Our Guest

You came uninvited and you decided to stay
No red carpet or banquet was prepared for your way
Although no transport by sea, road or air,
You still managed to enter places no one would dare.
No restrictions, no rules, you were free to roam the world.
From China you set forth, no baggage or passport,
no visa required you came alone.
Traveling from one country to the next enjoyed and rested well.
No immigration laws of Brexit could stop you on your way,
Nor the walls or barriers of Trump’s USA.
No missiles of Putin’s Soviet could deter your track
No race, religion, or colour do you have,
yet you still enjoy the freedom of your travel.
You prey on your host making them weak
you do not choose rich or poor
Your aim is to control and leave the world despair.
Your Presence caused “a lockdown” a word we never knew…..
Families distanced, prisoners in our own homes
A life so unreal in this modern world.
Yet you made us reflect, made us think.
The value of “life” —
Kindness, care, helpfulness, appreciation were no longer just words but the actions we took.
However a small request now,
It’s time for you to depart,
Please “guest” leave us now.
So we may love, laugh and hug once again.

One

A universe inside me turns;
It seems composed of dark and light.
At times I’m dazzled by the stars;
At times I’m lost in cloudy night.

No fear, need, judgement nor dissent,
Nothing is ended nor begun;
There is no substance to the dark’
The Truth is Light and all is One.

Truth

We talk about escaping to nature,
using nature,
protecting nature,
saving nature
as if it were something else,
something ‘over there’,
not what is in front of us, around us and inside us
every minute our atoms exist on our spaceship Earth.
You are not IN nature, you ARE nature.

The Recluse

Pg.10

Of solitude and silence in the sky?
These have we, and a thousand nooks of earth
Have also these, but nowhere else is found,
Nowhere (or is it fancy?) can be found
The one sensation that is here; ’tis here,
Here as it found its way into my heart
In childhood, here as it abides by day,
By night, here only; or in chosen minds
That take it with them hence, where’er they go.
—’Tis, but I cannot name it, ’tis the sense
Of majesty, and beauty, and repose,
A blended holiness of earth and sky,
Something that makes this individual spot,
This small abiding-place of many men,
A termination, and a last retreat,
A centre, come from wheresoe’er you will,
A whole without dependence or defect,
Made for itself, and happy in itself,
Perfect contentment, Unity entire.

Liam

I hope you know you were loved
You are still loved
Miss you, mate

No Need to Win!

It’s topsy-turvy, we laugh we cry!
Still sturdy, though nervy.
Heads high, forward stride
play the game, pick a tile.
Put on your biggest smile
the best word out there,
whatever skin we’re in,
No need to win,
JUST PLAY!

A Prayer for My Grandmother

Mother, let us enfold our griefs in lotus leaves,
cast them in the vagaries of the river,
let its alchemy bloom the most enchanting flower
in the murkiest of waters.

Let us admit how ghosts
can resurrect themselves,
become our holy guardians
who watch over us as we sleep.

Mother, let us remember how our women
were once warriors, unbeholden to any man,
how the world was not made by a god
but a goddess who created the earth from mud.

She held up the sky with the legs of a giant tortoise
allowing every star to shine its light,
the sun to burst forth, the lovely moon to come out at night.
Let us remember that grandmother’s name means spring beauty.

Sonnet

I had not thought of violets late,
The wild, shy kind that spring beneath your feet
In wistful April days, when lovers mate
And wander through the fields in raptures sweet.
The thought of violets meant florists’ shops,
And bows and pins, and perfumed papers fine;
And garish lights, and mincing little fops
And cabarets and soaps, and deadening wines.
So far from sweet real things my thoughts had strayed,
I had forgot wide fields; and clear brown streams;
The perfect loveliness that God has made,—
Wild violets shy and Heaven-mounting dreams.
And now—unwittingly, you’ve made me dream
Of violets, and my soul’s forgotten gleam.

( Credit : The Book of American Negro Poetry (1922) )

Begin

Some mornings you open
the curtains and light falls
into your little world as if
all the chaos of the night
were suddenly evolution –
a wild growing busy
with silent intention;
a pile of books gestates
on the wizened armchair,
the small wooden figure
waiting for your sketches,
is poised, one leg lifted
for a leap that is always
just about to be taken.
The harmonica, sits pert
in its open case, nudges
into your cornucopia
of possible beginnings.

