A rosy glow adorns this morning’s sky,

today, we regulars pay our respects,

tomorrow, with an angel I will play.

A quiet bloke, he’d been around the world,

of Africa and engineering spoke,

of vintage motorbikes, and automatic cars,

the pros and cons of smart-or not-TVs,

of pacemakers, the NHS, and stuff,

and never took his little trilby off,

a different one from time to ...

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Little Globe
Grow me a planet
I want a moon
Followed by a Saturn
Real ones but small
To fit inside my pocket
Got my own worlds
In my palm

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This poem carries faint echoes of winter in a Mediterranean climate, in this case the South West of Western Australia; limpid skies, stormclouds threatening, people in overcoats walking hastily. Rather like an English summer, I would have thought!

And Now I'm Old

And now I'm old as softening apples

left forgotten on a sideboard

after a windy day,

the murmur of the evening room

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