as eyes seize it
through the trees
i can see the castle walls
winter moon
the spooked cat
running under the wind
scratches to come in
silence
from the kitchen
a click
who done it
following the evidence
back to yourself
low water
the tide line joins the pebbles
to spell dream
snow
the lights of the houses
on the river
third mug of tea
the cat has fallen to sleep
to the soft music
where the trees
had not fallen
they built a bridge
so many trees
have fallen on so many trees
days of the fungi
the students
met the old monk
coming back
going for a walk
to find another haiku
feet eyes brain
some days
the tide is so low
you could walk to the sun
winter morning
the harbour glows with promise
of ships coming in
clouds
left behind at sunset
this sleepy sea
then that dog came back
now was he looking for you
the ghost of a thought
occurred immediately
the mistaking of both
the setting sun
the rising in the mirror
of second thoughts
icecream van
two wafers and
a tuppeny dab
winter wind
the rearrangement
of marram grass
once a year
this very same pool
has frogspawn
it’s so frightening
what caused the holocaust
could reside in me
horsefly
when i kill you
i see my blood
how long for the cherry blossom
blue fingers and toes
morning sunshine
twigs adopt the pose
of a day’s passing
bay of thoughts
sometimes on the highest tide
sometimes the lowest
snowfall
it is not as we thought
it is as it is
just imagine
if you never imagined things
then this is all there is
seething with seeds
the sun in this pomegranate
burns my eyes
low sun
long shadows
tall fun
explaining
that it isn’t a waste of time
is
reading them
all i have is me
write that down
cat mewing
i’m not even sure if
the cat knows why
through my tears
i see your tears
the west wind
changes
everything
slow
ly
a the japanese garden
silence falls
my third mug of tea
dawn seems a little early
robin of the night
i bloody swear it
is to give my mind a rest
from writing poetry
the year of the rabbit
frozen in the headlights
of global warming
laundry room
both of us hanging about
on the airer
reading bikowski
somewhere between schadenfreude
and jealousy
morning’s
musical sunshine
moves me
sunrise
frost on the molehills
mount fuji
ivy berries
the snow birds are shitting
on a blue buddha
old age
the rock stars are dying
my back aches
ten thousand prayers
at every falling snowflake
the black lake blinks
global warming
buying a gas lighter for
the scented candle
sea swim
soon
the the loneliness
of a tapping button
in the launderette
on the boardwalk
peeing into the marsh
water boatmen flee
by taking control you lose control
catching the moment
it is a moment no more
it has escaped
winter sea swimming
putting more layers back on
than you took off
moving
in the moving leaves
hedge sparrow
the visiting cat
comes each day then goes away
food for thought
the start
of the journey
to the end
a stream takes many turns before reaching the sea
close by the bin
petals littering the floor
viburnum fragrans
wait
the master’s raised finger
is your answer
the good old days
so sad in their demise
a panic of hail
wood pigeons
poking through snow sward
curly kale
eternal rest
eating our sandwiches
on someone’s tomb
in their opinion
the opium of the masses
has dominion
lisp of a sand tide
upon the morning’s dreaming
of a warm drink
hail
the icing on the cake
coffee time
the autumn
bled dry
leaves
street light
half moon
half awake
the night
hauled up at the moon’s
mooring
so far falling red
at the end of the world
that one last leaf
after a rough swim
there is sand in my ears
seaweed somewhere else
many a haiku
is started in india
and finished worldwide
dirty skylight
leaving the winter spider
eating up his days
gentle string music
rising steam
ten thousand miles
the tears of the moonstone
on this freezing night
leaving
a piece of myself
in each offering
this far
and no further
unless
black tree
misty moon
derelict chapel
a nail through my shoe
stigmata of time
the rain
that stopped
hasn’t
in front of the fire
the creaking ironing board
falls fast asleep
morning rubbish cart
flashing in the rain drops
on a black window
silent order
of the temple grounds
warm feeling
the very last verse
of the very last poem
is coming our way
ten thousand thoughts
plinking in the fish pond
shall i venture out
Ghandi clad
Mum said I went out with him
carnival float
the old lady died
buried alone with her gnomes
the dog moved home
yard red rain
above the black trees the sky
is lightening
writing then
if they call it poetry
they are a poet
India Pale Ale
sunset on the upper slopes
of the British Raj
the sea breathes
as far as the eye can see
ice sheets cracking
torrential rain
asking of the darkness
is my cup half full
life talks
in the aches and pains
of old age
the algorithm
of the effort required
to master it all
twitterati dawn
every time i look up
it’s a bit brighter
inflation
the special offers
get smaller
my doctor is dying
now who will cure me
i didn’t ask
the black hens
are laying white eggs
on a sunny day
these little poems
as the highest mountains
or the deepest lake
lanterns
climate hot flushes
the climacteric of all
our earth desires
bees breeze
in bright yellow pantaloons
sunny smiles
all of these poems
venerating the dead
where do they take me
perspectives
the prisoner looks out
the guard looks in
nostalgia
that long slow flat flow
over the weir
shout loud enough
they’ll give you a complaint form
to fill in quietly
even this Monday
although the three kings are gone
east sky lightening
come sit
until the sun has transversed
every recollection
having a pee
with one hand
eating grapes
thin spines
these old chapbooks
smell of fish glue
the sign
to the woodland burials
is rotting away
enraptured
the claws of your poem
has me
nothing matters
there is a hole in the bucket
that’s life
what came first
beauty or its replication
is this a replica
synchronisation
the sea’s moods are changing
to my mind
dawn
the blood pearl drips
your food for thought
a feast in seasonal looking
across the fields
high wind
the sand is piling high
on the footpath
a footballer and
a pope laying in state
good lord what a state
pinching
the bridge of my nose
at cross-purposes
the english cities
have filled the welsh valleys
with tears
landscape
it’s nothing you said
my stare
gorse
buttering the slopes
waiting for the sun
point
and the cat will come
patience patience
at the window
an airier full of clothes
on a wet day
long-tailed tits
flock the hazel tree again
rain drops drip
time
has eaten
the fallen tree
cormorants
hanging the rocks to the sky
black sea
gulls
thrown upon the morning’s
feeding
the name
you give to a place
is empty
you need to live in it
it needs to live in you
2023 in the UK "people are advised not to"
the leaves have flown
the blackbirds are fighting
spring in winter
pipe dreams
washed of thoughts
drink deep
of endless possibilities
two twigs in a pot
pigeon dawn
the ivy is turning red
on the bare tree
the long haired cat
is wearing the wind’s distain
dragging a twigged tail
sunrise on
the y axis of the
x axis of night
secondhand book
there inside of page five
a pressed flea