a bird lands

as another petal falls

a butterfly flies 

 the past

everything 

it was going to be

 every cat

has a mad half hour

mammy said

 rich chocolate 

my blood sugar recovers

a day of afternoons

 the church is locked

there is no room at the inn

get out go away

 for that one moment

my thought of you returned

to where you left it

 the fly 

that was there is still there

the spider has gone

the spider 

that was there is still there

the fly has gone

 the fly

the spider

a grim reminder

 my tacit tactic is now beliefs and not tactics 

 a blood red petal

pressed between the pages

of the memorial book

 every world

slowly brushing my mind

at the edge of tides

 around

a smidgen of light

midges

 this hush

is tethered to the earth

on a sun thread

 taking my boat out

until my boat comes in

to silence me

 older than me

younger than the rock

this tree

 paracetamol 

the emperor’s new clause 

for effect

building a temple

to the god of maybe

just in case 

 after the rain

in the bamboo breeze

more rain

 a curled up haiku 

on the cushion beside me

the cat is snoozing

 wrinkled old lady

with shorts and a sun tan

swimmer in autumn

 pigeons scat ter

followed by a butterfly

windfalls

 ten thousand suns

have fallen full of summer

autumn smiles

 in the catacombs 

and in the ossuaries

good intentions

 the monsoon arrives

welsh rain keeps a welcome

in the hillsides

 they thought

they had bought

the dictator

 delusion

one day we’ll not be

deluded

 they go

geese over snow

sundown

 royal banquet 

definitely not on the menu

their just deserts

 the locked church gate

is it to keep sinners put

or to keep god in

 genocide confirmed

here are the football results 

killed overnight 

 black dress

she picks at the fluff

that isn’t there

her black dress

he picks at the fluff

that isn’t there

clutching for a straw

that floats just out of reach

the stream quickens 

the epstein files 

they are forever guilty 

with no release 

 heavy rain

perfect sunday afternoon 

for a snooze

 undulating river

the weeds are flowing like

a corrugated boat shed

 welcome back

my home tongue gets

around llych

 torn between

the cat and the mouse 

my ambivalence

 neon and off

without a rain puddle

it’s just tarmac

 under the stones

under the stones

newts

 full moon

without a puddle

it’s just tarmac

 roots

under leaves

tripped up summer

 thunder showers

how the windfalls are shining

enticingly 

 counting the leaves

i lose count of the days

so many tears

candlelight 

midwives counting down 

to the new year 

 pen and blotter

the ink bombs fallout

boring lesson

 thundery showers

making apple crumble

the nights draw in

 lightening !!

it’s OK pussy cat

thunder !!!

it’s OK

there there

 fat wood pigeons

pecking an autumn lawn

thunderheads

a fig 

in a pool

in the yard 

 i wrote a poem

then i read it to my cat

she never woke up

 my wife regularly 

puts her hand into my brain

and rustles my thoughts

 aspidistra

greening an afternoon 

on a wet sunday 

septuagenarian 

life’s cares fall away

nearly there 

 wet night

the apple bowl

full to the brim

aspidistra

greening a dust dark room

on a wet sunday 

 i woke up in a poem

and i cannot get out

because i don’t want to

 an old cat snakes

across the dampening grass

rising wind

 another cold night 

if the clouds did not wander

the moon would stand still

 slowly in the depth

through the wide sliding doors

the garden moves me

 new sparrows proclaim

as the cat chews the dew

summer oversleeps

the butterflies undulate

a magpie disagrees 

           autumn

the sunflower is snapped

     gathering seeds

    childhood’s gate

which way shall we today

     naughtiness asks

 military parade

who can pee the highest

the ironic curtain

 dying

without a god

is so lonely 

soon to be laid out

never to be lied out

 calm lake

the lilly pad a parasol

over the moon

 the road sweeper 

yesterday’s important bits

into the bin of history

 wet fly

the frog eats the stars

lilly pad

the loco

in the museum

moves me 

 prime

the van driver delivers

pop music

 windfalls 

a butterfly’s shadow

on the autumn breeze

 a star twinkles

in the corner of my eye

a memory

 rain spots

on the blank page

now there’s a story