Thrum the hollow heartbeat,
sigh the sodden mind,
court the lethal hurtings;
split the psyche blind.

Deck the soul with ivy,
strip the self till bare,
fight the row of sorrow;
murky glass of care.

Stay the moment lost,
hide the key of hope,
wallow in the grieving;
hang on bitter rope.


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Dabblings in oil and watercolour

This gallery contains 10 photos.

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Stone did sigh


Stone did sigh in sympathy,
leaf did listen close,
ants in follow carefully;
taste the crumbs of hope.

Bird did reach in comfort,
dog in turn of love,
test the barrier of time;
release the pure dove.

Nail my heart to silence,
scrape my mind full clear,
taste the breeze of sorrow;
fill the trunk of fear.


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End of life

Pure luscious wings of life are spread,

As feathered days on dusty nights prepared,

To herald now the passing of our slowly drifting years;

An honouring of all that has been shared.

Surrendering of day and known self,

Softened folding, drape and fall of skin,

We shed the images of old and sadly drooping dreams;

To show the shape so long  and truly hid.

What lives behind the shining mask,

Ego-polished with  soft, worn rag of mind,

that holds us,  back,  with bright, death-awful glare;

Blinding sight to what lies lost and rare.

Desire to seek lies limply lost,

There is no call to hear or strive to find,

No dream that leads us on to mightier, noble truths;

We wait, abandoned by the rule of mind.

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Lullaby of Grief


Crystalline the lullaby of grief,
in shining, blackened, arched
and keening sighs, vibrations
which do resonate with angel
smiles,  as spirit holds the
bucket God has given, to fill
with green and swaying leaves
of memory, budding, like the
waterlily, floating on deep
ponds, in scattering of images,
reflecting on the surface, opal-
glittered dreams of what was;

tattered pages, leaf by leaf,
of sacred verse, which holds
the pearl so precious of our
love, for soul to fish again,
for secrets, rocking in the boat
which heaven built, as ancient
hands keep writing, telling tales
of joy and great bewilderment,
while horses of new hope stand,
waiting by the plank which still
connects the drifting mind, to
solid, sure rememberings.

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Autumn Leaf

Laughter eloquent as leaf,
in golden, shimmer shudders,
to dress the sky so briefly;
and haunt the soil in time.

These offerings of Autumn
hang lightly in the air,
and dance decays becoming;
twixt life and death ensnared.

Each one is born in solitude,
and dies alone at last,
in crumbling drifts eternal;
from tree to waiting earth.


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Your thoughts applied

so physically; thick and

barely formed, to paint

the essence critically;

dark colours, blurred,

forlorn. And in the drip

of wet, soft fear, the tones

reduced my heart, with

grey and black and solemn

strokes, tearing me apart.

No light allowed, no sun

could reach, no play of hope

bestowed, and sunset drew

the dawn’s bright face;

death’s cock would

mournful crow.

Meet the Bar with impressionism


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