in a pose at repose i propose that i am

 the moon

inside so many poems

ringing bells

 if you live long enough

everyone will think you have a secret

like you once did 

 heavy rain

a fig on the cobblestones 

crying

 footprints 

so it was there

morning dew

 there are two dawns

in a garden with a mirror’s

perspicacity 

 of course i protest

how could i tell my children

that i didn’t cry

 of course it’s of over

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                  why 

did you think it would last forever 

 the goalposts are down

there are daisies on the field

away the lads go

 yesterday’s men always know they were right

 beautiful flowers

survival of the fittest

rose-tinted glasses

 one blossom falls

another bud slowly opens

new acquaintances

  am who i am

because my genes are torn 

torque of the devil

 a cat leaps

a cat sleeps

 a child

digs up the dead frog

to see its bones

 we named all the trees

shared on so many levels

the seasons of life

 some people drink

i write poems

delirium tremens 

 the flame of a new candle starts off small

 armageddon 

what’s the point in poetry 

        why breathe 

for when our prayers have failed

we realise there are no gods

 cloudy morning 

patches of blue sky

that aren’t there

 tortoise-like

i keep my head down

a thick shell

not enticing them out

i decide to stay in mine

 thunderstorm

under the sofa

the cat purrs

 when ivy climbs

the lichen covered tombstones

we get a better view 

 a calming morning

how many an acer leaves

have passed this way

 they tamed the world

but time waited and waited

the ends justified

 the apple blossom 

on the roof of the greenhouse 

is turning brown

 the sea and the sky

gave me two horizons

and a line of clouds

 global warming

put your money into gold

fiscal meltdown

 heritage site

the castle walls have railings

 please mind your head

rain bridge

what does rain feel like

asked the fish 

 already warm

sun on the pagoda 

azaleas

 aye AI

it wrote about love

and we destroyed every word

we loved doing that

 a lock is addicted to the release that is the key

 modern poetry

having asked ‘hi siri take a note’

moves on

 septuagenarian 

the perfection of lament

in a child’s eyes

 it’s raining 

shall i write that book

perhaps tomorrow

 finding no answers

i stop asking questions

time will tell

 when they call it doom scrolling then we are doomed

 along the sea shore

one has to stop and stare

one has to keep on going

 the last bud fell

before it had opened 

it was over

 twitter nit picking

hands that hold the poem books

just look at their nails

 sunday afternoon 

the green is dripping

camelia flowers

 sunday afternoon 

the foghorn aye the foghorn 

many many tears 

 there is this road

it comes down out of the mist 

to breathe the sea