The last raindrop


On the petal’s lip a raindrop trembles,
Swirling with shreds of cloud enclosing,
And morning light hides behind drawn veils of mist.
A rainwater runnel,
Edging across the smooth seashell curve
Of a soft pink-petalled billow,
Gathers in a crystal pearl,
In suspension beneath the weight of the sky.
Downpour beats
The delicate rose fabric, rain-bruised now,
Yet still it lifts its damp face,
As if to a lover’s kiss.
The sky’s leaden dullness pours,
And tears drip from weeping blooms,
One jewel at a time,
Onto the fallen petals on the ground.
Later, should the night sky clear,
That last, shining lead crystal drop
Will reflect the light of a distant star,
Cupped within its pearl shaped world,
And carry a million year old memory to rest,
Among the scattered petals of a rose.


Breathe the morning

From the window
I see the roofs stretch far and orange brown
To nudge the blue skyline.
I hear the morning stillness
The cool green hush that rises from the garden
Waiting for the sun.
I smell cypress and pine
And the musky smell of damp earth
Of decomposing aromatic leaves.
I breathe the pale blue air
Tasting all the facets of the morning picture.
Remembering its delicate flavour
Its cool pastel tones
The gentle crooning of the turtle doves
To savour when the brash sun burns
And stirs the noisy life
Beneath the orange brown rooftiles.


I know a place


I know a place where the roses blow
Where we’d lie and watch the clouds go by
At evening we’d listen to the linnet’s song
While the colours changed in the sunset sky.

I know a place where the river runs
Past a wild plum tree where the blackbird sings
And the dog rose perfumes the evening air
And the sky’s aflutter with swallows’ wings.

I know a place that was full of peace
Till you held my hand, told me not to cry.
Now the scent of rose and the blackbird’s song
Bring back the echo of your last goodbye.



To become so small, so insignificant
That the cool tangle of the riverbank
Is the whole world.
For the creeping of insects
To sound a background throb
To the rustle of the reeds
Like sheets flapping in a storm.
The slap of the waves, a thunder roll
And the air vibrates with warbling notes,
Dropping from the immensity of green canopy,
The sublime music of the blackbird’s song.
To creep, to hide in the momentous shade
Where life teams, and the city noise,
Metallic braying wreathed in acrid fumes
Like emissions from some distant star
Falls into the black hole
Of man’s futilities.

Peace falls

Poem inspired by the Caserne Niel


I could find some peace here
From the city’s roar
Beneath rusting girders open to the sky
Where kites and swallows soar.
Lizards bask upon the tumbled stones
And dart among the sapling pioneers.
Root and stalk of wild plants ramp
And the sharp sun sears.
I do not seek a sheltered nest
Beneath these echoing beams
Among dusty memories
Of a thousand soldiers’ dreams,
Where no one’s left to answer
And no one to respond
My thoughts run past the ruined halls
To the untamed woods beyond.

Into the dark


I have dreamt of many things
The banal and the extravagant.
Some dreams lie folded neat and crisp
Never used and never missed.
Some have changed to suit what came
The faded colours of a mediochre fate.
The dreams of love and apple trees
Of moons and inaccessible stars
Fly with the geese in a velvet sky
Broidered with the heavens’ lights,
Their beauty not forgotten
Only the desires that gave them birth.
One dream now has grown to fill the place
That danced with gold and silver motes
The glittering futilities
And the softer yearnings of a gentler soul.
Now, in these less tumultuous days
All I ask of the maker of dreams
Is that I may walk
With you
Into the dark.

I should have added the music that inspired this poem. I love this song.

Old wharf with buttercups

The grass grows tall here
Smudged with mauve and white and gold
And clumps of buttercups crawl
Across the timbers of the old abandoned wharf.
Birds nest where tall ships used to moor
Where the river still laps undisturbed.
Rotting, rusting wood and iron
The wharf waits peacefully to sink
Into the river mud beneath the weight
Of a million golden buttercups.


Like a tree

Like a tree

Love is green growing
supple sulphurous striving
quick quarrelsome querulous.
Passions blaze brilliant
flaming sunflares

Boughs spread strong straight
striving sunward
though storm bends breaks blights.
Vine clings climbs
blazoned with blossom
that twists and twines
embellishing with cupped stars

Calm comes
soft as evening
enfolding encompassing
passions and peace.
Beneath flower festooned boughs
entangled embracing
inextricably entwined
we sit
still fire-fashioned




Early morning
at the city’s edge
standing in the dewy grass
I can hear the earth breath.
Not silent
bird fluttered and sedge ruffled
by a sea breeze.

While the city sleeps
birds whistle
river water laps.
Long grass hides railway sleepers
sleeping cobbled roadways
and the sun’s first rays
stir the crickets’ song

Early morning
in the quiet
in the pale light,
night lingering beneath the alders,
the earth whispers small words of hope
that unfold like night-furled petals.