I've grown weary of being shouted at,

this shed is mine, I know my rights,

I should be free to enter

without sitting tenant fights

discussions or discordant voices.

And yet it's I who apologizes

as I subserviently creep away,

backing out of the door

as though afraid of an affray.

I give in - give up and acquiesce

to this  outraged bully who controls

that ...

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I love to hear her laugh,

belly bubbling

throat clutching

outrageous chuckles.

It starts from deep inside

then fills her eyes

with a merriment that must be shared,

unimpaired

by self imposed restriction

or inhibitions

demanded by our adult role.

We join her in her laughter,

forming a curtain,

her defence against the world. 

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Beneath these mossy skeletal trees

I have a sense of light and shade

soft air and mist

deep bedded moss

crisp leaves in drifts

of sloping banks

fast flowing streams

crystal splashed

pebble dashed

I have a sense

of waiting

of relating

a sense of being

a sense of seei...

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AH!  Corra,

Your approach is fearless,

your dark eyes intense,

all knowing,

you show your confidence,

even arrogance.

Receiving my gift

you bury it

with dexterity,

leaving me perplexed.

Friendship is all I ask,

you look intrested

but complete your task

before coming closer,

asking for more.

What comes next

a peanut? you ask,

you strut towards...

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The narrow street is as it always was,

its uneven pavements cracked and untended

patchy grass bordering its crumbling edges.

Frayed ropes still hang from bowed lamp posts

and tired gardens still hide behind struggling hedges.

Apologetic paths lead to faded front doors

while sightless windows, opaque and unblinking,

blank the flat stares of those walking past. 

Back all...

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I gaze into the pool -

the pool gazes back,

a dark unblinking eye,

surface perfectly flat.

No ripples or reflections,

a natural sump

a bitter cup.

Almost round

with sloping sides

no iris or reeds 

to soften its banks,

no dragonflies

or bathing birds,

just dark, brown black

surface perfectly flat.

Above the pool

mosquitoes dance

a h...

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These fine men

are British through and through,

they know when to doff their caps

and what is more ------ who to.

They're famous for their quad bikes,

their terriers, nets, and sacks,

with wooden crates both fore and aft

and bait bags on their backs.

As masters of their craft

they'll work both night and day,

enabling the 'Masters'

to indulge in make-believe pl...

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I am a poet,

not the usual kind,

simple perhaps,

folksy, if in truth defined.

My roots are strong

and firmly anchored

in this fertile earth,

I recognize their worth

and I am happy

This life of mine

lived within my bounds

needs no embellishment,

no artificial dressing,

So here I am,

restricted by age,

mobility and terain, 

defiant ...

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Don't hide behind your anger

it's a phase that cannot last,

age will dull your raw emotions

now your youth is in the past.

Facts, replaced by tales of fiction

reveal a sad and damaged soul,

exposing needs and lonely hunger,

ignoring that which makes you whole.

Unbridled rage is an addiction

that controls a troubled mind,

is this the reason for rejection

w...

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Grey dogs panting

straps restraining

freed from their slips.

Brown hair trembling

wild heart racing

a scream on her lips.

Brown hair running

lungs bursting

stretching her length.

Grey dogs coursing

muscles revealing 

their power and strength.

Black night enfolding

grey dogs creeping 

hunter retreating

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I have an overwhelming sense

of something missing,

a sense of loss -

perhaps a memory long gone.

A sense once shared across the generations,

by those that went before -

and - maybe - by those who follow on.

A sense that lets the spoken word fall silent,

while shared thoughts pass

through time and space,

revealing secret leyland traces,

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What is truth?

Does truth change with weighted words

that reinvent themselves to change the basic story?

repeating personal history,

untroubled by reality,

overruling louder voices

when we demand our rightful choices,

leaving us confused,

searching,

researching,

re-researching,

           leaving our questions unanswered.

This is outdated no...

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My boundaries are not defined

by gender,

or by age,

but by hedges,

the perfect definition of edges.

This then is my domain,

my place to write,

a place of personal reflection

and tounge-in-cheek confection.

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We played in the street when we were kids,

gathering around 'our' lampost like it was a totem,

making music with dustbin lids.

Well!

 that was 'til the 'rude-boys' came

in their metal-shod brown boots,

they played a different game

swamping the air with harsh laugter.

And the fighting?

Well!

that came soon after.

We stood back from the ...

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This unassuming flower

punches well above its weight,

it can't be underestimated

the difference it can make.

It boosts our self-opinion 

when we are feeling lost and low,

but when we get above ourselves

it's our comeupance blow.

So here's to our flowers

and the difference that they make,

spreading seeds of inspiration

in the hope they'll germinate.  

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Mosses thrive well on these old stones

obliterating epitaphs

eulogizing these once loved bones,

victims of our inglorious past

their weighted die was early cast,

the price of avarice and empire.

Now there's no one left to pray,

bugles are silent -

Colours rotted away -

all that remains - a broken Cross -

a splintered, irrelevent, token Cross,

forsaken and...

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Flocks of autumn crows

feast on scattered corn

in newly stubbled fields.

Greedily they feed

before the onset

of winter scarcities.

Wise birds these,

resourceful,

successful,

each maintaining its own personal space

aware that together - -  they are safe,

and that sentinels will rise

to ward off dangers from the skies.

Paradoxically we ...

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