Married In Bliss

They no longer trouble each other,
Not the way they did,
When passion’s heat seared
And when they ached to be together.

In their spring, everything was bright,
And right, fresh and new.
But the blossoming of that new growth
Gave way to plain boughs.

Paradise became just a garden,
And it needed work.
The unavoidable work was clear
And they muddled through.

They worked with what they had been given,
Broke earth and broke bread,
And although exhausted by their toil,
Accepted their lot.

Their battlegrounds were defined by chance,
Sowed into that dirt.
Oh, what a place they did build themselves,
Where war and love raged.

Separate allotments developed,
And jealous eyes gazed.
Questioning grounds and decisions made,
Where love was betrayed.

Autumn leaves fell down
And brown mulch decayed to soulless grey.
Winter brought hard frost,
And a silent, barren no man’s land.

But life still takes hold
And complicated accord did out.
A new contract writ,
Brought warring parties back together.

Those things grown with love,
Were set aside for this endeavour,
This togetherness,
The practicalities of being.

There followed beauty,
In their hard-won utopian pax.
Words and deeds dismissed,
For those wars are past and gone and done.

Establishment renewed rivalries,
Then it changed again.
As that new life sowed, looked at them, old,
And took its own root.

Then, new joy was found.
Unexpectedly, they shared again,
Daring to build new edifices,
New memories.

They no longer trouble each other.
Admiration sparked
For what they have achieved,
In their own Eden.

Only life rocks them.
Inevitability managed,
In their slow decline,
Until they harvest that final fruit.

She walks with destiny

She walks with destiny, like fire
Of ferocious heat and bright flame;
And lights the way when others tire
Expressed through countenance and frame:
Oh, so serene this kindly liar
Who those nighttime deeds could never tame.

But less to do, less passion spent,
Denies the world of honesty,
Which pharaonic eyes testament
And exude that fierce quality,
So all around know what she meant;
No locked up nymph of tragedy.

And from those eyes cut through pitch locks
So brightly, a blaze burns intense,
That draws you in whilst gently mocks,
Deftly dismantling your defence,
In sweet command of what she took,
A love not lost of innocence!

* written after Byron’s She walks in beauty

Of Service And Sacrifice

They were called to serve,
Called to duty and to fate.
When times were better,
Caring corralled in exemplar.
They formed up Our Wall.

Then they were called
In times of great distress,
To further service.

They knew some would die.
Some scarcely their training having ended
Taking up their oaths,
As all who serve do,
Spoken out loud
Or sworn and kept inside.

Their names inscribed on plastic tags.
Each name starts a story
And most will go untold,
Of honour, bravery, service and kindness,
In the face of relentless threat.

Honoured heroes.
Some names now echo,
Printed, etched and engraved,
Filling the nation’s hearts.
Their sacrifices applauded
As those lost, are called
To higher service.

This brilliant love tanka

This brilliant love

Courageously simple

Fired with energy

Tempered with play and laughter

We dare to reach for the stars

And they will walk in your shade

You will walk in the breath of giants,
Where only angels dare to soar.

And whilst casting your eyes to heaven,
You will dance with the devils below.

All creation will know your name,
For it will be whispered with the revered.

And when you cast a shadow,
Great men will walk in the shade.


Fatherhood is like the sparks from the undercarriage of a subway train
Hinting of power whilst conjuring fear.
Fatherhood is like the sound of thunder where no lightening appears,
Majestic, warmth.
Fatherhood is like dancing through a sudden snowfall
Enveloping where new light glints,
When chilling realities transform into miraculous merriment.
Fatherhood is like the devil in me,
Mockingly reflected back in a fleshy mirror.
Fatherhood is the kisses that the boy wipes clean,
Given freely and taken back with impish glee.
Fatherhood is everything I’ve come to be,
Wrapped in a blanket of this loving family.
But fatherhood is a magician’s trick,
Practiced for an age,
Where a pedestal is raised from life’s grim dirt,
Where a man exudes the strength of polished bronze,
A perfect mirage of exemplary masculinity,
With the knowledge that when as equals they meet,
To his feet this sandy dirt will fall,
And with it the death of a man,
For in my eyes, he’ll see a boy.

unfinished poem – must finish

My love is an engulfing storm
And the calm thereafter.
My love is the best in me
And the very worst.

My love is all unquenched power
But it’s fragile to your touch.
My love speaks with silence
When words become worthless.

My love finds clues and answers
Wending in an emnbrace,
In glanced cheeks, in knowing smiles,
In the contours of your face.

My love is polished marble,
With a countenance as to admit
The things that cling to darkness,
Those suggesting promise.

My love sits in eternity
More permanent than anything carved in stone.
My love is our hurtling destiny
Whether I’m with you or alone.

It goes on

And those friends go away,
The ones you had yesterday,
The ones with whom you had history.
As your life evolves and resolves.

Looking through your parents’ eyes,
Hearing children cry.
Wondering when you said goodbye
To your childhood,
It lasted longer than you thought.

And those friends go away,
The ones you had yesterday,
The ones with whom you share history,
The ones with whom you walk everyday.

And so I’ll speak boldly of destiny,
And of friendships and family.
Until next we meet dear friends.

I declare my love (from Tennessee)

I declare my love once more,
But it’s lost to your ears,
Whispered to the darkness. 
I declare my love once more,
As though the world hears,
As though it may touch your heart.
I declare my love once more.
From half the world away,
From this night of day,
I declare to you right here now:
If the end of the world was here,
If society was broken beyond repair,
If humanity was engulfed by fear and despair,
I would find my way back to you.
So I could declare my love to you there.


How distant that love now seems,
Put away with photos to gather dust.
How strange and unreal it all now seems,
Eight and a half years, a house, a ring,
A caricatured effigy of me for me.
How odd time can seem,
A progressive linear reasoned history.
How changed the world can be,
When those reasoned illusions of reality,
Prove themselves to be fragile ornaments,
Like blown glass baubles on the festively dead tree,
The ones the cat likes to bat that crash and smash so easily.

How unreal is reality?
When the hurting minutes become weeks and then months past.
When the streaming tears that cried rivers don’t last.
When you realise that the world’s not the same,
But the same and you’ve changed,
And the change within you came to pass,
Without a poignant moment for you to point at.

And you thought you’d never love again?
How strange is that?!
Before long you’re watching your new lovers back,
Sleeping – dreaming of countless wonders,
It’s hard to remember those other slumbers,
Witnessed for so very long,
Strong as those feelings were, they’ve gone.

How humbling existence is to me,
A thin strand between ego and humility.
How strange it all is?
This life we lead?

I’m not an expert in these things, should anyone be?