A Silent Place, In Spring

A silent, greening place, in Spring, among the hills,

A bower soft, of moss and fern, a secret, lonely, scene,

Where singing birds have never come, and now they are so few,

And almost silent now their song, yet leaves still dance upon the breeze, 

And turn the hills, first dark, then light, as veils of mist conceal the sun,

Then, like spirits, swirl away, transformed in shape and mood,

And in the air the changing scents of blossoms, white and pink, 

The humming of the bees, and by my side a quiet brook,

To lay and read a precious book, in precious solitude,

To reflect on life, on what my youth was like,

And what the years have brought and made.

Here I sit, just looking on, at the beauty that is left,

While scents and sounds wash over me,

Enraptured by a lotus dream, of a world beyond this glade,

A world of love and joy, where Paradise is real.


For no matter where I look, a Darkness sits in wait,

Some melancholy brooding thing, that thrives on wickedness,

That, like a pestilence, has spread, among those who think they’re good,

Who, to an unnamed god, still pray, who other gods ignore, 

And wonder if they have it wrong, for gods will have their say,

Or so say those who still believe in miracles and saints,

That vain attempt to make divine an ape, ashamed of what it is,

And as the darkness spreads afar, I seek calmness in my heart,

Weighed down by all I see, the chaos, and the misery, the sad polluted sea,

By fear and rage, by hate and lies, by conflicts yet to come; 

Carnage walks across the world, with Slaughter by his side

From west to east they stride down roads built long ago,

By Ignorance, by Tyranny, overseen by Greed.

We have murdered and destroyed, as my countrymen applaud,

Nations who’ve done no harm to us, they won’t forget our name.


And here we brag of liberty while breaking all the laws,

Living in a fetid swamp where Hypocrisy reigns supreme,

Protecting all the cheats and frauds, from exposure to the light,

And in that muck lie banks and courts, and rich men’s parliaments,

Those staged democracies, those illusions for the poor,

And poor because they’re robbed, just slaves who think they’re free,

For, as McLuhan said, “Of course, that’s why they have TV,”

My heart sinks more on recent news we’ve sent robots into space, 

To search for life on Mars, while extinction looms on Earth;

The madness of Humanity, we’re Nature’s worst mistake,

So, I’ll rest my head and read this book, written long ago,

Of the Golden Age, that never was, but on reading becomes real,

And dream again of times long lost, for what else is there to do,

When Oblivion is in motion, our common Fate now sealed,

But imagine what we cannot have, and what we cannot do.

She Wore A Crimson Dress

I can’t remember why I loved,

Or why I played the game,

The days were long, the nights were hot,

The yearning like a flame,

Then there she was, before me,

Our eyes like threads entwined,

As we passed on forest path,

It seemed we were one mind,

So followed her through sunlit glades,

By shadowed wooded streams,

Unsure of her reality,

While wondering of my dreams,

She had dark hair and sad blue eyes,

She wore a crimson dress,

And said to me, on parting,

You must not this, confess.”


clouds are splashed across a turquoise sky,

like gestures of a transformed world, 

-a world to us unknown-

or spectral bands by ghostly hands,

heralding a new dawned age, 

beyond the age of man,

and once we’re gone, 

then who will care, 

it cannot be our gods,

for they are frail and changing things, 

born of desperate minds,

the universe grown conscious, 

but of itself afraid,

that became a force of nature, 

but now the force is spent;

Philosophy has failed us, 

the Enlightenment was slain,

and now, on the near horizon, 

darker clouds appear,

from which there flash the warnings,

with thunderous cannon shots,

that shake the world’s foundations, 

long crumbling into dust.

Another Brief Encounter


A Ten Minute Sketch

Character: A man and a woman

Scene: small shop, counter, woman standing behind the counter placed slightly to stage left, at an angle on the stage so that she and the man can be seen in full profile) tidying things as the man walks on stage from stage right-hesitates, looking out to the audience, hesitates, then turns and approaches the counter.

Woman. (looking the man over)  Good afternoon, 

Man. Good afternoon.  (He looks at things on display as she continues to tidy while watching him. The objects can just be suggested)

Woman. Can I help you find something?

