Suffolk Autumn Glory

Luminescent, ablaze with the last bright vestiges of life,
as if returning all the light absorbed on endless summer days,
now in this last stubborn display, shinning to delight the eyes
of hearts that dread the approach of winters bitter melancholy.

Soon these gnarled and twisted boughs will drop their brilliant plumage,
gently layering the earth in a crisp yet fading blanket of decay
revealing in stark silhouette the tall skeletal scaffolding
that Spring, and later Summer clothed in verdant green array.

And birds on annual sojourn circle in delight the mirrored Mere,
that rains have filled, reflecting now the gray of autumn cloud,
and earth grown hard with the sharp starch of burning frost
protects the buried seedbed under autumn’s calloused shroud.


Pink and white swirled high on wafer cone

Fragrant fish and chips in paper wraps

Castles in the sand where youngsters dream

Slot machines entice from near arcades

Deckchairs striped on golden open sand

Couples hand in hand along the prom

Doughnuts dipped in sugared cinnamon

Shorts with legs so pale they almost glow

Thoughtful faces staring out to sea

Speak all the ingredients of holiday

Awakened senses

Loves’s invitation whispered on the edges of the breeze

for no one, yet in grace issued for everyone

that receptive hearts may once again delight

In the grace of pure unbounded acceptance .

The rays of morning sun warm the Pallid skin

and remind the true self of the gift of original blessing

Wherein each life is an opportunity to unfurl the soul

within such radiance that we dance in unabashed freedom.

So break the calloused fetters which bind the fearful heart

let hope once again be the lens to examine purest beauty

And In the glory of unsullied refracted glory

celebrate the truth bestowed when love saw ‘it was good’.

September sun

September sun refuses the first advance of autumn’s kiss,

melting any hint of frost into glistening morning dew.

Lifting the suggestion of chill before the skin has time to feel,

Basking, in the warmth of summer’s borrowed day.

Light on crested  water dances, dappled animation,

Pointing to the place where ocean washes sky.

absorbing its gray into her steely murky tide

So that heavens dazzle, robed in ever paling blue.

Fight, O burning orb, that summer may linger yet,

for all too soon autumns nails will rake the trees

and earth will once again prepare for sleep,

fight to hold your sway,

delay, we pray the end of seasons’ reign.

The healing of the sea

The tufted dunes, like tattered panpipes

allow the wind to voice her melancholy

lifted for the heart by the broad vista of the sea

and the lazy gliding of fearless chuckling gulls.

Here the drumbeat of time is muffled

by the singing of awakened creation

engulfing the longing searching soul

with the lullaby of wondrous triune glory.

The sand beneath the feet gives way

inviting each footstep to stay awhile and wonder

as the senses are flushed of unnecessary angst

and the true self glimpses joyfully the creator’s love,

as here in this place, another world is revealed.

Emerging from the Chrysalis

She waits, damp in the stillness of a new day,
and lifts her dew laden wings high to greet the sun.
The warmth ripens her colours that no artist can capture
nor the most skilled poet find the words to describe.
Then, when the moment is just right and the chrysalis just a memory,
she catches the breeze and rises high on nothing but hope.

Right March

As we turn away, the horns of celebration loudly blare,

and tear escapes my eye, betraying the pain of this farewell.

Here amidst the union flags and flowing cheap champagne

I stand, a spectre at the feast, wishing it could be another way.

You were my brother, but now, at best a distant friend,

across the sea, behind a bordered wall you stand,

and here as bulldog barks aloud of treasured hope,

I feel deep emptiness surrounded now by nothing but fools gold.

In the shadows, as the Westminster bells begin to toll,

the warmongers watching from the wings wring delighted hands,

as the extremists fuelled by nationalistic fervour brace,

and begin again the march which leads to Auschwitz’ hidden gate.

An old friend

The promise of the day on the distant horizon

Where the parting clouds reveal an indigo sky

and the clarity of the light speak of the waiting warmth of sun.

Here even the suggestion of rain carried lightly in the wind

only exist to coat all creation with a breathtaking depth of lustre

and the seagulls haunting cry completes the score of nature’s symphony.

Here in this familiar place time takes on a different dimension

and the urgency of expectation is dispersed by the outstretched sea.

and where every footfall is a delight, not an obligation

the weary heart is reminded of its oft forgotten song.


Wonder; An instant our eyes synchronise perfectly with the vision of our heart

and we see with transformative clarity the unobscured fabric of reality.

It transfixes the mind for an instant, beguiled by such unimagined beauty.

The vision implodes, igniting in every synapse the vibration of the universe,

flooding the wiring of our being, every nerve tingling in the aftershock.

Eliciting a joy so deep that language cannot hope to capture it.

All we can do is ride the wave of ecstasy almost excruciating in its bliss

as the very atoms of our existence are changed in universal upgrade.


Emerging from the anxiety that stalks the deepest darkness,

beginning to trust again the sense that points towards the day.

Learning how to keep the prowling tigers at a distance

whose stare has paralysed, saliva-ed teeth waiting to feast.

This precarious hinterland between sanity and madness

Just takes a well aimed hit from an assassins cyanide dipped tirade

to unbalance the fragile psyche, and as the cracks corrode integrity ,

the mind is gripped in terror of falling into the bottomless abyss .

But hold gently now, and allow the fears to walk away unhindered

and hope the shadow of their departing reveal that, which what once was you.