The Silence of the Stars

The Silence of the Stars…

…with just a distant motor car

transforms into

The Clamorous Chorus of the Dawn

The half-moon winks;

Another Day is Born!


Poem: The Daisies are in Mourning

The Daisies are in mourning;

From the sky, the rain is pouring,

And the Daisies have all shut up.

But I see them smiling, in my heart

For I know the clouds, some day, will part

And the Sun will shine again.

Poem: Elemental







On the surface

Of the Lake…


A Gentle Breeze



And Carefree


Wavelets to skip with bliss…



Hails the Shore

As he bows

To kiss

And drink…



The Sky


A Modest




Deep down within

The Heart of

Mother Earth,

She who creates

And gives birth,

The Fires

Of Inspiration


Poem: The Slayer of Daisies

Daisies of Optimism (Moku Hanga GP)


I was an Author,

I was a Film Maker,

I was an Artist.


I am merely a Slayer of Daisies

Their heads falling beneath my relentless blade.

No longer does their positive individuality

Punctuate my lawn.

They have all fallen

With not even a poppy to bow and nod its head in grief.


Now there is the monotonous regularity

Of a unified, green singularity.

All is decent

And in order.

There are no dissenters here,

No conscientious objectors,

No rugged individualists.


But I slew them

In the hope

That when I am gone

They will come again;

They will resurrect and remain

But I will pass away.


For unless there is individual

Radiance in the quest for light

All will be uniform green

And then all will turn to night.


Viva la resistance!

Viva Daisy!


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.