You Are Not What’s Broken

Dear those who don’t want to be here, you are not what’s broken.
You are the recipient and the creation of love, and people pray for you, even when you don’t know it.
Someone, somewhere looks at you, or hears your name and smiles because you warm their heart, and only you can do it.
Know the sun was made to kiss you,
the rain was made to cool you,
the birds were made to serenade you.
You are not what’s broken.
There are a fleet of angels guiding your steps.
Know that you are more than existing, you are living, breathing and loved.
You are intentional,
You are not accidental
You are not coincidentally
You were made from purpose and intent.
Though you don’t see it, to others it is clear,
You are the world and we need you here.
Know that you are super fly by design and even if you don’t know it, I will know it for you.
But more than that, you are not what’s broken, you are what keeps us from breaking, you are sheer beauty, and you are loved.

Home

Home
In my world the buildings have disappeared,
they have been replaced by fields,
there are yellow flowers,
mountains,
lakes,
and just the one beacon of a lighthouse.
It is a world I share with my children.

Water cannot hold fish here,
sky cannot hold moon here,
horizon cannot hold fingertips of grass here.
This world is the size of a giant,
but it cannot hold the whole of our hearts.
Everything suspends with hope,
potential,
the absurdity of possibility.

When we walk it’s body once again,
we will walk knowing we have survived it all.
Separate as stars, but held together by a love
that spans the expanse of this universe’s singular breath.

Teaching Grammar In A Poetry School

We named words the way a god will name his creations.
We named them things and describing words,
and talked about how run and jump and eat
were all actions. Then we marvelled
at the activeness of sit and breathe and be.
We said table words for the things we could touch
and cloud words for the ones we couldn’t –
although we recognised that cloud was not a cloud word
but a table word, and one boy described
walking up Scafell Pike last winter with his dad
and the cold breath of water on their faces.
We identified alliteration as same letter words,
then wrote sentences with a nest of snakes
threaded through them. Plosives became explosives
as fireworks popped on our lips.
We agreed that bridges let us cross
from one part of a sentence to another,
and though we did not mention asyndeton, one girl
said that sometimes there were no bridges
and readers leapt from thought to thought like goats
across a mountain stream.
Another talked about rhythm
(I did not make her say meter) and how sometimes
it was in twos like walking and sometimes
triple like a runaway train.
And we called metaphors cheddar moons
(because the moon is a wheel of yellow cheese)
and did not distinguish similes, except to say
that they were like cheddar moons,
and a girl at the back confessed
she could not understand the difference – though later
she wrote that quietness was an eagle circling,
her heart like a bird taking flight.

To my darling child

Oh my darling child
you don’t know how much
I want you to see the world

To climb up high mountains
And swim in deep oceans
To taste homegrown fruits
And drink straight from trees

To feel sand through your toes
And hear birds chirping high
To watch sunsets glow on your skin
And monsoons drench you down

To care for creatures in the wild
And meet different walks of life
To leave only footprints on this planet
And no other mess behind

From the wilderness of Africa
To the tropics of Asia
I’ll take your hand in mine
When we see the world together
Oh my darling child

Weaver Workers

Little old Blackburn town like a hive for bees buzzing around with skill “Arte” et labore and creating of life. The thunderous sound of the clogs on the cobbles from the feet of the workers all rushing to weave the cotton in mills puffing smoke up high as the hills touch the sky. The market all buzzing with shouting of wares and the smell of flavours from food fill the air. The ball on the head in net a “roar” a “goal” the mighty blue and white win again. Times are a changing for little old town becoming more modern booming all around.

Ta-ra Lockdown!

Ta-ra lockdown!
See ya later, dressing gown!
Now I’m gonna av’ a smile,
Fer’ a long while!

