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Sticky Wicket. . . Why don’t you fuck off – You can only blame yourself For fly-paper lies. . ,

In My Place. . . Walk on in my shoes Feel the sharpness of the stone – See how your feet bleed. . .  

Homesick. . Are you homesick yet – For those people still unmet And unknown places. . .

Red Letter Day. . . There is little wrong With a day that contains both Chocolate and sex. . . . this one is for P. . .  

Augury. . . Once in a blue moon- The shadow of a dark earth Shows a bloody face. . .

Habit. . You are a white moth  – Flying back towards a flame You cannot resist. . .

Orange. . . The cast orange peel All dimpled on the table – Aglow with summer. . .

Shutters And Doors. . See that blue flower – The very same turquoise hue That keeps out evil. . .

Adapt. . . Make the most of things _ If your garden faces North Find plants that like shade. . .

Truth. . Truth is elusive _ It seems that everyone has Their own true version. . .

Starfish. . . How sad to see it – The body in the water Like a white starfish . .

Heartstone. . . Orienteering- Hold fast to your memories As tethers in time. . .

Spadework. . . Though you pray for rain – It does not mean you can stop Digging for water. . .    

Fabric Of Life. . . Food keeps us alive – But so do our sequin dreams Scattered on the weave. . .

Body Armour. . Under heavy fire True love is not frangible – It can always bend . .

Connection. . Suddenly to look – Meeting the enquiring eye Of a quiet bird

Green Curtain. . . Though trees bloom outside – I sigh for my winter view Of the village church. . .  

Television. . Television’s rude _ It brings people I don’t like Straight into my home. . .

Book. . . A book is a gift – Someone else’s dream of life To enhance your own . .

Want. . . It’s like magic beans- You sell your soul for small change And you feel content. . .

Revolution. . That derelict mill It’s broken windows blinded- Has seen history. . .

Voice. . . The quiet of night – The absence of daily noise Reveals a darker voice . .

Script. . . Just a normal plot – Boy, girl, love, home, kids and car, It’s compulsory. . .

Swine. . . Care for planet Earth – Not shitting on your own step Makes a lot of sense. . .

Goodbye. . . The wound of you gone, Although metaphysical, Just keeps on bleeding. . .

Treasure. . . Not just a puddle – It reflects the sky above Like a silver coin. . .

My Place. . . If I were with you- Even a map to Xanadu Would not divert me. . .

Old Friend. . . I smell the cold sea – Flirting with me on the wind, Inviting me home. . .

Faith. . . Results can take time – But that is no good reason Not to plant the seeds. . .

Bad Tidings. . . Standing on the cliffs – Watching the angry waves leap In a froth of temper . .

Fortune . . If fate should fix you With her placid whirlwind eye – The tower may fall . .

Out Of Time. . . In the hospital – Time moves lethargically Like a slow drip feed . .

Sorrow. . . Though a heart may break – Worlds will continue turning To ancient music. . .

Artwork. . . Fast watercolour – Crimson leaves bleed out like paint On a dampened sky. . .

Fog. . . This foggy morning – Hanging lightly on the day Like a fine gauze veil . .

A Work Of Art. . . It is delicate – A web that stretches across From clock to candle. . .

Old Peoples’ Bungalows. . . Such little houses – Made to fit the retirement Of newly shrunk folk. . .

World’s End. . . Tall embellished gates – Into a Victorian Park, of fine delights . .

Mirror. . . A bright moonlight falls – Splintering silver waters On far horizons. . .

Vision. . . You look like Kismet – All transparent, in the light That shines behind you. . .

America. . . I like yellow cabs – They are like rays of sunshine Quickly flashing by. . .

Eye Candy. . . Exhibitionism – A glut of orange berries Against yellow leaves. . .

Sheep. . . Fat sheep graze the field – Scattered around at random Like large white mushrooms . .

Daylight Saving Time. . . So time has been moved – A pretense of alchemy That alters nothing. . . . .

Dead Spider. . . As fragile as dreams _ That dried up and brittle husk Caught in a dust ball. . .

Sexy Beast. . . It is a fine sight – To see a well set-up man Controlling a horse . .

His Master’s Voice. . . When the mobile calls We all rush to answer it – Just like Pavlov’s dogs . .

Imprint. . . A private screening – We see pictures we carry Even with eyes closed. . .

Life. . . We see only clips No matter how hard we look – Life is a peep show . .

Lost. . . Lost in the darkness Is somewhere that you can be – On a sunny day . .