When dusk creeps, sudden,
The guards change places
Over the hill. The trees awake and sigh.

What do these woods mutter under a slow breath of breeze
Of rot and rain, of dawn and dusk
Of time devoid of numbers

Get out – they say.
Not yours by night,
By day, you stay.

Uninvited, to take the best
and worst among us.
Now you must go.

How shy they live among themselves
Theirs is the slow power of nameless darkest green


How a child grows

A child grows in stealth, as a costly blessing.
It eats you hollow, draws your juices by the claims of time.
Years pass innocuously as a day much looked forward to
And creeps into the future.

Have I loved you well enough? I wonder.
As you lift your face towards the years I might not see.
The ties that bound us fray. Where I loosened, I reel them now.
But your younger self dissolves silently
As you stand gloating over the child that is lost.

It is only natural, I suppose.
As if cruel nature would soften the stinging of words unsaid
And hair not stroked, regret rests me.
The only glory we know lies in your smile
And a kind word you speak to strangers.


flowerTo bask among your rays, lethal but diluted
Until my bones are baked and skin is scorched
Is to fall fully into temporary grace.

At times you are distant, I am beyond your reach
A fallow field is my heart and my garden
And it is a winter’s longing you teach.

How I love your gentle touch. Your kiss stirs us,
The woods hum with longing for themselves
You are the man of many lovers

One of many mistresses I am, unfolded
In a string of billions of years, I wither
In a blink of your own demise.

After you burn up and fade
Light the universe with a pale candle
To rest the soul of earth in a frosty memory.

For whatever lives forever.

The wrath of trees


Passing through the woods on an overcast day
No glaring rays outshone the glorious greens
Deeper into the green I treaded outside the hum
Of people that are doing their job.

I had presumed to own the woods today.
Yet old wounds upon the barks made them see
In beady suspicion, I stood spellbound
Under the wrath of a hundred hissing trees.

What is your business, they hollered as one
I am the vampire that comes to draw your blood
In exile I linger and now I am here
In the copse the council forgot.

Do not ask what we can do for you
We have done quite enough already.

A memory of summer

Life was simple,
Plants just grew
I may eat the redcurrant
I must not touch the yew.

There are ants in the sand by the shed
Working so hard, soon they’ll be dead
At night there are cats and a hedgehog comes by
I sit on the swing and I think I can fly

Days lasted endless, summer was a year
Now, closing my eyes, the world is spinning
Ever faster, around the sun she goes.

My hands look worn, there are lines in my face
I long for marigolds.
Their scent is a hinge
In time, to slow down the pace,
of life.

In earth as is heaven

Coffee and dusty shavings raise me beyond the tides
Across dune and bridge, south by south west, I soar
Boats pass listless, I turn my back to sea
Lonely spires scattered in an empty, tidy land
Barren and naked for winter, I blow into the streets

No grave there is to find you, no silent column speaks,
Death lies distilled among the putrid slumber 0f the trees.
The coffee takes me further, the house is near.
Only the hinges squeak that you have left.
The cross you denied, hovers still above the door.

I linger in the coffee, a caged bird wails, while
The needles tick in desperation, to occupy her hands
And mind, how long before she succeeds to tread
Safely into the unknown, and leave me this shell
Of dear and useless rubble, the guise of memory

The garden I dig for small mercies. Is there a way
Through creamy mud to grab you, have you stored
A fraction of a presence, a master key, in silt
Truth screams, from the creases in my eyelids
Closed, you were there, it was real, you were home