People Make A Town

People make a town
Our neighbours and mates
Not terrace-row houses, not old-fashioned slates
Not feather-edged fences, nor wrought-iron gates

People make a town
Nodded hellos and waved goodbyes
Not afternoon heatwaves, not evening-red skies
Not moonsets on hilltops, nor early sunrise

People make a town
Generous hearts and kind souls
Not aqueduct arches, not art on the walls
Not train station platforms, nor grand old town halls

People make a town
Mums hugging children outside of pre-schools
Not book-lending libraries, not shop-window jewels
Not wooden park benches, nor cocktail bar stools

People make a town
Laughing at dad when he’s wearing odds socks
Not internet bargains, not jungle-scene clocks
Not coffee room armchairs, nor wedding belle frocks

People make a town
Grandad dancing with Grandma despite two left feet
Not nursing home gardens, not cobble-lined streets
Not OAP haircuts, nor bingo hall seats

People make a town
Bus drivers, street sweepers and crossing patrols
Not puddles on pavements, not four-thousand holes
Not roadworks to fix them, nor traffic controls

People make a town
Foster parents and Night Safe who help those at risk
Not Victorian buildings, not Renaissance-style bricks
Not roundabout sculptures, not cathedral-walled discs

People make a town
Entertaining children in panto costumes
Not theatre-style seating, not projector-lit gloom
Not cricket pavilions, nor moorland tower views

People make a town
“Appreciate the small things”, “Them’s just the breaks”
Not hidden-smile shopping, not bans on handshakes
Not Tier 4 cancellations of tiered wedding cakes

People make a town
Worry-lined parents of cynical teens
Not social distancing guidelines, not home-quarantines
Not testing site cordons, not queues for vaccines

People make a town
Making plans for the future, and fond memories
Not flowers in springtime, not autumnal trees,
Not warm summer sunshine, nor a stiff winter breeze

People make a town
From delivery-ward babies, to end-of-life care
From morning communions, to late evening prayers
For richer, for poorer, for better, for worse
Yes, people make a town,
You, me, we and us

Thread

The thread that weaves its way through the centuries
from my ancestors first working the Lancashire soil
reaching me and my needle in the present day.

From farming and the mills up to weekend-hobby-makers
Creating, providing and furnishing our lives.

A truth passed down through the generations –
to make with your hands is to leave your mark on the world.

Pelican Ridge

They live in a house called
Pelican Ridge
Hidden in the side of a cliff
They are joy:
Sun-kissed
Wind-kissed
Love-kissed
A star burst
Heart burst
Saving the sea
From itself.
Pelican Ridge is home
For the soft hearted
Broken hearted
Half hearted
Mermaids with
Small fins and
Weak gills who
Need a better song to sing.
They are copper-skinned
Fire-skinned
Sun warmed
Heart warm with
Long arms to hold
The whale maids
The ray maids
The shark maids
Who need a place
That won’t taste like tears
And plastic
It is safe here
In Pelican Ridge
Where the rough-faced
Salt-faced
Foam-faced sea
Cannot hurt you.

Be there & care

When times are tough with lots of Stuff
Stop, slow down take a look around.
Make sometime to find your ground.
Adults, children in these uncertain times .
Families & friends all be kind.
A simple call or just a knock
Some of the lonely hear only the clock.
Some people who are close to you will not reach out
They say I’m fine then you don’t doubt…
Ask again and lend a ear
That maybe just what they need to hear.
A garden visit with coffee or beer.
To let them know your there to help with fears..
A simple call is all it takes
To let them know that you’re their mate…

In Bloom

When the world was ending
I sat in a sunny park
seeing in spring –
finally,
she’s come,
I feel like I’ve waited for you forever!
There were only two other people
in the vastness of a park that usually feels
tiny,
who saw her quietly come by too.
The stillness before storm.
the awe before apocalypse.
Soaking up the wet grass,
daffodils and daisies
muddied wellies, scarf wrapped tight
squinting for more sun,
I spot my first bumblebee of the year
a small smile wriggles delicately,
you follow an itch, upwards,
think about what to have for dinner –
remember how to feel hungry again,
and how best to carry on
like normal.
Take a long sip of the coldest water you have ever drunk,
the wind kindly holding your hair back
from your supple baby face,
plant your hands into mother earth,
pull your many selves up,
and continue being

My Darling

My Darling, it’s time to be gentle with yourself.

