the moth sadness

drapes the hedge with solitude

then the thoughts come 

 my old age ignored

for when they ignore me

i am a child again

 a troubled angel

came in through the front door

left through the back door

 armfuls

of flowers

happy days

 the top wobbles

his held breath reaches out

again again 

 sea breeze

a leaf enters our beach hut

for the winter

 his dog tag name was

futility ~ absolute futility 

that broke me up

 hoar frost

yo oh! yo oh!

time to swim

 tarmac’s tomb 

under so many parking lots

all our yesterdays

 just imagine

being able to grow a feather

you can’t can you 

the cat and i 

after comparing thoughts

we take a nap

 guess what i have here

the grandiloquent whisper

of snow’s party game 

 cicada’s song

but i am so far away 

and there is no wind

 winter sunshine 

so many lovely corners

that weren’t there before

 blue sky photograph 

trying to remove the dust 

i point out the bird

 as the sun rises

two wakes become one wake

into the sunset

 my hand cools

as the frost warms

welcome home

 incoming

lang-tailed tits

sun strike

 bonsai 

tended to be little

big time 

stranded

waiting for its final tide

a dying sheep 

i don’t really know

but suspect i do not know

that i know 

 a leaf falls on the 

other side of a smile

a bud opens

 when a cat stretches

the space time continuum 

reverberates 

 the leaf grief falls 

    and  is     blown          away

 childhood wonderment

a straight rail joined to a curved rail

on a train of thought 

 snow s n  o    w

the frogs are asleep

the spring is frozen

 sunday 16th

order repeat prescription 

water orchid

 to sit on my lap

she leaves the radiator

miss ambivalence

 childhood aurora 

the martians are coming

we asserted

 oh shit

reef shoes

storm swim

 faith’s band

an over-stretched elastic

between two loose pins

the 1920s 

repeating in 

the 2020s 

 before and after 

the appointed hour 

fireworks 

 you might say that 

when anything goes

everything goes

 there is nothing

that this perfect oxymoron 

has missed

when the air is still

and the stones are moving me

anything is possible 

  my best poems

are written by a pain in my shoulder 

i need a phraseo therapist

 when she allows me

i place my hand on the cat

we cross the divide

 what is our lot 

but to muse and ramble

a chuckle of leaves

One of my pebble poems is being taken home to Kenya

people have already taken my pebble poems home to Brisbane, Berlin, Beijing, Scotland, England, Wales (of course) Ireland and USA !!

 duck

ducks  ducks  ducks

away

 stopping

for a breath of air

and there it is

 modern kitchen

the jar full of utensils

labelled utensils

 a fly

riding a sunbeam 

perfect morning