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Liar,Liar. . . So, is gritting your only job, Constantly spreading it underneath Every conversation that we have In order that you don’t slip-up. . .

Love Me Do. . . Although I would move Both the heavens And the earth for your love, The simple truth is That it is not in my remit But in yours. . .  

Poem: Christmas Eve. . . It’s hard work trying To swim against the tide Of office workers Released from the pen, Moving through the spaces like salmon Going home. . . .  

Setting The Scene. . . The newly caught kindling Showed flames behind the glass, Which lent a glow To the still unfriendly room Full of glowering Gothic Furniture. . .  

Contact. . . A late night call From someone you love, For no other reason than That they are thinking about you, Is what makes sense Of a sometimes puzzling world. . .

Sex. . They made love before he left, And she curled up later Replete with the promise of it, After he got back home He hurried round to the pub To watch the footie match on Sky. . .

Hospital Waiting Room. . . Sitting here on the ward, Watching the waiting patients Closing one eye To enable them To test out the sight in the other. A background of murmuring From the intense couples, Some with their own partner, Others making friends while they wait. The only thing that’s certain Is that I [...]

Me  Mutha’s  Deed Man. – Nowt’s green roond heah It’s alle bluddy concrete Bluddy beach is gone Nowt but a crappy auld seat. Me Mutha’s deed man, Aye, ahm bluddy glad, Wi alle these changes Shid tek it bad. Shi luvved them trees doon bie the ‘Lark’ Coonsills buggered off hinny Wi wor bluddy park, [...]

Facadism. . You are an unknown country, One where badlands And poisoned wells Are possible Behind the hoardings Of your pretty papered face . .

Change Of Plan. . I liked it today When you called unexpectedly And then apologised For interrupting me. It didn’t matter that I had made plans Because nothing could Have pleased me more Or suited me better Than the way it all worked out . .

Splendour. . How beautiful To see the weight Of heavy white blossom That lowers the bearing bough In wondrous submission . .

The Bay By Tynemouth Priory. . Children, pecking At the edge of the sea Like waterbirds, In streams of diamonds Pulling back under waves That smooth the sands, Rushing forwards to inundate Old concrete steps Inlaid with stones Like glistening scarab beetles . .

Which Animal Would You Be. . . He was a huge man who Resembled a bear. He acted like one too. Being regarded with great care By the whole family Living inside his cage. . .

Thinking Cap. . . I sat, with a Contemplative coffee, Watching the line of light Creep slowly across The red turkey carpet. . .   . .

Do I Need A Wedding Hat? . . The hard thing is finding just the right outfit to wear to a wedding. You spend hours looking at every page on the web, you trail around the shops every consecutive day for a bloody month, you send away for outfits then fret about returning them. Why [...]

Row To Hoe. . There is such a Profitable margin of land Available for cultivation Lying in the fallow space Between the waking And the sleeping. . .

In The Rough. . There is always Something worth polishing, Like hidden precious stones, Carelessly concealed Amongst the dust devils Of an average rainy day. . .  

Life In Technicolour. . . Speak to me pretty And I feel pretty, Life is all checked gingham And a surrey with a fringe on top. . .

No Way Jose. . . Don’t apologise Because I’ve heard it all So many times before. I could not forgive you now, No matter how hard I tried, Because just to say it Would stick in my throat Like sharpened tin. . .

King Edwards Bay, Tynemouth. . . Flamboyantly, The sea flicks her skirts Upon the lichened stones In flirtatious welcome. . .  

Regrets, I’ve Had A Few. . . I wish I could do it again, I would do it so much better the next time. I would be a better daughter, I would be a better mother, I would be a better friend. My report card should read Tried hard but could do better, But that’s [...]

Midnight Crawler. . . I cannot wait To go to bed, To reach my midnight When the dream begins. How real your face, How sweet the voice That calls, to let me know My window in time is open. . .  

False Start. . . After a restless night I finally awoke To a morning Redolent of winter. Gone the welcome Of powder blue skies, The happy kiss of sun. Back to leaden clouds, and, What’s even worse All my reaching hyacinths Are without a winter quilt. . . .

