the inkwell of obituaries never runs dry

 unhinged

hammer anvil and stapes

evolution ossified

when the oil of words

is written not heard   

 a beach

without a dog

is just a beach

haiku

too little

of a good thing 

 priests and their ilk

they are dressed in gravitas

so do we believe

 global heating

raising the heatwave thresholds

home goals

 motorway 

leading to delays

a fatal crash

 drinking sake 

we are laughing and crying

over a renga

 summer the sky

as high as two buzzards

and a crow

      there you are then

he gave me some poems

           and i said

 well there you are then

      are you a poet

 at last

i have arrived

at the beginning 

 it starts

one thing after another

the end

 faintly far

alone in the cemetery

a woodpecker

 long sky

crow crow

operating theatre 

on closing i remember

steak for lunch 

 pale chair

in the arms of dawn

flowers wait

 cherry blossom 

ringing in silence

held breath

 the floor has rushed to catch a petal

 three butterflies

dancing in the castle’s

tapestry 

 the mist

it is a fine gift

i think

 a shower

rushing to stop

is starting

 how still they lie

all these washed up logs

sundialing

 spring sunshine

defenestrating a fly 

tea time

 this moon

long ago it was their moon

i think

 worm moon

willing to be there

falling asleep

 worm moon

in an easterly wind

budding

 the cat is sleeping

where the cat was sleeping

the cat is sleeping

 the kitten

yeah what ever

the child

 last red leaf

on the christmas poinsettia 

easter eggs

 of all the many

who have watched this dawn unfold 

now it is our turn

 springtime 

painting the fence

again

 two halves

of two shadows

one sun

 March 

the cat comes in all warm

good morning 

 good morning 

there is a sunny fly

winter is over

 sand boat

the tide that never reaches

sad boat

 blossoms

me next me next

raised hands

 after a sea swim

the cold insists I sleep

sweet dreams

 in a poem tent

every time i touch the roof

words drip through

 tearing my guts

all the well dressed refugees 

of a soul’s debasement

 wandering

my eye takes in the garden’s

sighs

 baffled

along the long groynes 

the sea’s roar

 two parts sand

one of cement

a finger writes in concrete

time and again it reads

i wos here

 spurned by

the cat’s withering look

i apologise 

 buds

cold enough for snow

undecided

 a corner

of my iPad is forever

the cat’s

 this morning

the sun is early again

fat buds

 evening’s burlap 

in the brush of a docked ship

silence is settling

 melted tar

the sparrows spread eagled

fallen angels 

 every poem

a piece of me 

replaced by two

 sunlit

all the little corners

secrets

 trout stream

fishing for my childhood

time flies

 the frustration of impotence is as loud as its silence