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The fool sees not what the wise man sees, Sees not the worth of Honey bees Nor the value felt in standing trees or the depths of life in the frozen seas. The fool sees only that which shimmers not the price of tinselled glare fails to notice that which matters registers, but doesnt care. The wise…

Show me how to reconcile the largesse of the liar Help me make it all make sense with illustrating words And paint a picture with your thoughts to show me that you care Try to help me understand these complicated whiles Walk with me along the path until we reach a stile Cross with me…

The fool knows that the moon will rise and carry light across the skies, he thinks perhaps one day it might decide to flee and leave the night. He wouldn’t blame it if it chose to roll its eyes and spite its nose and leave the orbit of the earth in search of other planets…

Go to the forest, sit with the trees find ye a moment of comfort and ease, breathe it in deeply, return to your self to treasure the moment and measure your health. Alone you have power, it’s all in your mind the forest will feed you to help you unwind, and far from the madness…

I’d almost forgot that forget-me-nots as harbingers will duly rise and offer hues of duck egg blue to mirror distant April skies. Amnesia, the foe of age releases space for thoughts refreshed to see again the magic surge, Ostara in her makings blessed.

I woke to rise this morning With a song inside my head The tune was unfamiliar As i yawned and scratched my head, The notes sat in a melody The chorus rose and fell The bars and beats were tight and neat The strings began to swell I hummed and in my humming Felt a…

When the haiku works natural order is found in simple accord. Where syllables five bring the moment alive and manifest meaning. When sentences flow in a disciplined order, resolution comes. Yesterday isn’t available for comment, except in rumours. Tomorrow awaits, uncertain of its future, knowing it will come. Today resonates, knowing now is all we…

A poem about water. I see myself as a mersey poet, born within the sound of tugs and the boom of fog horns  in autumn mists, born between the diesel smells of Lairds and unhumped Cammels fighting with the lingerings of lairages and tanyards. I see myself as a mersey poet, A legacy of Roger…

Here and now, with numbness worn away in ebbing time i feel the ache of soothing loss, a soft throbbing loss, thankfully acute no more, dethroned and out the door. Upper left five a pre-molar i have known a lifetime past, a pocked enamel tombstone gone to the place where memories forget themselves. A victim…

Im a quinguagenarian, a sometimes vegetarian, an often know-not where-ian, a watch the news and care-ian. Im a poorly read shakespearean, an anti Tony Blair-ian, a big fan of Hungarians, a committed non-sectarian. Im an avid non-barbarian, an accepting proletarian, a Scorpio not an Arien, A techno post-agrarian. Im an unconfused contrarian, a liberal libertarian,…