Only A Glance. . It was only a glance From a boy at a bus stop When I was barely sixteen. He was actually with some girl When he turned to look at me, And I was caught and netted By a pair of ice blue eyes Pinpointed by tiny black irises, As, for that [...]

Retrospect. . . How many things in a life Have any lasting importance. There are so many little things That cause surprise, upset, pain And sleepless nights by the score That are unremembered In the scheme of things. If only we could have known this At the time they occurred. When you take a longer [...]

There Is A Place. . . There is a place where we fish Down on the River Tyne, And it is always a pleasure to go there. The tiny beach is stony, Large water smoothed pebbles And rotting bicycle parts, With a drooping old tree Hanging over the water. However, if you stand really still [...]

Stamps Are Very Small. . . Stamps are very small You can tuck them anywhere, But they have such power. One careful lick And they will happily carry All of your written thoughts To any place you choose Unhindered and entire. No systems going down But a real and palpable presence In another place Redolent [...]

Morning Breath. . . Lying here, beside you In our rumpled morning bed I am not much surprised by anything. You give off heat like a stove. I would get up and leave you But my heart is satisfied, So I just lie here, leg outside the covers To try to cool down a bit. [...]

Ask For More. . Don’t you want more than this. There is far more to life then you ask. The terrible thing about it all Is that you will probably get Exactly what you say you want. Why don’t you ask for the moon And then demand the stars, Ask for joy and fun and [...]

Familiarity Breeds. . They have lived together now For almost a lifetime, They sleep and eat and live each day Alongside, yet growing apart. They know all that they wish to know From the repetitive litany of personal preference. They speak but do not listen They have their eyes open but do not see. How [...]

Secret Squirrel. . . It is all in the hands Of the old rain gods. Though we won’t accept it They do have complete control Even in Virginia. Looking into the silver mirror Is the way to communicate With the old knowledge Buried in the deep cover . .

Married Time. . . It is the inheritance Of all our partnered time, The simple habits learned, The quirks accommodated. It’s the toast that’s slightly burned To suit a wayward taste, The spoons in bed, the colour red, The sum of all the words we’ve said. . .

Dead Time. . . At  3 am, Looking around A shadowed bedroom, It all seems to be charged With a great expectancy. . .

Stormy Weather. . . Hold fast, Don’t give up To the pressures Of a high tide. You can weather The hardest storm And pick up the pieces Left beside the waterline. . .

Rorschach. . . Gazing at black patterns In a January sky, Formed as rooks swarm together In the late afternoon. . .

Mess Table. . . Look at the detritus on that table. If you could compare it To the litter of forty years before Then you would see the effects Of the passage of a life Between two far-away shores. . .

Penelope. . . Yet still the lonely dove Sits sadly on the bare branch, Wearing a soft grey coat Suitable for extended mourning. . .

Visitors. . . The whole house so reverberates After the knocking on the front door That even the dust motes seem agitated In their beams of sunlight. So who can be standing out there, expectantly, Upon this September afternoon. Unfortunately this will have to remain a puzzle, As there will be no answer. . .

I Just Love You. . . I love you In that green jumper. I love you On a bad day. I love you On the morning after I loved you The day before. . .

Set Script. . . How I envy a flower That lives it’s perfect life From the second before, Until that last petal falls In the correct and proper way. No worries there of purpose, No need to ponder on the length Of open time on summer days, For every second follows to a plan Except [...]

Blink. . . If I should blink out Like a switched-off light Would there be a difference To anyone else’s illumination. . .

Possible Value. . . It may be Ditchfield glass, Said the woman in the antique shop When I picked up the little vase Of peacock blue and gold. It looks so beautiful at my window, And gives me such pleasure By it’s presence in my day, That I could not care who created it. . [...]

Mote. . . He floats in the mind’s eye Forgotten but always possible For suddenly the focus shifts And his face is shockingly clear. . .

Flicker. . . Sometimes I like Candlelight. Life can be harsh And we all need A little softness Around the edges. . .

You Have Mail. . . The bottle rocks Upon the tidal edge Of sodden sand, Seemingly urgent. Upon inspection It seems to be empty, Yet completely stoppered. What purpose then This act of keeping in, Unless it holds one breath. . .