolutely love you—

the rest can go to hell.

Touch the misty breath of morning

The dverse prompt, is to play with the senses.


Touch the misty breath of morning,

tangy with the steely taste of dew,

and stroke the back of river flowing,

curling ’neath the bridge piers striding.

Draw me a cloudburst drenched in rainbow darts,

and I’ll blow you kisses through the slate grey shade.

Sing me all the blackbird’s songs,

if you dare!

and I’ll reply with moonlight tangos,

strummed on a hazel branch.

Pluck me an apple with skin as smooth as oceans,

and I’ll breathe you mint and rosemary,

rock you in the scent of roses,

until the evening falls, soft as moth wings,

bee-humming with the joy of young things,

in a cascade of heavenly blue.

Words on a paper

This is for the Secret Keeper’s writing prompt. I might write a second poem. I like these words.



The final act,

your letter falls on the mat,

no ringing bells or madly blaring sirens,

just a dull swish,

like the dangling rope cut,

swinging in the wind.

Hands tremble too much to open neatly,

white envelope paper ripped across,

the inked, deadly precise letters, a massacre.

I skim the words,

as if the lightness of the glance gives them less weight,

no time to stick their full import on reluctant retinas.

I skim, slide, eyes glide,

avoid the harsh black-on-white truth.

I skim,

the words shout though I close my eyes.

Skim, I say—

the stone bounces,

once, twice, thrice,

and hope drops,

sinks out of sight,

into the darkness,

where fall and fade,

all lovers’ broken hearts.