Blowing all over the exposed garden
On Christmas Day
Before yielding to the gusts 
The leaves blow words
Over the frozen ground
Buried in the spotlight,

Pushing our lifetimes
In front of our faces
Tearing us away from our presents 
Like coins in sunken vases
A miracle into a wonderful life
A family drama into a celebration.

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I fear not Death.
I see the mists of the dead, not.
I see nothing.
I fear not nothing.
I hear them call.
They are whispering my name
They whisper ‘Come’.
Lord, why do I now fear?
Lord, what is wrong?
Only the dead know.
The answers await me there.
Only I am too scared to understand
Only I am too scared to discover
For I am just a man. 

 

(This was wrote when I was actually 17 a ...

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In an eccentric town, Jasper believed he could behead people with flying plates. One day, he threw a plate at Gertrude, but it missed, leaving her unharmed. The town found his attempts amusing and gathered to watch. Although he never succeeded, Jasper's peculiar hobby brought laughter and unity to the town, turning it into a unique community. In the end, it was not the beheading that mattered, but...

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Mourning the passing of life slowly each day, I move nearer towards death each day like cracked glass which grows larger each day, ticking in silent echoes haunted by an ever-haunted spectre and stone-written realities.

Reflecting on my mortality every Saturday, I drink wine from two glasses like a persistent inquiry and read Paul Celan as Death draws us nearer in a binding brightness trusting ...

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The older I get, the more I ponder what lies next beyond the enigma of demise. Could it be a rebirth dangling like a mantra, a garment woven from yesterday’s dream threads? Could this shell be like a butterfly, a transitory attire, destined to shed when we finally stretch back our shoulders?

Moments assemble around my awareness like mourners paying their respects, each bearing witness to life's...

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The process of developing ‘Changing Carriages at Birmingham New Street’, my final poetry book proved a tricky process in contrast to all the poetry books I wrote where sometimes I would write poems about places I barely knew, or in some cases didn’t know atall.

In this case, the next poem I am sharing from the book, I had been to twice but the first involved sitting down in an airport very bore...

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The latest piece on my substack account is a second piece from my new10th and final full-length poetry book ‘Changing Carriages at Birmingham New Street’.

As discussed before, Changing Carriages at Birmingham New Street’ was began in 2017 during the creation of my third book “The Birth of Autumn” which then took a life on its own afterwards.

The story itself talks through a series of memorie...

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Changing carriages at Birmingham New Street unless plans change over the next few months will be my final full-length book of poetry which will be out over autumn or winter 2023.

Began in 2017 during the creation of my third book “The Birth of Autumn” which then life on its own afterwards, its contents will tell you the story through a series of memories told by an unnamed narrator of firstly o...

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"They laid tracks for a ghost train," said the engineer. "But who's going to ride it? Ghosts don't buy tickets!"

The rest of the crew laughed, but that night, the train arrived. The ghosts got on, and the engineer was forced to work overtime.

"I thought you said they don't buy tickets!" he grumbled.

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Snow in Spring

The buds on trees, once ready to bloom,
Are now weighed down in icy despair.
Deserted nests, birds are silenced in doom
Awaiting the spring sun's fair share.

Snow in Spring is a paradox of sorts,
A clash of seasons to nature's surprise.
leaving the path frozen the news reports
As winter's remnants refuse to demise.

The chill in the air, a bitter reminder,
That even i...

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Leaving you behind
your words fall between the lines
distant memories.

*

The past is a dream
rolling backwards before then
pushing us forward. 

*

Dreams of the past flow,
Backward rolling streams of thought,
Driving us ahead.

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Faded migration 
The deserted church is closed
Disappeared slowly

*

Made up friendships
faded now, their story told
leaving your childhood

*

The passing of time 
the world moves on every day
losing memories

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(I)

Found in my drawer
A reminder of lost love,
Worn and full of holes.

(II)

Forgotten and worn,
A sock without its pair mourns,
Like love that is gone.

(III)

Drawer now empty 
that once held both of our socks,
Now holds only dust.

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The end of Winter's grasp now fades away,
As Spring awakens with its vibrant bloom,
The earth renews blowing softly across the bay
dispelling the coldness in the winter's gloom,

the Spring carries secrets of life renewed,
a promise of the growth that's to come,
the hazy sunrise, dancing on the leaves like dew
in a symphony silencing the hum.

My emotions swell with gratitude and cheer
...

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(III)

 

From a nearby field.

A stranger waves at you both

welcoming the spring.

*

(IV)

 

Tracing your footpaths

you walk on the riverbank

bathing in the sun. 

*

(V)

Mist at edge of woods;

horses running in the fields

embracing the spring.

*

(VI)

Below the footpath
sunrise starts winking at you
yes, winter has gone.

*

(VII)

Retur...

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(I)

Spaced in the silence
birds land on top of the trees
welcoming spring back

(II)

Opening the gate; 
The grass is already moist.
Spring is here early.

 

*

(For #NaPoWriMo - National Poetry Writing Month 2023 - I am writing at least a haiku day set in Nature as many as I can in Shepley Woods near where we live with photographs to go alongside them.

The complete archive ...

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For the first few days
after they let me out
it was backwards 
and forwards
in-between the hospital and home,

then expanding to include 
the doctors at my local practice 
then back to the hospital
and the doctors 
the day after that

saying the same thing
to me over and over 
without even looking
at their computer screens
‘It’s still too high
we want you to introduce
the strengt...

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The 10-year-old version of me would have found it confusing and constantly would have asked over and over to the Doctor what most of their big words meant? The 17-year-old me would  have spat on the floor in disgust  and argued with them over everything they said when they told me I was Diabetic.  The 30-year-old version of me in-between constant bursts of depression and anxiety ...

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In the city's crowded streets,
The rhythm of life never sleeps,
A symphony of sound and light,
That fills the city day and night.

In alleys dim and alleys bright,
A thousand tales take flight,
Of love, of loss, of hope, of fear,
Of dreams that never disappear.

The city is a labyrinthine maze,
A puzzle that we cannot quite erase,
And yet we navigate its winding ways,
Hoping to find a...

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Walking past you

he looks at you like a stranger.

Friendship dissolved.

 

*

Changing accents

you can see she is unimpressed

no matter how he speaks.

 

(Two examples of two pieces that came close but refused to be haikus. Neither are true stories) 

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re-reading a book

for a Podcast later on.

making lots of notes.

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smiling through the smoke

Those last moments descended

On our window pane.

 

*

 

Falling through the night

your teardrops fall through the sky

watching the moonlight.

 

*

 

Voicing truths inside

the world's coffin gets tighter

closer to the end.

 

 

(Noel Scott Engel (January 9, 1943 – March 22, 2019) better known by his stage name Scott ...

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new year illnesses;
coughing into the darkness
hope it passes soon.

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old piano keys;
crumbling in our fingers. 
coastline vanishes.

 

(From a currently untitled forthcoming book which may also have a cowriter too)

 

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