An oak tree


I wrote a ring of words just now

and folded it away

because it feared the light and the night

and all the blue and misty things

that beset words out alone.

Words must be strong and straight

tall as oak trees broad as oceans

and they must have a heart that beats

to the rhythm of the dying day

the rising sun

and the dancing of hares

in the moonlight.


Unheard words


The words pour out in blue torrents,

bright cascades shimm’ring with starlight,

rainbow-winged, skimming like swallows,

they cling to the brief, bright thrumming

of a heartbeat’s steady drumming,

all swept up in the fierce current,

rushing blindly into nightfall.

Catch the wild wind and enchain it,

for the tales it tells are worthless,

building dreams of dust and ashes,

that rain will wash to the river.

Night brings no balm to the weary,

nor with joy fills the shrivelled husk,

for red dawn breaks ever harder,

when the day will flow no farther

than the next dull clouded dusk.

Written in the river

For the Secret Keeper’s writing prompt. The words this week:


Painting ©JF Milan


In the rushing river write

The words reflected in your smile,

The song I wrote for you and me.


Beneath the warm sun of my dreams,

I hold my breath, too full to speak and

In the rushing river write.


Green cords that twist and pluck a song,

They ravel up the tender notes,

The words reflected in your smile.


Plucked by the rushing river, tossed

Into the wind blown out to sea,

The song I wrote for you and me.

The words I couldn’t say

A string of verses on a thread of twitter prompts.


The words I couldn’t say,

I hear them in the wind

and in the falling leaves,

but they mutter loudest in the raindrops,

dripping from the eaves.


I let you go because you wouldn’t stay,

the ties that bind all came undone,

floating like silver gossamer in the breeze.


You wouldn’t give me back my heart,

A keepsake, you said with a tragic air.

But you will forget, let its fluttering die,

a dull brown bird

with no song to sing.


Should I have known and raised my guard,

a carapace of tempered steel,

against the sweet words and soft looks you shot my way?

Can any heart become stone at will,

and the song in the blood a battle cry?


Had I held myself aloof

and turned away the fiery flow,

I would not have known the pain of broken dreams,

but nor would I have seen blue horses running,

and firebirds paint the sky with flame.

Haiku challenge: Lightning & Rain

A trilogy of haiku for Ronovan’s challenge


Storm winds, clouds banking,

lightning flickers, thunder cracks

blissful rain cascades.


Like lightning the words

flash and are gone, striking sparks,

like rain fall the tears.


Face to the cold rain

pouring like cloud tears brimming

waiting for lightning.

She looks for calm in a chaos of words


Words flow from mind pictures to static forms black on white
And only I know what they really mean
the picture they paint inside my head
but they stream out regardless bright and noisy
and smelling of damp earth or dog or roses or even the sea when the wind’s in the west.
Starlight splinters and waves break
and still the words pour an unending chatter.
The beat falters, a momentary silence falls
and the world fills with the song of a blackbird.
Such beauty is impossible to catch in a handful of dry words
like the wind in the leaves, the murmur of running water
or all the shades of fragrant colour in the cupped petal of a rose.
Only when I link my words to you
and the deep-night moon-gazing stillness at your centre
that draws me and cradles me in its calm waters
does the chaos of this fleeting life have any sense.