Old year



The old year gasps its last

hovers on the edge of oblivion

we clamour in the dark

shadow sun’s pale rays

living the morning

hoping for the day

to linger.


Like the white rabbit

I’m chasing light

storm pounds the roof

thought flickers body lingers

too long on the edge of sleep

breathing in

breathing out.


From window

chimneypot, rooftop

a shiver of blue sky

tree bare grasping high

green buds promise

an end to this

ache of cold dark day


as New Year beckons

with invisible finger.

White rose

White rose grows

on winter branch

this Christmas day

you sent to me


all the way

from nowhere.


You always placed

one on my tray

a breakfast treat

& I can say


you were the first,

maybe the last:

my grandpa sent

to save me.


Sea shells whorls

essential oil

the garden glistens

all thoughts of winter gone:


a white rose grows

from far beyond

your love meant

to grace me.

Return of Ronin

Pretty day:

bird song rose sky

many I have loved

far away:


you came to call

after all this time

a strange small man

who crossed a line


& once had tried to own me.


Pretty day

fox in the hedge

another year another tale

right on the edge of telling


I started tall

have grown so stiff

full throttle living

of all of this.


Pretty day

you came to call

those kohl rimmed eyes

& rainbow tears


but it’s true that  I felt



Street corner




Crossing from Battersea

brown bottled river;

you going North, me trudging South

our fingers stretched to elastic

our footsteps sticky as we pull apart.


Your kisses always taste

like sunshine, light a fire

to steam London drizzle

into Rome twilights.


Our words paint pictures

in the air, I see you watch

my lips move:

imagining the taste of the sentences

swallowing my song.


You’ve watched me slide

through another’s fingers

noted the curves I’ve inspired,

only another pair of brown

anonymous eyes.


Light grows a minute a day

this time of year

and our kisses on street corners

grow pink blossom in January,

while sun meanders scantily.


We remember no huge


yet forever is where,

we always reside.




One lone rose

at the turning of the year


one lone rose

red for the love we bore.


One lone rose

my garden grows for us


hid in piles of rotting leaves

tree black fingers point


at perpetual grey.


I dream more of sleep

than love these days.


One red rose this day

bleeds its life for you, for me.


Snow blew in over sea

wind straight from Siberia

snuffed the sounds of night;

fox bark, owl hoot, bat flight.


Dawn was kind this time

myriad sparkle coloured snow

white blossom cascading from

my tree.


A perfect dusting of sky ice

lingered on the virgin snow,

wires hung heavy insulated

out of sight & the rooftops


lost their dowdy light

morphing to white dove feathers

leaving me, wide awake, see through

snapping at the brink of the year.


Determined this time to settle in,

bunk down, search for light

determined this year to hold my nerve

& hang on tight.