Sunday Dinner At New Nan’s Farm I hunker down on the wobbly chair, away from flak and chatabout manure. I’m worrying over Sis manoeuvring sprouts around a plate that smells… like those daffodils, the ones wiltingin New Nan’s vase. Green … Continue reading
Rhapsody in Blue She woke for dusting stuff,ducks and owls and robins,a joy of bric-a-brac.And later some chit-chat,pegging the washing linewith sensible semaphore. Once bravado flourisheda bucket list of gliders,balloons, parachute jumps,any harum-scarum thrills.The ornamental throngwas the end of all … Continue reading
Her Tied Hair Has A Loose Strand Vexed, tight-lipped, the lookenough. He grips a fork,there’s work, no time to vent.He wants the jacket off,the dungarees aren’t clean,it ain’t Sunday. His daughter’s reproachto look away. The houseneeds tidying. Her dress,brown as … Continue reading
Non-Verbal She finds her deepest breath.The blur of wings elateswith dragonfly blue,detonates such joy.How can a child decodethese winged clues? My daughterflaps her arms. I translateand learn how arms are wingsto dissipate winter’s hue. Dining At The Screech Owl Inn … Continue reading
After the mistake Lying under the duvetas cosy as a dormouse,toes snug withinthe solitude house. Silence settles slowlyalong the wishing line:forgiveness needs to bekind, is nestled blind. The carpenter and friend The oldish chap naps,a gentle snore, no morethan that; … Continue reading
Piper At The Gates Of Dawn True, back then, he was a foolish fellow– mind lost in mazes, avant garde for fame.The dawn he heard those warblers singing inthe willow wood ended his foppish ways. He let his lyrics amble, … Continue reading
The Machine (after R.S. Thomas) I doubt science fictionhad much of a placeon bookshelves reservedfor the philosophical,the theological, the poetic.Austere works, worksfor the mind and soulto wrestle with, not alwaysin support of each other. And yet you saw it,brutal and … Continue reading
Exuberance What sort of plumage is my exuberant words,words whose foliage no Autumns could scourge,whose leaves still flutter in speech and versewith eloquence? With what sort of rhythm the word bells resonates, a word that chimes with vespers and faith, … Continue reading
‘What is contained in this book is a collection that responded to moments in time, or urges to express desperation, or are a simple observation of sometimes everyday experiences and aspirations that I yearn for. Hopefully they will sometimes gladden … Continue reading
Author’s note: ‘The Last Whistle in the Meadow’ is a richly layered, atmospheric short story that explores memory, isolation, and the ineffable bond between man, land, and beast. Told in a meditative tone with impressionistic detail, the narrative orbits around … Continue reading