A gogyohka twitter sequence sparked by the word amber.



among grey pebbles

smoothed by cold waves

beneath cold grey skies of a Baltic beach

amber glows

with the light of the past


in the great green forest

a pine tree seeped and wept

aeons of golden blood

insect sarcophagus

sunset caught in a transparency


time past

amber light and silence

except for the wind in the trees

and birdsong

and the grinding of grey pebbles


on the cold beach turnstones



searching for boneless food

not amber


pick up the stone

colour of twilight

washed glass-smooth by cold waves

beneath a grey sky

and dream of lost forests

Wind from the south and the north

It’s been a long time since I wrote to twitter prompts.


Nothing is certain,

the path lies beneath the brambles,

sky is full of unfallen rain

and the blackbird’s song falters,

but there are infinite maybes.

Perhaps the rain will fall

the sky will clear

and I will see you

pushing through last year’s thorns

to meet me.


Between the soft rain of dawn

and the fierce sun of midday

lies the shallow time that flows

stream-babbling and bright

where you and I watch the world

through the same eyes,

and the same dream drapes us both

in promised tomorrows.


Sun-gaze withers the summer grass,

the deep shade shrinking

to a tepid green puddle

and hollow frog-voices,

while in the north, winter waits

with ice in his breath,

and in his eyes

the withering gaze of death.


Wind from the south

and the stars are flickering

the leaves are whispering

on swaying boughs

while a hunter’s moon

climbs slow and glittering

owl cries twittering

as the south wind soughs.

Black pearls and moonlight

Twitter poems from yesterday’s prompts.


All tears are black

for sorrow is dark

and wells from the places

where no light falls.


Black pearls

are as rare as moonstones

and sundew

and starfish

that light the deeps of the ocean

with drops of pearl moonlight.


Gulls soar to the moon and back,

dusted with silver

and the grey of dead stars.

Their eyes full of worlds

we will never know,

their call, the voices of the dead.


Sun breaks on gleaming waters,



a hoard of light.

If my hands could hold it,

I would give it all to you.


At the epicentre of all worlds

is a heart that beats and throbs

in time to the wings of love,

the song of the turtle dove.

Moonlit stones

Another twitter flow poem


Lay it to rest, the love that died,

plant a yew tree at its heart,

let it be and let it grow,

no regrets, no pleas to start anew,

let tomorrow blossom free.


Moonlight wanders on the lake,

silver water laps the shore.

Where did it go the moonlit love,

gone with the dreams I dream no more?


In the old stone, voices whisper,

memories of warmth and fire.

Should I kindle the cold hearth’s flame

I will add my words one day to theirs,

for stone lives longer than our puny bones,

its ageless silence softer than our raucous songs.


 I will never be the cold stone in the path,

the branch that snags,

the stinging wasp.

For you, I will always be

the sun on the grass,

the morning dew,

and the lark singing

where the river meets the sea.


Looking at stars

I haven’t been following the twitter poetry prompts much lately, but this morning I did a whole clutch of them, and they flowed one into the other beautifully.

Photo ©Jess Mann


Face to the sun,

a smile on your lips,

stars of fortune in your eyes,

you march lightly into tomorrow,

without me.


Tortuous it was,

the road back,

but you came,

walking on broken glass,

hands empty but for all my love

that you’d kept next your heart

wrapped in cloth of gold.


I knew you’d come

despite your words,

I know your heart

better than you,

because butterflies fill the garden

and swallows the sky.


I play the muse

to your uncertainties,

take your hand

to show the way.

Follow me, love,

For I only know the way

of the heart.


Even in the blackest night,

hope burns bright in a tiny star.

Look how it plunges into my open hands,

your face, your smile,