found in the

wanderlust of buttercups

all our tomorrows

 thriving 

in the orchard

nettles

 having written it

i called it a poem

i am a poet

 temple cat

lost in the alms of Buddha 

as time rolls by

 a red towel

is drying on the line

at sunset

 calm lake

holding a stone

forever

 a moth

is flying around the moon

momentarily 

 a poet

is posting a letter

to himself

 a leaf

meeting its shadow

flies away

 frog spawn

springtime explorations

boys with jam jars

 invisible fly

why so much noise

the door is open

 nanometers

the gametes almost meeting 

eternity 

 one pair of eyes

so many flowers

missing you

 cobweb 

without an anchor

my thoughts

 sunny garden

there is no bad news

is there

 one water

two Buddhas

which path 

 the bishops

are wearing funny clothes 

so we believe

 lake

hold this stone

forever

 silence agrees with me

 so many minds

with just one thought

the sea

what does it think of us

our comings and goings

 after shopping

two for the price of one

the sea’s embrace

 lean on me

i am the stick of our ages

mummy dear

little moth

you slept all day yesterday 

now you are dead 

 here lies his lies he

deigned not to fall upon his sword

just words words words

 sea

we came out different

again

 urban poem

the hand that will reach inside

hesitates

 then i see clouds

burnishing a silver sea

islands of thought

 summer

the failed anagram 

of spring

 pointing at a cloud

when along comes another

hand

 gentle breeze

raining rain from the trees

and thoughts

 so still

the moving sky

is halting 

 tea ceremony

two blackbirds are fighting

a green tree shivers

 summertime 

flowers in the twitter stream

where no birds sing

 when you write haiku

ten thousand rain drops

are filling a lake

 undercoat

drying like a rain sheet’s

overcoat

 too late now but

my father’s malapropisms

are tear ring me up

 closing

with a promise

daisies

 second cup of tea

the cat and Joseph Haydn

sharing the moment

 light years away

the beauty of the universe 

as wide as my eyes

 spider a fly

just buzzed in

then went out

 it is

it’s a lyre bird

trust me

 i asked the master

why did i not write those lines

he said you just did

 our photograph 

smiling at the future

hoping for a sign

i am talking

to the rain on the roof

it is so sad  

 spindle

the spider of a new year

spins his story

 soft sands

between my toes

time oozes

 open window

by the way the flies go out 

the flies come in

 annoying fly

in this big big room

why my tea cup

 the riddle is

a squiggle’s ability 

to make a memory

 constitution hill

i was once the great supremo 

the old man says i 

rode it up on a monocycle

i am a now geriatric 

 under a dark sky

the clouds lifted my mood 

rain is so sweet

 so melancholy

the loneliness of stations

on the crossing

 building a shrine

dedicated to nothing

but no worries

 constitution hill

i was the great supremo 

the old man recalls

 climate bombs

the oil lamps are burning

in the last temple

 five flies

on a green garden fence

on a summer’s day

 she said ~ dogs do bark

 on the beach

a lorry was sent along

for the dead seal 

 the frog waits

along comes basho

splash

basho has fallen in!

basho has fallen in!

 oh you sad soul

seeking the definitive

poem is just a word

 ad hominus 

a charlatan government 

in debit 

 garden centre

heavy rain on the roof

so nice inside

then i read the name tag

a plant called incongruity

 unbeliever 

constructing a shrine 

and why not

 oestrogen testosterone 

screaming at the seaside

jump jump

 sticklebacks 

in a jar with a string handle

and a net

 froggy my friend

are we happy or sad

shall i start

 storm in a tea cup

on the municipal pond

a child’s boat flounders

 plaster drying

imagination’s coastline

constantly changing

 one hundred black bags

mum’s lifetime of hoarding

going to the tip

 the sea in

ten thousand vignettes 

still no closer

 day moon

even in the brightest life

night comes

 i saw things

things that i could not name

so I named them 

  renga for ian’s stroll

on holiday 

off his stroll went

he just followed

gulls

along the line of my stroll

new horizons 

sailing boat

unzipping the horizon

of a new world

all these cars

how out of place they seem

at the seaside

 plum tree

the laughter of rain drops

falling on me

 look at the children

throwing stones into the sea

why did i do it 

 green rain

all the morning poems

building a springboard

 the tree

that blew down

kept on growing 

 the poet wrote

i have lost my voice

he hadn’t 

 how does the path

know the way to the pond

i’ll take a look

 that one meadow

where to dream is to die for

is just over there

 a long journey 

taking me to everywhere

except home

 sunday commute

counting the railway sleepers

with a hangover

 between here

and the mist

a boat

 washing my feet

my shadow startled me

i am getting old

 an important job 

watering the hanging baskets

across the city

 spring rain

so much sweeter

every year

 catching one

the butterfly hunter

looks for another

~

budha 

when a butterfly alights

looks at it 

 the poet

as a heron waiting 

for gotcha 

 seaside

exchanging something

for something

 adieu adieu

when the tears have dried

rime remains

 walking to the sea 

waiting upon my return

the lanterns of hope

 how can eating grass

on the wild and lonely isles

make a horse

 time and again in

the rain showers of my mind

it seemed to be

 say that again

i went for a swim to cure my cold

but i lost my voice

 that tree

growing in the ruins

who planted it

 coracles

the miracles 

of the salmon run

 dejected

they have gone and left me

with this poem

 fish bone thought

that one is not immortal 

after all that

 the exuberance 

of a garlic walk

after rain

 kneeling

in a garden of peace

say thank you

 may

the wisteria thickens

summer did it

 the sea

sometimes it is choppy 

sometimes calm

 it’s time 

all aboard the dandelion 

release the spring