Late Night Futility

Late Night Futility -

Corners folding over
Darkness sliding down
I’m ink-fading
A blackberry-hearted
Fingerpricked failing.
Sometimes sweet enough
To stain your lips
And sometimes
Offering maggot-laden kiss.
Toes up!
Leave me ’til Michaelmas
And let the devil take me:
The world keeps turning
Night to day to night
With brambled yearning
Full of wordy thorns
And thorny words wrapt tight
I’ll bind my thoughts.
I won’t be yours.


How Beautiful Her Face


blue moon-970-80

Watch her beautiful face, how it shines

Round and full,

But not smooth…

No, her skin is not smooth at all.

Her face is showing her age,

Marked with cracks and crags,

Blemishes upon the white surface.

No matter how much she powders it,

The scars show through.

And so, she slowly loses her confidence,

Begins to turn away from me

And hide.

Every night I tell her how lovely she is,

Profess my love for her and her missing smile.

It takes a while,

But ever so gracefully she turns back around

And shines her light on me again.

How beautiful she is, my moon-

Aged and scarred, yes,

But beautiful, nevertheless.


The prompt for this week from Poets On the Page was to write a poem about cycles. What better correlation to make than the comparison between women and the moon?

While Watching the Rain


oregon 2

Forest leaves fall

Into a nocturne lake

Reflecting the deep waters

Of a celestial sea

Merging to meet

The purpling vineyard horizon

That brightens basalt bark

And Oregon coastal sands

Kissed by the pearlescent waves

Of a winter ocean.


*I came up with this poem while knitting on a shawl on a rainy day listening to Moon by George Winston-the name of the colors of the yarn I am using are in the poem: Forest, Nocturne, Deep Waters, Vineyard, Basalt, Oregon Coast, and Pearlescent. Everything-yarn, words, music-joined together in one peaceful, harmonic moment. Proof that inspiration can come from anything.


My soul soars I am here and I am happy

The sky is morning-fresh
And dazzling blue-ly
The sun is shining down
And warming through-ly
The lip-numb wind whisks
Leaves all crackle-snappy
My soul soars – I am HERE
And I am happy

Bird-plundered branches
Full of berries bright
Stretch joyfully
Enwrapped in Texan light
The red bird peers
Wise-eyed and cardinally
He sees I’m HERE, at peace
And I am happy

The walkers wander by
On hilly trail
I’ve stopped in thought
Ensunned, to muse my tale
The challenges fade ‘gainst Now
For Now is truly
So right, so good, so HERE
And I am happy.

Bucolic Journey Home


Drops still soak my shirt, but now they’re warm
I’m safe behind the wheel and looking on
As rolling gentle farmland flanks my way
Soft cloud-lit hills ere misting into grey
The air is warm and laced with summer rain
And thunder rumbles overhead again

The fields are patchworked; crop with fallow earth
In some, abundance, there, in others, dearth
Yet e’en amidst the long beheaded stalks
And stems, the crows and pigeons take their walks
To peck and fill each hungry feathered beak;
To worms and bugs a fast-pecked death they wreak

Ahead the tarmac greys and folds and dips
All runnel-pooled, fresh-washed and water slicked
Above, the boughs of trees reach out – hold hands
Unload sparkling fat drops across the land
And wreathing through the air across the fields
The forerunning scent of autumn woodsmoke yields

Hedgerows green yet now bedecked with brown
Where summer flowers have faded, seeds have grown
And wait their turn for scattering autumn breeze
To shake them free and grant new life’s release
For now, tangled, content amongst the briars
Where dark-juice berries draw hungry mouthed admirers

Here and there the fields of fattened summer grain
Hang soaking heads, with hopes to rise again
And ripen off in searing perfect sun
Complete in harvest-time, the season done
I hope for them blue skies will return soon
And for myself; not ready to face the gloom

Further on, a festival is in process
Great stage, watch-towers; a mark of human progress
To pitch in fields and celebrate the arts
Embrace life, and music, welcoming the parts
Acknowledging, rain-washed, their beauteous goals
To touch us deep in our aesthetic souls

Yet canvas-pods and crowds cannot compare
To simple beauty – forests; birdsong; there
Is everything an aesthete e’er could need
And in those vistas I could only heed
The landscape, silent, drenched in August glory
Yet mere footnotes in nature’s season-story

Raspberry Kiss

Raspberry Kiss


Hunkered down

In green-gold light

Dappled skin

Hold me tight

Surrounded by

The scent of you

Caress then scratch

I’m sunblushed too

Nuzzling in

In search of fruit

Close my eyes

Let scent take root

Leafy fingers

Stroke my face

Flash of red

In shade’s embrace

Lowered head

To taste your flesh

Sweet, bright smile

Your juice so fresh

Soft-fruit ripple

Twixt my lips

Mmm, give it up

Your raspberry kiss.




Perfect; sunset

Each Night For Your Eyes Only


Lo! And there the first glimpse can be seen
Twixt piles of soft and billowing clouds
Shining through the gaps and in between

Gradually her glory is displayed, inspired
It seems, to oh-so-slowly play ‘reveal’
For dusk, but now she sets the sky on fire

Golden fingers, arcing through, and deep
Into the cloud-bed, turning it to vapours
Incredible moments you just want to keep

Let her fill your soul; slow down and savour
As she shines and brightens all your edges
Sit back – enjoy – each night a different flavour

Lie back as she spreads her light atop the earth
Welcome her with open heart and outstretched arms
She is the bringer of light and warmth, hope and worth

She’ll dance with zephyrs, seeking to fill every space
Bask in her and surely she’ll delight to shine:
Pour sunbeam kisses on your upturned face

Let her paint your world rich in golden splendour
She’ll sparkle in your veins and gild your shadows
Before the night is here, no doubt you will surrender

She’ll take your breath away; you’ll ne’er forget
The exquisite glory of her going down
Each night for your eyes only – perfect; sunset.