I carry your photograph with me

and it windows carry Georgian squares.In its garden pretty flowers grow;while in the fields,seeds of corn are sown.Snug within its stonewallslives a family,husband, wife and their two sons.Sadness filled the cottage one daywhen the sons were called to war.Candles were lit; prayers were saidfor their safe return.Years rolled by, paintwork peeled,but the little cottage was…

and sleep can call suddenlywithin the blinking of an eye.Your control looses its gripagainst the backdropp of the stars.You find yourself asleep at the wheelas you race into oblivion.19 September 2010

waiting for the morning chorusemanating from the treesas the sun peaks over the horizonto greet a brand new day.My thoughts echo through the silencestirring ideas inside my brain.Housing thoughts from little thingsto bizarre openings from above and beyond.I close my eyes and visualise placesI’ve never been.Before the bird songsbreak the silence with their morning chorusalong…

someone I had not seenfor thirty or forty years.Only realizing as I put pen to paperhow the years had flown by,though it only seem like yesterdaywe had met on the streetand had a long chat together.I realized then to my regretthat I did not know ifthey were alive or dead.If they were gone,yet another thread…

bringing into sad livesa little bit of hilarity.I don’t do it deliberatelyor consciously for that matter.It is just a natural thingthat continually happens to me.I must have been bornwith a funny bone somewherethat makes people laughwhenever I am around,it even happens whenmy face is on the ground,so all I can say is thatI must have…

The flowers would grow strong,like my love for you.The roses would blush at your beauty,a sunflower to fill your day with brightness.Oh, how I wish I had green fingers,with the touch to make every flower grow.There would be a cascade,of colours and perfume to fill the air,as we walked through my garden fair.