What binds us,

is not


blood & bone & tears


it’s not, a golden ring

or common history


it isn’t pitter pat

of children’s feet:


what binds us is

stardust lost between


the mystery of sleep

the bright awakening.


A hand upon a cheek


a whispered prayer

your ankle touching me.


It can’t be stored

for future gain


or dusted down

& packed away.


What binds us is this



lost between


the echo of the owl

night rain on shutters


a drowsy glance

your face in sleep:


& lest I settle for another,

a love less deep


what binds us here

as lovers


we cannot grasp

& keep


it is settled in the

chambers of my heart


it beats its own

sweet beat


that Universe







We cannot touch

what we have left behind:


tears and years have fled

in drama. No regrets


‘’No regrets’’


She dips her head &



A lie!


We cannot smell the scent

of yesterday, those summer’s


stretch behind like lace:

a dragonfly, a hummingbird


a beach of coral, so many

’You’’ & ‘’I’’ 


I try to listen to those years

a snatch of song, a young man’s


stride; a key in yielding lock

a whisper in the night.


We cannot see, what’s left behind

a solstice moon, a furtive fox


my dreams, where love comes back

to haunt me.  A photo in a frame,


those struggles to the death have

vanished now in peace.


Here time marks us with its stamp

so dearly won.


I cannot taste you now

a sherbet in the shade


a hint of salt

on waning wave


I cannot reach you now

but with these words







It used to be



a feast of flesh

served upon


a plate of love.


It used to be

sensuality’s serendipity,


nor does my memory

exaggerate the way


I found you beautiful.


That look that lingered

on your face,


the race of heartbeats,

touch of skin on skin


electrified my life

& left my pulses




But now it’s more like

shaking hands:


although, still we slot

cracks & crevices


we forgot, fit cleverly



Yes, now it’s more

what love is not


& where we’ve been,



has left an imprint

we can’t blot, now love


has run,


at last the muse

has left us.

Summer tangle


I tangled with

the long grass


arms cut red:

criss cross


stripes of

holding life.


My garden is

a wild thing


escaping into



of iris, rose  &

lemon tree.


I tangle in

the long grass


like lovers arms

it wrestles


a caress,  &

sunrise leaves


an orange glow.

I move from east


to west,  lavender

raises musky head


reborn in summer’s






You hold me

like a book:


turning pages

searching image


hoping for a glance

I can’t reveal.


The clock ticks on

it’s midnight now


we talk on superhighway

peeling skin for bone,


my pages thin

& fragile


crushed to dust

by other loves.


You’re searching

for a meaning


the hollow of your

heart bleeds desire


& I fly out of print



by the satire

sold as love.


You hold me

like a book


I lean to catalogue

the moment.


Chapter heading

full stop.


End of line

hidden in your



black eyes.

Blood fire

Blood fire

we cannot call it

by another name



deep stab

in the heart of things.


Blossom blazes

for a day

confetti pink.


Blood fire:

here mediocre

stalks the edge


of chaos.


Dictators dirge

& politicians ply



while nations



But you & I




in red fire

unasked for.


Pink moon

Full moon casts

no shadow, pulls


water from our cells

leaving only madness.


No shadow on

a purple lawn


tulips eerie white

in the lamp light


night memory

haunts me.


Room sweats

blossom’s orange bloom


Mediterranean tresses.

Fingers of the East


pull me towards

another dawn


rocked in Earth’s



My muse has fled

she’s flicked her hair


& disappeared.


She’s sick of

faithless lovers


rainy days,

the tick, tock,


of mortality.


My muse has left

she’s whirling with


the kestrel, & I’m

chasing sunbeams


a golden pathway

left by winged feet


wide expanse of

blue blue yonder


where the light


Lemon tree


Lemon blossom sweet

at my window


far from Spanish hills

you bloom


I whisper to you

apologise for the pinch


of English spring:

no coronet of sun


to crown your

pretty head.


Your essence

soothes me.


Citrus scent

with undertone


of musk,

you must


miss your lovers.


Over on my sill

orange stares


at you,

less abandoned


compact & smugly




Who ever

Who, ever thought

we’d live this long


grow grey & jowly

our spirits tired of




‘’Forever’’ was

a misused word


bandied on the stage

of youth.


Here I watch the trees

watch, before & after me.


Those games we played

the songs we chose


to cleave to:


our children grown

from playing at our knees


are strangers now.


We never knew

we’d grow this old


our poets’ hearts

still singing, laughing


at the soft creep

of years.