as eyes seize it
here’s a line for you
here’s another line for you
mind how you go now
in the spawning pool
a frog with the biggest smile
head above the crowd
first comes one fish
and then come another fish
so are my thoughts
time and again
my thoughts keeps turning
the waterwheel
buds
on each chimney pot
a crow with a twig
suddenly
we notice
the slow change
upon looking
if this was my last view
would i regret it
procreation
the apogee of one’s time
everything else is recycling
to trespass
is to learn the why
of the fence
sunday morning
bitumen the shed roof
pray no more leaks
starry sky
the smoke from a chimney
on Christmas Eve
all that is time
a particle of light arrives
from the distant past
global heating
the latest stocks and shares
antarctic ice melts
sometimes
the sun shines
right in
shinning
in the rain
pebbles
travelling backwards
lost in my reflection’s
train of thoughts
we are only lost if we believe there is something to be found
green policies
recycling the belief
that we can stop this
the unpopular belief
in overpopulation
all over wales
winter’s tired eyes refreshed
dew on daffodils
snow
on the temple bell
ringing fingers
little boy
a big icicle to melt
his mother’s heart
suburban
on a wet lamppost
a wet pigeon
in the temple of the cat
the blossom snoozes
as the wood warms
third mug of tea
nodding a smile
to the rain daffodils
the wind’s surprise
through a hole in a gate post
plays elgar
rip tide
across a bank of sands
a railing moon
and the doleful sound
of the mixen bell
coast path
the doleful sound
around a fallen tree
footfall makes a new path
deep in the woods
finding frogspawn
believing in tomorrows
all our yesterdays
time to sleep
after one more poem
i promise myself
the snow falls
in the lantern’s light
it seems heavy
taken by the sea
nothing else exists
except dry land
darkness is falling
thicker the mist is falling
this wet evening
poetry
the coexistence of two minds
in one body of work
a lonely face
drowned in the sea’s wave
my thoughts go with you
when the daffodils open
then bluebells
rain
the sun comes out
white surf
winter ends and
there is still one shrivelled plum
on the budding tree
where the trees stir in the mist
a daffodil opens
this lifestyle
what if you are wrong
i asked
we only have one life
do we the monk replied
moving memories
as told in the shadows
of the morning sun
the hushed mornings
are slowly running out
on spring’s breath
how nice it is to have a mind to play in
doubloons and pieces of fate
the setting sun
a lone bird travels east
everything roosting
last winter leaf
an oak on a spring morning
the paths taken
see the enigma
the likeness of the lichen
on a tomb’s beard
St David’s Day
Eating the leeks on their lapels
Welsh school boys
after a cold swim
warming yesterday’s soup
with crusty rolls
a naughty boy
pulling off daisy petals
to make a propeller
after a long swim
an even longer sleep
dinner time
robin
arrives the branch bobs
gone
~~~
robin arrives
the branch bobs
thickening its shell
all these rough seas
i ask myself could i swim there
time lines tide lines
the click bait trap snaps
if you ever wriggle free
bits will be missing
Sue’s blood test
there are no veins to puncture
on this frosty morning
how silly
that something matters
when nothing does
sea mist
the boats appear
to disappear
marram grasses
the blown anonymity
of shifting dunes
at each page refresh
the death toll rises further
after shocks
there wasn’t
a picture there
so i took it
rest your hands
upon the stone cold wall
and dream of me
done and dusted
the grains of this fingerprint
spells bleak
in silhouette
one finger of land points home
as the sun departs
bookends
a married couple
on a sunny day
just the cat
sitting in the sunshine
looking at me
and in the wren rush
through the fluttering of leaves
his drizzle thickens
mist over mumbles
the end of the pier show
the moody blues
moonlight
on the bridge to the mountain
snow has fallen
from the daffodil mug
spring has sprung
earring aids
are hermit crabs
no brainer
a dream stone
having slept in the waves
becomes the waves
a tannin coloured fox
crosses the garden