Trace fossils carried with us Marks of those we loved, and those we did not ever know; Faded handwriting on an envelope A string of pearls broken though Worn crests on silver cutlery Names and places Census returns Trace is what we carry- what we yearn Like the map on our skin Filling the void left behind .
Red Sky in Morning
The blush pink sky twists the forecast
Wrapping the clouds in ominous hue
There’s clarity in warning
The air is still
Birdsong is active
Shrill cries of the blackbird cut through
Too sharp are the angulations of the fields
Carving lines of clipped brown hedges with shards of gold
Acid green are the fields
Under the low winter sun
Transient patterns
About to change to
A wall of grey.
Happy New Year
Well another year of highs and lows.
The Highs : publishing my book of poetry -, the arrival of whippet puppy Pepper , our daughter’s graduation which had been postponed for a year, the new greenhouse for the garden.
The lows 12 months ago today we said a final goodbye to Dad at a covid restricted funeral. I have taught through two lockdowns this year facing weeks of online lessons and endless recording . 12 months on and we still face restrictions and uncertainty.
We pray for a better 2022 and thank all of you for your tremendous support of my poetry. I have loved being part of this very special community.
Man and Nature

Whilst spume filled waves pound the harbour wall
Grey seals languish in the swirling grey
Fluid their bodies move in time to the surge of the sea in effortless syncopation
A dive beneath the huge waves
Refutes the dangers
so close to rocks
Rising with silver fish aloft
Rolling over and over in play
A tide waits for no man
Relentless it rolls
Thrusting it’s energy
To weakened defence
One is at odds; the other in union.
Through Darkened Days
Old trappings blow through the fingers of the wind
Memories cling to bare branches
As the ivy curls braids
And ties bows.
Winter sharpens the breath of time
And the cold cuts steal
Geese shout songs on the wing.
Through darkened days
Foxed and etched
Light is a silvered mirror-
A reflection of who we are
And who we are to be.
The focus shifts
To stir the soul.

Calligraphies
calligraphies
lines traced in swirls of black ink
messengers of love

Loved present wrapping this year in a more sustainable way.
Rain
it peppers the sky
hammering against the glass
a gaoler of light
En Mass

they flewinto the sunsetshepherding light
En Mass
There is Music
Poised and waiting the walls creak
Squeezed by the cold
The silence thickens
With anticipation.
Cutting the void
Pierces a hollow faltering sound,
A fragile line
Which grows like a flame,
Wicking its way to the barrelled heights,
Filling the space
Harmonic and melodious.
Where once there were many
Just two fill the quire.
Something stirs.
Are the walls awakened once again?
Where are the ghosts?
There is no where to hide.
There is music once more.
Through her Eyes
Pepper’s first run off the lead on Dartmoor.

Fresh footed
Over grassy mounds
She steps lightly
Discovering the new;
Through her eyes
All is new,
The grass greener
The wide sky
The sharpness of the rock
Deep pools of water
Blackened by peat;
Energy bursts
Freedom is found
Return on the whistle
Side by side.