Friday, 27 April 2012


Drifting, drifting, in my mind
through passing years; reversing
momentum, growing smaller;
dissolving into unbeing.
Unbuilding concrete and steel,
bricks and mortar. Tarmac
becomes fluid, hot; now cools.
Stones, no longer broken.
Coal re-interred, unmined,
reverting to wood.
Bulldozers unmanufactured.
Designers, architects, bricklayers

Primordial ferns and grasses
compete with trees
of ancient forest for light,
and beyond...

Virgin land, unviolated.
Rolling hills, unflattened, unploughed...

A river, crystal clear,

This beautiful World
before we came.


Saturday, 21 April 2012


Why did he have to lie?
Was  simply to impress her
that he claimed to be someone big
in the equine world
after catching sight
of her dressage trophies?

And was it really necessary
to take out a loan
just to take her to the races?
Well, he had to play the part convincingly,
how could he do otherwise?
The image he wanted to project
must be believable,
right down to the last detail.
It had cost him the equivalent
of a whole year's wages
to hire a brand new Aston Martin,
kit him out, and have that haircut.
Plus, of course, there was
the obligatory five-star
hotel stay to take into account.

But she was more than worth it.
Just to be seen with her
was reward enough.
She was the most gorgeous,
stunning creature he'd ever seen
and he simply had
to have her - whatever the cost.

His ploy seemed to be working, too.
Better than he'd ever dared hope.
So what did it really matter
if he'd told a few white lies
along the way?
And if he continued to be careful
then, hopefully, no one would
ever discover the truth
of his humble beginnings.

And they wouldn't have, either,
if it hadn't been for
his so-called best mate.
He'd been fanatically meticulous
about avoiding those places
where there was the slightest
possibility of his being recognised.
So bumping into Tom
in that West End street
must have been
a one-in-a-million chance encounter.
'Watcha mate! Wot y' dressed up all posh for?'
then followed all the latest gossip
from the packing factory floor
where they both worked.

The look on her face
as she turned and walked away
would haunt him for the rest of his days.

For months he hid away,
afraid to show his face.
He was a broken man.

Yet she would have loved him
anyway - if only he hadn't lied!

Sunday, 15 April 2012


I shall not commit the fashionable stupidity of regarding everything I cannot explain as a fraud.
Carl Jung

CLASSIFICATION OF LIFE (according to the unenlightened)

    Superior and only important creatures on Earth. Masters of all other species.

    Food, slaves, or (if they are extremely fortunate) pets for humans.

    Food or ornamentation for humans.

    Multiple uses at the discretion of humans.

    Provided solely for exploitation by humans.

    Strictly taboo. Often ridiculed, yet professed to be non-existent.

So when you came to me
on that blackest of nights
and gently kissed my forehead,
were you no more
than a figment
of wishful thinking?

Or could it be
that you slipped through
the veil, while
the Moon Goddess
compassionately averted
Her face from Earth?

Either way, I would have
sacrificed my all
to keep you here,
with me,

So does that make me
a religious abomination?
An aberration of Nature?
Insane, perhaps?
Or just unusually perceptive??

Dedicated to B.W. 
You are sorely missed.

Saturday, 7 April 2012


A breathless trek across the Sutherland moors,
Just you and I and the great outdoors.
Cold mist clung to those forbidding hills
as you taught me survival skills.

I began to crave this wild Wilde side of life,
and came to depend on a stranger close by my side.
A suggestion of something I read in your eyes
prompted a dread of eventual goodbyes.

Just then I stumbled over rocky land.
You reached out, caught me by the hand.
An electric current shot through me,
but what I wanted must never be.

Fog turned to rain then torrential downpour.
Desperate for shelter we scoured sodden moor.
Sole structure for miles was a shepherd's hut
derelict for well over two centuries, but

I hesitated. It was inviting I know,
as the rain no sign of let-up had begun to show.
Yet if we entered, instinctively I knew
it would destroy more lives than just these two.

But the moral battle was easily won
by our pheromones' prophecy of what was to come.
Alibis for absence I'd fabricate tomorrow,
And I tried not to dwell on eventual sorrow.

So bedraggled and freezing, we huddled together
on earthen floor with it's carpet of heather.
Then you built a fire in a crumbling corner.
It was soon ablaze - oh such bliss to feel warmer.

As I laughed at your stories, in the ember's soft glow,
I felt a fierce hunger between us grow.
We gazed into the depths of each others eyes.
Soon those ancient walls echoed rapturous cries.

For ecstasy began with the touch of your fingers,
and even today the memory still lingers
of wet clothes strewn all over the floor
as two became one against lichen-clad door.

Sunday, 1 April 2012


A childhood insight lured me here
as if by some strange spell,
where legend claims that if your foot
should fit then you'll do well

as ruler of all you see from here.
Well, I've no idea if it's true,
but it's worth a try if this place you love
and it's Spirit is calling you.

For here lies Arthur's footprint set
like Excalibur in solid stone,
and only The One Who Will Come can claim
the Pendragon's Cornish throne.

So with heart aflutter and eyes tight shut
I slip in a size two foot.
But, alas, mine is far too small to fit
this ancient shrine underfoot.

There must have been some grave mistake,
for how could this possibly be?
I've always been aware that I am Arthur,
just as he is surely me.

My alter ego all this life he's been,
and I bear his Mother's name.
So if I'm not the Chosen One,
then who has that claim to fame?

It could be you - so if it is
please promise me before
you take your place at the Table Round
that His sovereignty you'll restore.