The Side Kick

A purring cat

Sat before a raging fire

The smell of cinnamon buns

Outside the snow falls

Rubbing away ice on a window

Looking out into the whiteness

A smile caught

In the reflected dusk

New buds bursting

From green shoots

The blue sky

Flecked with white clouds

Raindrops dripping from trees

The fresh cool air

Mirrors in the pond

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Why Do They Call You Summer?

Why do they call you summer

When your name is April?

Your fragrant scent of early roses

Permeates the room

And sunlight cuts across

The blue Axminster carpet

Bleaching the swirling dust

And warms tables to the touch.

I long for your cool hands

Across my fevered brow

But all you give me

Is clammy, blanketing heat.

I ...

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Cycle Of The Scarecrow

before she came
I stood here
for what seemed like eons
with a blood red sun
setting behind me
my head full
of nothing more
than sawdust
straw and dreams
a hole in my chest
where beetles scuttled
happy come rain or shine
my only fear
that crows might see
through me
be brave and bold
and strut towards me
then peck out
my button eyes

now as the shadows g...

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The Collector (Roget’s Soliloquy)

In my book……..

Words – so simple in their sound

they fall like snowflakes on a lake

and interlock their unique form

until the water gives way to their power,

becoming something bigger,

something cold and hard and beautiful.

Or a flame, just a spark at first

until the kindling catches and the embers

jump from t...

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