Spells

She paints pebbles with rainbows

And places them on walls

Poetry on larger stones

For others to find

It is a small act of kindness

Of acknowledging our plight

She takes the paints and daubs

Her handprint on a slate

All over the footpaths and walks

Her art is left to the elements

A bright sun shining

through dark clouds

the people wh...

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A diamond marked our betrothal

The gem sparkled bright on your finger

Then we sped to the chapel to wed

We no longer had any need to linger

Two sacred stones haunt my memories

The ring that you took to the grave

And the marble headstone above you

After that sad return to the chapel nave

Our marriage was short but blissful

We had no time even to think

About c...

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This is my own edit of an appearance I made on Radio Scilly last month. I've been a frequent visitor to the islands for twenty-five years, and they feature a lot in my work.

Linda Thomas is Scilly's estimable librarian, and it's great to be able to give her this shout-out as she's been a real champion of my work for several years now. The show itself was a blast (although you may not get that f...

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At the start it was not so

That we did know the stone to throw,

To kill the beasts and men like us,

To think it fine to strike the blow

That spread man's blood upon the dust.

How was it that death entered in?

Cruel killing, how did it begin?

Did not the Tree of Life stand there,

In God's garden where was no sin.

In God's garden where all was fair.

...

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In the distance

the green tops to the chalkwhite cliffs

slope down to the sea

behind countless breakwaters

wading out through low waves

their wooden posts testament

to the shifting stones of time

Below the grey sky

the bluegrey water rattles the beaches

sloping down to the sea

between stark black breakwaters

mute guardians of the coast

each wooden barrier m...

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Were you not my watch tower, erect above the chalky cliff

Stone guardian against all, high over the rough tides of my youth?

Was yours not the bastion, planted secure on the high turf:

Whose high walls embraced us and protected?

But that was then, now I am the ascended man -

Now I do not see your turrets from my farther shore

Black waves broke on your defences, your mortar crumbl...

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The final passage of man’s impact

Stones won and worked from a gritty rock face

Once made a shelter, a base, a home

Long abandoned and without form

A vegetated hump on the moor edge reveals

Tilted on its clean worked facet

A stone sink in ashlar remains whole

Testimony to lore

Cleanliness’ was next to godliness

In the high lonely Pennines

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Beck Stone

Rounded lump of grey gritstone now balanced in the beck

Divides rushing stream linking high heather moor to distant sea

 A shining silver thread through dale and wold to wide Humber

This same stone, surface scrubbed smooth by falling water

Now releases a stanza carved by a craftswoman from a script written by a poet

Ink to paper

Hammer to chisel

Rock to eye

Wo...

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`

If sticks and stones can break bones
and bombs and guns can kill
then a poet's pen and words can likewise murder
but heals wounds in its sublime expression;
Our differences fade with each line of verse.

 Hence,

Being read, and quoted, and handed out!
That is the poet's true reward.
On shall poetry live, and within its soul
the poet in whose...

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