Notes for a little love song

winter turned
yet still the snow remains
waiting to be washed away
by the scattered April rains
and in my seasons
I can only think of you
and how your kiss
inspires me to everything I do


A Simple Poem

I cannot dance, I cannot sing
I cannot do most anything
But should I have a little time
I’ll attempt to prove that I can rhyme
in doing so then I can try
to show there’s more than meets the eye
to these, my metered strings of phrase
which with a measured thought I weighed
and set out thus in couplet style
in hopes to show I have no guile
no great wisdom to impart
no secrets of the head or heart
just a simple yen to spin
my words into this ode within.

At The Seaside in Ladybirdland : a short fiction as prose

the rockpools he’d find
as a child
bore scant resemblance
to the clear troves
of treasure
found by MacMillan’s
girls and boys
on seaside bank holidays
with mum and dad,
pastel painted in
post war prosperity,
his pools were dark
mirrors, shattered
oil patterned shadows
from rusting tankers
which darkened the sand below,
and their bounty was one
of old shandy cans
and filter tips
yet occasionally
a shell would catch his eye
these would serve as a reminder
that one day
he might find a starfish.

The Ugly Fish

There’s a really ugly fish in the middle of my pond
his underbite’s atrocious and his fins are far too long
he sits among the weeds all day acting rather coy
and carps on his misfortune and sucks all of the joy
out of all the other fish which spend their time in there
having to put up with him, it really isn’t fair
I think I’ll catch a pelican and set him out to sneak
around my little garden pond sporting
his pointy beak
with luck he’ll feel quite peckish and break the water’s still
and gulp that ugly fish right up into his saggy bill.