No one can repeat the exactness of your trail,
a transit in time describing
a pattern unique -
a story -
a thread -
told by you
in each breath.

With apologies to Basho

A tranquil pool with perfect reflections.

A splash as a frog jumps in.

The ripples die away.

The pool is once more tranquil.

Which is real?

The tranquillity?

or the ripples?

Valentine '18

I hope you don't mind if I don't buy you red roses,

or a pink balloon with “I love you” in gold letters,

or take you to an expensive restaurant,

or make some other gesture dictated by fashion,

to mark this day as the one when I remember

that I love you

and remember

to say

I LOVE YOU

in big letters

written in the sky -

a special offer from Amazon

to be delivered on time -

but instead I shall be there

for every part of all the other days,

and not just this one

so commanded by convention

and packaged for profit.

Looking into the mist

You look into the mist and see God.
I look into the mist and see mist.
Neither of us is wrong in what we see,
nor is our seeing the complete story
of what there is to be seen.

You came to my bed

You came to my bed
when I summoned you,
across desserts,
across mountains,
across plains,
across oceans,
you came -
obedient to my call
of your own free will.

Of your own free will
you reluctantly left -
without saying goodbye -
saying -
Just until,
Just until.

Until the sunsets touch the sea.
Until the winds blow.
Until the dew is on the grass
and the leaves turn green.

Until the last day
beyond the end of time

Valentine valediction

What to wake you with?
The breaking of waves?
The cronk of a raven?
A vixon screaming
for her mate?
A cow beasting
in a field nearby?

These are the jewels of your ears.

What to bedeck you with?
The sun sparking off breakers?
The bracken waving in the wind?
The sands shifting patterns?
Or a sky that reaches to the edge of time?

These are your raiment of the days.

And then to wrap you in a sunset
before holding you in my arms.

You showed me

You showed me the dark sides of my marriage.
I, being mind-blind, stumbled in shock,
Repelled by what I saw,
Discovering voids where so much should have been.

Realising that I have been afraid to live,
I now mourn for what I never had.

Autumn park

Autumn park;

my eyes carried down an artist's palate

Of leaves and off to a distant view

Of Alps, snow covered and promising 

Cold and frost.

Geneva's fountain playing high

Above any roofs, it's curving plume

A silver ark:

An ark in time,

As evening draws in.

But time will not arc back.

The sadness of autumn leaves

The sadness of autumn leaves:

their rich colours,

and gentle falling,

a promise of winter -

a warning of frost.

Their slow decay,

food for the morrow

and for thought.

I stand by the sea again

I stand by the sea again

where there is no you or I,

nor them or us,

just the slow ebb and flow

that baptises.