a poem

I have to print it out to break it down

I have to read again to understand

I separate the lines to see them flow

and build a construct and watch it grow

If everyanything* can be done

and we make a life from one block – two

then somebody’s something we grow to behold

welcoming all and sundry into the fold

In other words positive beats negative down

and words build spirit – life jumps from the page

read aloud or in silence – effect is the same

my friend is poetry – words given a name

*the word ‘everyanything’ comes from E E Cummings’ ‘adult nursery rhyme’ ‘If everything happens that can’t be done’

This life of I

This life of ‘I’ is a life of ‘am’

and I cannot live gluten-free

sweet embellishments when in your world

and spring will help me pass the brood

she waits with patience – lures longing

too long I thought yet so rewarding

that it would catch me in the race

to fashion feeling’s mirrored face

like a facade spent time perfecting

only to be thrown reflecting

the truer self spent time researching

behind the gestures meant to fray

a (sense) of yes and who I am

a life lived now but one that spans

a (sense) of right and wrong and black and white

defer the build yet spend erecting

one brick then another laid

a truer ‘I’ in life worth living

I can live off your creation

as autumn’s fall is colour’s station

open windows wide on windy days

and batten hatches when it’s warming

you waited for me without fussing

too long I thought yet so rewarding

what if a weep from a willow at will

what if the opposite is true

what if we try something we think we can’t do

what if sentiment blows the mind

what if what’s hidden we finally find

say hello to substance goodbye to void

discard a play-thing no longer a toy

rumble reason – quondam to know

sweet sensibilities from long ago

stumble upon desire at dawn

and leave doom behind like a thunderous storm

spring happy impressions and dance through the night

with sunshine your friend – the wind flying a kite

what if a weep from a willow at will

finds sentiment blowing – her branches stronger until…


I walk beyond the fatal shore

to see what gaze can bring

and dance like a disciple

rescued by the leader’s ring

will he answer all my prayers

and welcome me to home

and be the man I always hoped

would save me from alone

the wind howls in the morning mist

and hollers strident dreams

when I walk past that fatal shore

nothing is as it seems

the distant cry from moonlit sky

the sudden chance that storm

would tolerate another cause

and keep so many warm

I hear it in horizons –

yet to see what can become

like a photographic still shot

abandoned by the sun

as I walk by it feels so shy

yet heats toward the core

sensing a shimmer out at sea

I’ll never want for more

and if my treasured trove is found

I’ll welcome others in

vow to remain a measured strain

absolved of all my sins.


Once again the weekend comes and I share my poetry with you here. Cosmofunnel has been a source of pleasure for me, having reached the heady heights of over 700 viewings on occasion (God knows how).

These four poems have been viewed and commented on by fewer people but amongst them is my favourite of all, ‘the bird with a whisper’. I hope you enjoy them as much as I took pleasure in writing them.

Remember when


Come again


The bird with a whisper


Your smell


Into the Cosmo

Cosmofunnel continues to surprise. There’s the good, the bad and the indifferent. Go check it out here at cosmofunnel.com and see what you think.

You might want to start with a few offerings from yours truly. For your reading pleasure (or pain), I list them here.

Go on, knock yourself out. Or better still, enjoy a moment of poetic pleasure.

Until next time…

Poem#1 – Lucky


Poem#2 – Her hand


Poem#3 – Thoughts of love



The Sepulchre

The sepulchre of the sentiment

That stands beside the Seine

The green seeds of the linden tree

That captivate your name


Away, be gone, that sentiment

In place, another, quite unknown

A surreptitious sentiment

One rushes to disown


You have no place standing there

Where Charlie reigned supreme

There’s no welcome mat at my door

So stay away from me


My river greets those of like-mind

With a smile and a cry

For granted, take not what we have

To you, a lullaby


The sepulchre of the sentiment

Reminds, of those who won’t grow old

That surreptitious sentiment

Be gone – protect the fold



Postscript: In memory of all those innocent civilians who have died in terrorist acts of violence

the reason why

The plant that will not flower,

The sun that will not shine,

The water that one cannot drink,

Grapes dying on the vine.

The beach where waves won’t wash up to shore,

The sand that won’t be soft on feet,

The people that will not say; “hi,”

The hand that will not greet.

The recipe that won’t succeed,

The dinner guest that won’t partake,

The pan that’s useless on the stove,

The chef that will not bake.

The worker that will never work

The grass that will not grow

The walker who won’t find his feet

Will never reap what he won’t sew.

The arm that will not reach out,

The eye that will not cry,

The mouth that will not find a voice,

The fight to find the reason why?

Oh ye

Oh ye of little faith

Where has hope gone?

A smile doth be lost

Now only wan.

Is that all ye can stir

This full, bright day?

There must be more whence it came

To satisfy one’s love, come what may.

For without belief one’s hope is lost for good

Forever, now one’s faith be gone

And ye be destined to live alone anon.

The only hope is to begin anew

In which case hope, faith and belief will brew,

But charity in absentia remains,

For now there is no need.

On this full, bright day ye will see the sun

To allow us once more to love as one.