and to think that it is 

designed for procreation

seems such a waste 

synchronisation 

of thought with one thing in mind

tomorrow today

only by falling

a waterfall from great height

do we see rainbows

many tiny drops

make an ocean of despair 

break like the waters

 in the welsh chapel’s 

sad overgrown graveyard 

japanese knotweed 

 in this morning sky

there are black clouds and white clouds

which one will win out

the quick link to the

poetry of the people 

opens a paywall

 the light is still there

in the eyes is the faces 

now lined with age

 stirring my coffee

the cat calls for her cream

it’s a ritual 

 wren in the corkscrew 

bouncing like a bingo ball

top of the shop

 high summer 

moored on the chimney pots

a yacht 

 hollow cuckoo

that island in the marsh

i don’t believe you 

 behind the fig tree

the fence has turned white

i will paint it 

 ten thousand prayers

and not one has been answered

except by pain

 hotel room

ten thousand souls

have left nothing

 cherry blossoms 

red hat

 the nursing home

the upholstery cleaner arrives 

memories erased 

 take me a photo

i do not want to be in it

if i like it

i will step into it

and meet you there

it’s early summer

there’s a fly on Buddha’s nose 

speaking in shadows

 

 silence is the fare of an open mind

 lady with dementia

gave me a house plant cutting

transplanted thoughts

 the retorts of instant rapport 

 the great plains 

at the end of a hot wind

three white clouds 

 plum blossoms

always too early

cold wind

it’s always sparrows

never birds of paradise

when the sun come up 

 i am moving the

trees and clouds are moving

moonlight’s company

 grey is the dust

that occludes the sun

lunacy in guilt

 eternal life

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 the darkness

of an eclipse

i have never seen

 it’s getting darker

there’s jam on the chequered tablecloth 

it’s raining on the wood pigeon

 early morning

three seagulls on a roof

light rain

 light rain

a drip forms

and then another