Tuesday, 23 April 2013


The Trail of Foxes
Today, I tried to take the trail of foxes,
slyly following marks engraved
on powerful terrain, made over years
under the half-closed eyes
of dubious and fitful moons.
I felt the overwhelming need
to creep in surly, inauspicious places,
for, just like those who follow gypsies,
I am greedy to uncover,
things I’ve never been allowed to see.
But armed and vicious gate-keepers of briars
stabbed and stopped my curious advance,
preventing that one sudden, fleeting glimpse
of deeper insight into worlds
that only foxes know.


Tuesday, 9 April 2013


April Frost

This is not the time for frost,
When Winter’s hard-edged shadow
Should have passed beyond the sun
And, this side of the solstice,
Fragrant Spring should walk the land
While laughing blackbirds pierce the air
With pure and exuberant joy.
Instead, long spears of ice, with perfect aim,
Have stabbed them to the very soul.
In verges, daffodils hang down their heads
And, like me, long for life-affirming days
Of subtle sun and breeze-blown air
That will send me scurrying to the hills
With light and careless tread,
Happy as the towering lark
To be, at last, away from winter woes
And for the lifetime of a day
Feel again the freedom of the sky.
Last night, hares still danced in moonlight,
Cold-footed in the sparkling fields,
Unsure when, if ever, the true purpose
Of the tardy year would begin.
Now, shrill, complaining yellowhammers
Take up the disconcerting call
And the once-cheerful chaffinch
With only cold despondency creates
Its early morning song.



Thursday, 4 April 2013


Night Walking

Night walking out in open country
Under the unseen ceiling
Of a barrel-vaulted sky.
Dark, without a moon or stars,
As if the gods of night had thrown
A blanket over evening and earth,
Sealing off their silent sleep
From the moans of mewling mortals.
It has created, on this one night,
A curious combination of the beatific and banal;
Something not anticipated, and yet
Curiously fulfilling latent expectations.
I cannot see my feet, but only hear my footsteps:
two, three,
four, five, six).
As the infinity of darkness draws me onwards
Towards the epicentre of this unconscious world
I gasp at the enormity of where
The black-hole irresistibility enfolds me.
How many more steps till I’m absorbed?
two, three,
four, five, six?)
Somewhere in the distance
I seem to hear a voice that asks me who I am
And what presumptions bring me here.
I confess, out loud, that I don’t know the answer.
In fact, I have my doubts if anyone
Knew this happened in the night
And, with brutal honesty, even if they did
I doubt if anyone would care.
Turning, I begin to ask myself
If I ever can return
From these realms of quaint half-dreams
To where once-welcome morning
Calls me once again.

A passing hunting owl says not.