above the sleeping cat

the sunflower times the day

leaves are falling

 we might not survive

have you considered that

ergo ego beware

 lumps and bumps

i become the bruises

of my old age

after flowers fall

and the fruit rots all bloody 

then the thorns shine

 summer over

last journey of a leaf

snowing

 blather-eyed the squint

of the going down days

lost in the smarting

 what currency 

of words will feed my belly

as well as my soul 

 herpes

i’ve got a coleslaw on my mouse

just buy bear 

 talons 

this sparrow hawk memory

draws blood 

 big turd

why have i been carrying you

goodbye

 and now see there

wren and the moon at breakfast

now it is gone

 clunk crack

i paid the osteopath

and took my pain home

 on my beach

on your beach

our sea

 silently 

the day after the last day

the wires wait

 and yet even there

valley mountains tell their tale

moss across a wall

days of such late things

secateurs and this half cup

of autumn tears

 just

one more leaf

of autumn

kicking them all

into winter

 fallen pine cones

collecting for the fire

of the wind

 what will it be

i often wonder about

the end of me

 flying a kite

above the city skyline

blue sky thinking

 flaking paint 

on the doors that are shut

on a walking past

 that road that mist

the vanishing point

of it all

 little boys pencils

waiting for the steam trains

all summer long 

 the truth

is not easy to convey

even to yourself 

 all’s not well 

it’s one minute to midnight 

and the wind cries covid 

 autumn 

in dawn’s cold fluted breath

long moist-eyes lament

this fart

reminds me of my father’s 

fart

 the tide

whispers summer

and it’s gone

 autumn  

the cat in the yard

in the sunshine

 studying life

until from that studying

i can learn no more

but i cannot remember

for the memories have died

 snowfall

the slowness of its falling

moves me

 do not look

at the poet’s desk

he is gone 

 striped cat

don’t run away so fast

oh pussy pussy

 nice

nice music puss

puss

 low tide

the day after my birthday 

it was all gone

 not an haiku

and then nature makes a space

wraps that space around you 

and you become that space

 and so this distance

is the closest we will get

to not getting it

 Haydn and I

stroking the cat of morning‘s

overture

 mixing the paints

one longs for a masterpiece 

from the wordsmith 

 the great wave

it never falls upon the day

of much foreboding 

 leaves upon

the damp tip toes of autumn

so colourful 

 little dog 

far away upon the breeze

siesta time

 take up a pen

when you have nothing to say

and find that you have

 running my eyes

over her lonely eyes 

they swallowed me

 same green grass

the black wool and the white wool

spot the difference 

 autumn evening 

in a golden sunset

the porch lamp

 garden party

dancing in their tuxedos 

privet moths 

 grass paths 

soaked in september mists

and insect bites

 hung out to dry

all the tears and laughter 

of childhood

 up the trout stream 

running - the world left behind

taking the bait

 chimney smoke 

in the morning village

sunday is held

 thunder der 

the school children get anxious

a girl cries

 butterfly 

jaunting your way out to sea

i cry

 lost in thought

at the turning of the tide

summer ends

 forever 

over and over

forever

 regrets

blowing like sand 

into the sea

 the old surf lifeguard 

lookout at the paddling pool

of time’s ebb tide

saxophone 

on this summer afternoon 

after sex

 sticks in the corner

my walking days are done

unless maybe 

 all shadows must go

at the end of the day

a sunset clause

 yesterday

double the price of today 

tomorrow priceless

 the seal

looking at the fishermen 

sighs

 nothing pulls so hard

as the nothing space between

then and then

 pen to paper

and then this happens

a dry well

tears were clearly flowing

instead this inky blackness

little spider

in a bowl of cold tears 

we are drowned

 lifting grey

the slow stream bends away

under a heron

 poems

chiselling the tombstone 

of the world

 the empty windows

all are screaming screaming

come black stone home

 crushed acorns

september’s percussions 

dampening

 if not me

who will poke a dead man’s

if

 leave go

let the wind take you

where leaves go

 its not a garden

slowly it outgrows you

this life

 how hot the dawn is

that bends the full-flied rushes

kissing the water

 it’s the drawing in

time when only thoughts roam

time and again

 covid pandemic 

one bubble in a playground

full of tears

 walls

always there are the walls

keep out you  you

 september

the handkerchiefs are ironed

we are ready

 the brark 

of the grandfather clock

at midnight

 shaven head

letting my hair grow back

my father appears 

talking of the ones

poems i cannot fathom

do you understand  

 a man alone

in the thundering surf

knows

 bifurcation

the birds of yesterday’s farm

migrate

 ne’er a thought

dare here transgress

japanese garden