Out of Lockdown 2021

Having – Love, Hope and Trust.

Dearest Empathy

As the singular boat of time
carries you further into its water
you learn
that not all people are wicked
that poverty of mind wrecks surer
than poverty of cloth
that love always falls back into love
and that trees too pray
and animals too hurt.
You will see that not everyone
cries with tears
and in places where no light shines
you will always find
the strongest
dark

Until the day when the body
becomes filled with a million hearts
each working like floating bells
against the deep turn of heavy water.

A Great Need

Out
Of a great need
We are all holding hands
And climbing.
Not loving is a letting go.
Listen,
The terrain around here
Is
Far too
Dangerous
For
That.

Grounding

Piercing morning light
floods across blossom white walls.
Falling into cushions of mustard,
and blankets of sea green.

Breathe, I’m reminded, I’m alive.

Greeted by a daily symphony of birdsong.
Her name is “Gracie” -?her presence, perfect.
I watch dust caught in sunrays levitate,
eventually settling on the window sill.

Breathe, I’m alive.

I hear chatter of early walkers,
startled by the barking of “Ben” next door.
Shrill laughter of the lady at no 18,
And bouts of arguments at no 29,
spilt over from the night before.

Breathe, I’m alive.

The clock ticks to my beating heart.
Leaves shadow dance in the evening light,
dappling hues across the kitchen floor.
The aroma of biryani sent by my mother,
transports me to her.

Breathe, I’m alive.

Candle flickers in the dim light of lamps,
The low hum of the refrigerator has a calm about it.
I hear the clatter of raindrops pelting the fire pit,
and whatever devils may lurk in the darkness outside.

Breathe, I’m alive

The faint rumble of the milk van,
drifts away on the lull of lavender.
Sleep overtakes wakefulness,
while I’m held in bed’s warm embrace…

Breathe.
We are alive.

Become Light

Today
I am in awe
of how electricity curls out from hung art works
and travels through the plug sockets of our eyeballs
into our bodies,
until our ribs glow like streetlamps.
And I realise people are like art,
buildings and bodies will bend their boastful bones
towards them to receive the light they carry.
And I realise I want to be that kind of light,
the kind others stretch out the matchstick
of their fingers towards
and can borrow
a curl of flame
to keep them warm.
This neighbourhood has the spirit
of a college cheerleader and a pleasant prophet
the way it offers me new ways to access purpose.
And I am reminded that day will come,
when the building I am in will become
a glow stick,
planes passing by
will mistake me for a rocket
and make space.

IT’S ALL CONNECTED

There are rivers
In your eyes
There is fire
In your heart
There is mud
In your blood
Did you forget for a while?
That rocks and stones
Are in your bones
Tree roots and veins
Galaxies and brains
Are all the same
There are oceans
In your belly
There is fire
In your heart
The weather changes
In your mind
But don’t forget
You are a part
Of something bigger
Something more
You just need
To find the door
It’s all connected
Don’t you see?
The sun
The moon
And you
And me

Becoming

-A Poem for Nick Cave’s Soundsuit

Don’t ever believe
your body
can’t bloom,
too,
your eyes
your breath
your chest
opening
in sun,
a never-ending
trellis
of faith.
Don’t ever believe
that you can’t
climb up,
step out,
and blossom
into your own
beauty.

Out There

Out there
remember the last time
you nearly gave up
you nearly gave in
and remember there are out there
more ways than walkers
more dreams than dreamers
more love than lovers
out there
striding when you need
walking
just how you feel
and letting be
you remember
the last time that place
you really felt good
you really felt peace
you really felt ease
back in your power
you remember
you remember
you remember

Breathe

Breathe…
Allow time to stand still
Listen to the river flowing within you
It is in this calmness, the relief from the dis-ease will be felt.
Breathe.

The Brink

If you ever find yourself
Standing still and heavy
On the brink
On the precipice
Of this fragile life
Turn away
For one moment
Turn your face
Towards the sun
Your light shines
Warmer and brighter
Turn your hand
Towards mine
Your touch pulses
Stronger and braver
The darkness will fade
The storm will clear
Stay close
Stay here