kicking dust

i fully understand rain

how many steps

 tomorrow might not be another day

 so many people

walk the lonely temple

silent snow fall

 snow

on the golden temple

priceless

 that poet

with the bare shoulder

how thin she is 

 dawn’s first light and

all night’s shenanigans

in flagranté 

 a holiday

looking for something

that isn’t here

 yon poet

with the bare shoulder

how thin she is 

 dark whiteout and yet

the weight of each snowflake

is light

 winter courting

a cluttering of crows

in a bare tree

 spring woodpecker 

rattling the castanets

crimson fandango 

 winter courting

a cluttered  pair of crows

in a bare tree

 the last leaf

on a corkscrew hazel

is called a wren

 you would think so wouldn’t you

 during the hail

the sky a funny colour

then it rained

 winter hedge

watching my neighbour’s tv

another repeat

 how sad

the lanterns have gone out

ships in the bay

 a boat

divested of its rope

floats away

 perhaps yes

perhaps no

oh i don’t know

 moving the mountain moves

 a welsh shawl

around a sequinned dress

the baby wriggling

 sometimes 

something

just breaks you heart

 down childhood’s lane

pals passing the time of day

running with the hare

dawn’s first light 

night’s lanterns are going out

the birds are leaving

 ginger hair

billowing in the solar wind

from a sun spot

waiting for the engineer 

twelve steps across our lounge

thirteen back

 dressage practice

stop crying and trot on

says older sister

 will it snow

probably not

he replied

 somewhere deep

in clover’s sweet pink suns

a winter is born

 that squirrel

frozen like a rock

is a rock

 cold cell

the monk has a warm room

inside his head

 dancing butterflies

they seem so pleased to see me

i bow to them all

 adopting a pose

the young are not thinking

of their obituaries 

 whether forecast

it might snow

or it might not

 in a pink dawn

as snowflakes start to fall

soft music

a snowflake

visited the great pagoda 

then it melted 

 tea time

in the bottom of the mug

my father’s wry smile

 using colour 

painting the trees into life

she opened my eyes

 in the spring

we collected tadpoles 

for they were us

 some days

the routine of an old cat

and me

 this tree

is growing here

not over there

 rabbits in the lamplight do not see the hunters pot

 there are no handrails on the glaciers 

 twelfth night 

the ferris wheel in pieces

happy new year 

 it is a long night

for those of us awake

but not you sleepers

two poets eavesdropping on two poems talking   

 It is by going through the cold that we get the warmth 

 blinded by angst 

in a leap without faith

teenagers 

two lanterns 

a cat is contemplating 

investigating

 

 doctors surgery

a flashing christmas tree

hypertension 

 january two

in a gap in the storm

i take the bins out

 scrolling

i pass an earthquake 

time for coffee

 fireworks

before and after midnight

missing the point

 you told me

all your childhood memories

i told you mine