New Years Eve

At night I stood in the winter chill in the moonshadow stark and deep,

And looked at the village soft and warm safely and soundly asleep,

The last year has ended its pleasure and pride and gone is the glory and pain,

And the wind that chills my heart and my soul has settled its ice on my brain.

For I wonder what will the new-year bring as we stride through it...

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Resolution

Aware as I am that the swallows have gone,

Something of winter had burdened the sky,

A thorn apple grows in the closed wasted land,

But unlike the swallows it’s fruitless to fly.

This realisation is gentle and kind,

Like the comfort of clothing full fitted and worn,

Like the sweetness of wine that’s full bodied and ripe,

Like the scent of a hay barn wit...

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DONKEYS

The genie is still in his bottle,

The dragon is still in his lair,

The kraken is still safely sleeping,

The basilisk shading his stare.

The New Year is here for the taking,

But who will be holding the power,

Will the statesmen be sharing their secrets?

Will the government rent by the hour.

Of course this New-Year will be different,

The tales tha...

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Bordering On The Ridiculous.

We’re leading up to Christmas,

The season of goodwill,

The bombings and the shootings,

There’s someone there to kill.

The global situation,

The terror is the street.

And half a million refugees,

Are voting with their feet.

You can’t equate our village life,

With Syria or worse,

Our lives must seem like heaven,

And thei...

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A Song For Autumn.

There’s a wildness abounding in Autumn,

Not found in the burgeoning spring,

The colours are richer and rounded,

The wind has a new song to sing.

It’s as though life was seeking redemption,

For the pleasures enjoyed in the past,

Coming home from the longest of journeys,

To some rest and contentment at last.

I suppose life’s reflected by s...

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Wheels

I’m going to write a psycho-list,

A peloton that’s better missed

Those Lycra clad with ugly shapes

Untrained unwanted jackanapes.

At two abreast and six ranks deep,

It’s up the hills they weave and creep.

They think they are the public good,

But only serve to boil the blood.

Of course they have a right to be,

But so again has little me.

They p...

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