woodpecker 

above the cemetery 

waking the dead

 laid to rest

in the ancient cemetery 

old tombstones 

 climate change

the old aphorisms 

are useless now

 winter storm

the missing tiles know

where they are 

what it was like 

in the looking

 pussy cat

you are round the bend

right round

 satellite IT

your back yard

is my back yard

 winter

the cat spins on a sixpence

the door closes

 outside toilet

the seat is as cold as

an expletive

 wanted

a rocking horse

too late

 in suburbia 

a small shrine

sells peace

 no wind

frozen greenhouse

new moon tree

 well

now you have it

not

is not having it

now and zen

 swimming

when the sun lights spindrift

i am just there

 her last breath taken

at half past ten we waited

our time went on

 slowly 

she is dying

                      

                      slowly

 after

coffee and chocolate 

i wrote this

 at the book stall

we all know that man browsing

all alone

 hermitigation

who turned my vest inside out

emptiness asks

 snow field

the following footprints

are mine

 a frosty morning

clouds arriving from the west

everything melting

 snowflakes

falling through

my open hands

 ‪your empty heart ‬

‪fill it with the ocean’s sea‬

‪wave after wave‬

 that’s where it was 

haunting today’s walk

it was just there

 blowing a grass note

the cut memory’s knife

in a field of clover

 a punk on the bus

chatting gently to a nun

is a child again

 a thousand sunsets

back to the time of acorns 

in past dawns

 silent evening

my cat is sitting me

alongside our thoughts

winter

the sea swimmer

turns red 

 matinee 

the midnight barking dog

critic’s preview

 in every beach pool

all our foundling childhoods

waving anemones

falling

at sunset

i awake 

 in the barn

we found her body

no naked flames

 to risk the kiss

and a bloody nose

gorse flowers

 estuarine 

a blizzard of geese

at dawn

 floating

in the sky

a ship

 frost

on a station platform

tomorrow is late

such a roar

the sea has torn me

i am broken

 they are dead

even after those photos

they are dead

 in the dark ward

a blind man’s harmonica 

amazing grace

 singularity 

the birth of the universe

a haiku 

the boundary condition

of an infinite mind

 one tit

in the corkscrew hazel

one dawn

 dawn

a fox is calling

backwards 

 oh to be a moon

around a distant planet

is still if only

 the blindness of (I) in a poem

 the bleak advance 

trees that are going nowhere

with me

 silent voices

screaming silently

listen

 every statistic

shouts out of the pandemic 

what a sad poem

 wandering poet 

in the catacombs of mind 

a thousand coffins

 mmmmm

after my winter sea swim

the sun is so warm

 let’s say summer

between sun and shadows

the city all smiles

 sharp wind

tears in my eyes

flicking candle

into a north wind

a skein of geese far gone

white grass waving

 a fox walks across

followed later by a cat

my lonely window

 the morning enters

as my eyes venture forth

which way now