Mist drifts in like fragrant gossamer veil on a breeze that's frail takes flight in silence a whispering vagrant with searching fingers and breath that lingers in resolute defiance Threads of pearl exposed as fleeting kiss what trick is this each timid frond embraced mountain edges in repose no apex seen no folds of green not even shadowy trace Ancient laurels remenisce boughs weighed down to skim the ground and then those strung out pearls become chains and hiss a brief down

They stood on the cliffs above Madeira eyes fixed on the horizon waiting for the brief white breath that broke the skin of the Atlantic A whale did not announce itself it appeared then disappeared leaving only silence and a widening circle on the water The word was sent The boats were lowered Oars entered the sea without ceremony Men rowed toward something larger than certainty larger than courage larger than the stories they told before leaving shore The whale was not an ene

Down the hill Along the lane The road is steep Quadriceps strain Traverse levada Water trickles Path is narrow Grasses tickle Descending steps Five hundred plus Our footsteps light No repercuss Mountain trail A darkened tunnel Rocks prevail Untethered rubble Summer blooms The sea in sight The crashing booms of Neptune's might And then we lunch beside the waves Forget about the rocks and caves Until the sun begins to dip It's time to take the uphill trip Neptune's might His cr

The smell of sawdust and Danish oil hit first, a heavy, comforting musk trapped in creaking timber. My father's memory lives here forever, sealed away in jars of mismatched screws and rusty nails. I remember the workbench, scarred with deep rings from old coffee mugs, and the sharp burns of a soldering iron. A yellowed cassette radio sat in the corner, hissing static between country classics, the soundtrack to our quiet weekend afternoons. To me, it was never just a workspace

I walk along the mountain path My mind unleashed my thoughts are free I wonder what I'll come across What sounds I'll hear, what sights I'll see I like to wander here alone With no demands imposed on me Where trees and grasses sway at will And flowers nod complicity To rising hum of insect song I amble slow and listen hard The wonders of the world are fleeting The corners of my eyes on guard Ahead a feather beckons me A message from another world My feet move on without instr

Sun shining Breeze blowing Path plodding Tree hugging Flower gazing Day dreaming Wood-larking bound Teasel teasing Berry feasting Nest building Web weaving Brook babbling Reed rustling Wood-larking around Bee buzzing Finch fighting Frog croaking Owl hooting Chick cheeping Willow warbling Wood-larking sounds Den digging Bug hunting Sky diving Nut hunting Branch bobbing Nectar drinking Wood-larking around Sun dipping Cloud gazing Dusk coming Stress erasing Face glowing Wellness

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

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

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