Spring Contrasts

Pocketed by the glove of fogThe day slips into a world of whiteWhere even the birdsAre silentAnd remain unseen.There’s a pointedness In the roughened fingers of windThat wrap around the western walls Causing slender branches to danceBeneath the misted pane.The old roof nods to the windPassing throughSlates rattle and timbers shiftRain coursesThe ground,a sodden carpetOfContinue reading “Spring Contrasts”

February Mist

When fog hangs over us , as so often it does on the 300 ft contour , why are we always surprised to find a different day as we drop down into the valley? Entrenched, enshroudedIn mist so thick The sun,obscured devoid of lightDarkened boughs hang lowUnder the rain -filled cloudLanes stain redAs mud leachesAndContinue reading “February Mist”

The Last Breakfast

Breakfast outside RegardlessSummer as taut as An elastic bandFully stretchedEeking outThe last hoursAlready there is change;How we have grown to fear it.The threads ofHalcyon days by sea or river Begin to sever their clarityAs memories mergeAnd leaves fall to the ground;Expectations out-way the reality.There’s a slight chillIn the airA soughing onThe fingers of the windCloudsContinue reading “The Last Breakfast”


Only the bat is nebularTheir streaming shadows play the remaking of a light show; Serotine ,Pippestrelle or HorseshoeForms identified by ear or furPersonified in mystery inSoft bodied perpetual motion With a fleeting glimpseA powdered spectre;Flight At dawn or dusk.Yet through the nightThe shadows play against the glassIn liminal motionRetreating and oscillatingBack and forthA mesmerising displayIfContinue reading “Bats”