Today the ocean growls it's undercurrent a malevolent force Deep teal rifts rise from blackened depths which jagged boulder intercepts Sends white steeds to race ashore to crash in muddied pool Whilst displaced pebbles are cast aside Driftwood floats serene Has played this game so many times Ignores these petty childish crimes Ocean's roar of discontent Bombards unlistening ears And then a glint through clouded sky A sunny interlude The teal now jade with sparkling jewels A

Tim dropped his spoon, and his porridge splattered all over the cloth. "Bloody hell!" He heard the words come out of his mouth before he could stop them. "Language!" His mum was not impressed. "...and at the breakfast table as well." She tutted as she scrubbed at the mess with a cloth, "What prompted that outburst?" "Erm nothing," replied Tim sheepishly, "I've had enough anyway. I'm going to be late." Before she could argue, he grabbed his rucksack and phone and ran out of

Its dusk I sit here watching birds Not bird-watching No App Just watching the birds Listening to the birds A blackbird, a blackcap, canaries, a firecrest I watch a kestrel dive, and wonder...what does that feel like? I sit here watching birds Not bird-watching No App Then I can't help myself I pick up my phone And write a bloody poem I can't help myself I was just watching birds

It's all by design this garden of mine Spring, bringing bluebells and sweet celandine Forget-me-nots nod and wild daffodils bow Hyacinths put on a celestial show It's all by design this garden of mine Aroma of summer herbs, parsley and thyme Bird's-foot-trefoil sits with innocent daisy Midst fragrance of honeysuckle drifting and lazy It's all by design this garden of mine Autumn-ladies-tresses defying decline Encouraged by neighbours of hawkbit and teasel, Whilst scabious and

I occupy the in-between Exist in neither sleep nor dream Not life, not death, no colour scheme Adrift inert on languid stream Then cobalt ozone floods my mind And tingling neurons steal my peace. As glinting teal of breakers grind

Collected and felled and piled up to the sky A tumbledown ruin, next year’s wood supply It’s fly-sheeted canopy billows and falls Wind whistling through ivy that clings to its walls Next winter’s firewood, this summer’s hotel Where industrious residents eat, toil and dwell Efficient recyclers enabling decay Both shelter and restaurant, its purpose today Insects and beetles and solitary bees Springtails and woodlice and black millipedes Feeding on slugs that stay close to

“Cuckoo! Cuckoo!” I do what I do Lay my egg in an old nest, or one that's quite new High up or low down I'm not very fussy Just need a good sitter As I’m always so busy “Cuckoo! Cuckoo!” I know what I'll do! I’ll secret my egg with the Dunnock eggs, blue Safe in the hedgerow From bold prying eyes Whilst I busy myself Hunting beetles and flies “Cuckoo! Cuckoo!” Where to lay number two? Tucked in with the Pipits, where my ancestors grew My baby will grow And devour all the food

Date: 2030 I was nervous throughout the interview. Any relevant experience I’d had seemed so long ago, but I really wanted this. I took another deep breath as the interviewer looked down at his notes. “Final question…” I held my breath. “…tell me why you want a job after all this time.” I exhaled slowly. “I want my life back.” His eyes narrowed and he looked as though he was going to ask me to clarify, but he didn’t. Maybe it hadn’t been the right thing to say, but it had b

March blows in and March blows out It paves the way from flood to drought From out of darkness, brings us light A hint of warmth, a sky more bright It strengthens patience now worn thin As March blows out and March blows in March blows out the winter chill And melts the snow upon the hill It banishes the winter gales Returns to winter, sleet and hale Yes March becomes the referee Till spring and winter can agree March blows in and clears the paths For crocuses and nodding daf

My childhood self would squat to peer under rocks and stones, At slugs and worms writhing as one, a spaghetti mess in the mud; Unable to resist poking their soft, sticky squishiness With a stubby finger. Would marvel at tremellose frogspawn. Each morning, racing toward the pond, Awaiting the emergence of wriggling tadpoles from their jelly prisons, To witness the wonder of their metamorphosis. I wondered if it hurt; All that growing of limbs and shedding of tail; If such tran

