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

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

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

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

I remember when it was cold for Halloween When an icy chill used to nip at my mittened fingers Jack frost would creep into boots to freeze my socks and ice my toes A big coat squeezed the breath from me beneath my costume - a sheet And my breath condensed inside a ghostly plastic mask I would hurry from house to house, Knocking on doors whose steps were decorated with ghoulish glowing pumpkins Collecting paper bags of toffee, home grown apples, pennies Until my knees were kno

Written whilst walking above Ogden Reservoir on Pendle. Ali’s bench is a memorial to Ali Watson and invites walkers to, ‘sit a while and enjoy one of his favourite places.’ I always do.   I sit for a while on Ali's bench And watch the browning bracken As the scuttling clouds Make their hurried way I feel my tension slacken No birdsong today as the mist hangs low Though I spy a kestrel soaring Whilst traipsing tendrils Of wind torn branches Caress the forest flooring A Jay swe

I can no longer deny the end of summer as October delivers a chameleon chill; can no longer cling on to its memory, whilst an emerald palette shifts towards amber I watch as dawn's misty chimneys rise to hang in the valley like ghosts, and fern turns crisp There's no looking back as nature reimagines the world; persuading me of a different perfection that exists without temperate warmth Instead, I look forward to the glassy crunch of frost beneath my feet Of icy dragon breath

I slept much better, woke refreshed, reluctant arms and legs uncurled The light more nuanced, colours vivid, air of motes that spun and...

Bird or butterfly? Peacock eyes watch from a bed of splendid iridescence Starlings’ movement sweeps in a syncopated and magical...

White door. Plastic. No number New carpets over stone floors Cracked paint on windowsill 90’s radiators   Paint job on old wallpaper...