Occupy the Octopi – a poem

I love to sit and occupy

My many friends, the Octopi.

Sudoku is their favourite game

Though they love Charades about the same;

Of course with tentacles 1 to 8

The game can go on very late;

A book, a film, a show, a song

The Octopi rejoice to play along;

But never seek to play “I Spy”

With cunning, clever, Octopi.

They’ll catch you out with obscure clues

And shout out, “Suckers!” when you lose.

Of course, the last laugh shall be mine

For “Octopuses” is the plural

I think you’ll find!



Poetic Purbeck



A plague of cyclists

Across the Purbeck

Riding side-by-side,

The road they hide,

And hog with pride!

On Knoll Beach

[No cyclists]

The Sun brings out

The blossoming of humanity –

Too long kept in the dark

Pale eyes blink in the light

But the Beach Huts remain

Gagged and Bound

In case March turns capricious

In case March turns to snow

In case March brings the ice

That would not be nice, you know.

A lone kite


Dances even

By itself

Bound only by a string

And the whim of its Guardian

And all the while

Inch by inch

The Tide’s caress continues

To erase the resistance of

The object of her desires.

The Winter storms


Have changed the profile

Of the shore,

Yet the years

Have changed mine more.

(Where is my child-like look?)

Every variety of hound

Is accompanied by

A myriad styles of

Human kind.

Each have their own place

Each have their own pace

Danding to the beats

Of different drummers.

The older beachcombers

Seem happy to Waltz along



With memories.

Whilst more than one

Reluctant parent

Raises an irate tone

Or remains glued to

Their parasitic phone

And irritated

Picks up the pace

Towards March.

Never mind the children.


But me?

I love

Above all

The simple joys…

Each dog’s frugal pleasure

Of stick or stone

To fetch and treasure;

The child’s delight

Of Castled Sand –

Seems only right

To clap my hands!

Where dog and child gladly share

A blissful paddle

Free from care.

Poem: The Blackbird Sings

The Blackbird sings
As if in the know
There approaches promised new life
Beyond rain, wind and snow.

The bird cannot see
The forthcoming Spring
But it is sure of its hope
Thus its praise-song doth ring.

Even aerials are placed
For such birds to rest on
To receive fresh Word from God
Which they express in their song.

And here is the truth
That few humans grasp:
That’s it’s only the birdsong
That brings Spring’s birth at last.