he writes the words
of youthful spring
on shorter days
that autumn brings
and still his pen
leaks naive rhymes
despite the end
of summertime
and even come
the winter’s chill
his innocence
in ink shall spill
naive poetry
Written In The Darkness (a one minute rhyme)
written in the darkness
without recourse to the light
hiding insecurities
under blankets of the night
tearing up each faulted phrase
each ill begotten word
written in the darkness
lest my words be heard
Attempting to Capture a Dream of Bidston Hill in 1983 (part one)
In my dreams
there came to me
a big green
double decker bus
and there upon
the upstairs deck
was sat together
teenage us
I think it was
the Forty Two
or perhaps
the Twenty One
in waking haze
I can’t be sure
so many years
have come and gone
The Woodland King (part one)
Halfway up the scratching tree
stood sideways upside down
I placed some acorns on my head
a makeshift woodland crown
and from my throney green-ness
I sent out from the tree
laws I’d planned, for all the land
by squirrel mail decree.
let’s
let’s make hills of flatlands
and climb them to the sky
let’s make clouds of sunny days
and through their beauty fly
let’s make lakes of deserts
and swim them to the seas
and let’s make trees of fallen grass
then hide within their leaves