A winter's day, yet sky is blue The wind has iced the morning dew I scramble over shifted dunes To find the bay in crescent moons How gently do the waves creep in A creeping, foamless shiny skin To coat the beach with velveteen A surreptitious silent scene The grains disturb, then realign Whilst seaweed fragments intertwine A graceful dance, a soft bequeathing As though the sea is simply breathing

Felucca, take me down the Nile To leave the city for a while Behind me, dusty, noisy streets Where cart and van and horse compete As sun beats down on man and beast Provide my eyes with lesser feast I need to visit times less fraught Where life is simple, peace is sought As river-water ebbs and flows My mind is emptied, thoughts disposed A meditative state adopted Images and rhymes concocted Reed beds, foliage, habitats All lie within the Cataracts Time goes by, the hour un

We stood at the kerbside waiting for the taxi, the luxurious all-inclusive hotel behind us and adventure in front. After a week of lazing by the pool and reading, we were ready to see the wonders of the Nile. The taxi arrived, its boot slowly rising, a response from a signal inside the car. The driver didn't get out, neither did he speak as we got in, instead pulling out into traffic before I had even fastened my seat belt. "Good morning.'" I offered. No response; that's

Mother Nature lives here, in broad daylight she hides, and she’s dancing around midst the trees At home with the squirrels, the snowdrops and moss, at one with the birds and the bees She sways with the grasses and howls with the wolf, as she sings to the song of the breeze A friend of both robin and babbling brook, who bow down and give thanks at her knees She’s there in the shadows, she slips in and out, but I see her each day from afar She imagines she’s hidden, but not f

I came across a lonesome deer It was not scared, knew I was near It turned to look me in the eye then stalked away with head held high A robin danced along the fence It matched my pace, its stare intense I felt its need for company Our thoughts exchanged complicitly Along the path on stone-built wall A squirrel with its morning haul I stopped to watch a little while Then left him, blessed, with happy smile Returning home, at peace, content And grateful for an hour well spent

Half asleep and half frozen, I stood at the end of the street, stamping my feet and blowing into cupped hands before thrusting them deep into my pockets. That first get-up after the Christmas break was always going to be awful: tossing and turning half the night, despite my good intentions and going to bed early, dragging myself from a deep, dreamless slumber to switch off the irritating sound of the unwanted alarm clock, and having to dress and eat an unwanted breakfast at t

Love is not found in a glass of red wine But the bottle I'm sharing with you It's not in the food or the fancy clothes It's the table that's set for two It's the touch of your hand And the smile in your eye And the words that don't need to be said No, love is not found in the places we go But the home that we've made, me and you Love isn't the softness that's held in my pillow But the fact that your head's next to mine It isn't in gold or a new diamond ring It's the moments o

It was the year that the Swifts didn't come. As April passed into May, a heavy depression settled on Jeff. It didn't bode well. Migrating Swifts had been in decline since the late '90s, but somehow he kept hoping, year after year, that there would be an upturn. The problem wasn't limited to the Swifts either: the Spotted Flycatcher, Cuckoo and Nightingale were also in sharp decline, and Turtle Dove numbers had crashed by 98% since the 1960's - they were now on the black list

I stood forlorn, my boughs weighed heavy; a shadow of myself, in a corner of the garden. Half hidden behind the garden shed, head bowed, ashamed. At first I had been elated at my promotion; From pot to soil, inside to out. No longer trivial - a plaything, dressed up by children in gaudy sash, but free to reach up high, to feel the sun, to sink my roots into endless, soft earth; to live. But was this living? A fruitless existence, a friendless realm. There was no admiration fr

Sitting under clear blue sky The morning sun shines down from high A breeze from wings of butterfly The joy of ordinary The kestrels soar above the clouds Prepare to dive to fields just ploughed Their keening sounds so clear and loud Announcing ordinary Lizards scuttle on the stone New generation, barely grown They chase a future yet unknown And search for ordinary The soothing eucalyptus scent Pervades the air with bold intent A lazy day, my time mis-spent? Immersed in ordin