Man. Perhaps, I don’t know what I’m looking for really.

Woman. Then everything can be considered. Is it for you or a gift?

Man. For a friend, well, more than a friend, a woman, at least…

Woman. Without knowing what she means to you makes it difficult for me to recommend anything. Your wife, perhaps?

Man. No, but we had plans, anyway we talked about it-I’m not sure now, you see, she’s not well and I wanted….

Woman. To cheer her up.

Man. That would be difficult, she’s ill, might be dying in fact.

Woman. Oh, I’m sorry. Is there no hope?

Man. That’s just it, I’m not sure. She won’t return my calls now. We had an argument about it yesterday. She was fine one minute, angry the next. Told me to forget about her. Said she didn’t have much time left, wanted to be alone.

Woman. But you can’t be?

Man. Love doesn’t’ just end when someone hangs up the phone.

Woman.  But, if that’s what she wants…

Man. If I knew that, it would be simple, but she does this quite a bit. Stops calling, Hangs up on me, tells me she’s dying, then days later will call as if nothing happened.  Now I’m not sure what to think, so I thought I would get her a gift.

Woman. And buy your way back? 

Man. No, not at all, show my concern, my affection. 

Woman. Isn’t it the same thing?

Man. Is that what I’m doing? Trying to buy her love?

Woman. I can’t say but it seems too late – perhaps you should move on.

Man.  That sounds like giving up. But I’ve never been good with reality.

Woman. Maybe she’s testing you.  Is she your age? 

Man. She’s younger. (a beat) Of course, I can see what you’re thinking, and we talk about that a lot, when we talk that is, and about the other issue between us?

Woman. You’re married? 

Man. I know what you’re thinking.  It’s typical, and I never saw myself as the typical man. To find I am is depressing me. 

Woman.  Or to be a typical woman.

Man. You too?

Woman. It ended a year ago, my affair.  As for my marriage, well, We pretend we’re very sophisticated. But, in the end it’s very tiring.

Man. What does it all mean then? I don’t know anymore. I don’t even know why I’m talking to you like this, just walked in off the street.  I’m sorry.

Woman. Oh, don’t be. It’s been a slow day and when there’s not much to do, the mind tends to wander into all sorts of places.  

Man. I.m not sure what you mean?

Woman. Well, there’s got to be more to life than just the living, don’t you think? 

Man. Yes, but I’ve no idea what that is.

Woman. Love. What is there without love? Just the dreary day to day.  Isn’t that why you’re here? 

Man. For what?

Woman, For your love of this woman. (she laughs) Have you forgotten here already? (She almost twirls away from as she pretends to rearrange the items on the counter.

Man (Now a bit confused by what is happening but can’t help himself.) I, uh, I, yes, …for a moment, she passed right out of my mind. 

Woman. Something bothering you? Come on, the truth, if you dare. (She moves closer to him, this time just touching items as she moves)

Man  A dare, I didn’t really come here to be dared, but alright, why not, Yes, The way you moved, what can I say, it mesmerised me.

Woman. Mesmerised you?

Man It was like stepping through a magic door into another world.

Woman. Why do you think that is?

Man. No, now its your turn. Why did you make that move. Why did you want me in that spell or know I’d like it?

Woman. Because it makes us feel alive. 

Man. (Moving closer to her) You’re pretty fast are’t you. What about the lady I came in here for?

Woman. What about her? And my husband, what about him? What’s this got to do with them?

Man. Look, don’t get me wrong, I feel strongly attracted to you, but we have obligations, why should we hurt others, betray them for….

Woman. For what? For real life. To feel alive. As for hurt feelings. Well sometimes the moment overwhelms you, all those things holding you back, the chains are thrown off.

Man. (Suddenly stepping back) I’m not comfortable where this is going, I think I should leave, (he turns to exit stage right)

Woman. You haven’t bought your friend a gift. You might as well, now you’re here. 

Man. (Hesitates, steps forward) Yes, I suppose, why not. What do you suggest for the woman I described?

Woman. Another man. 

Man, “What are you doing later?”

Woman,  “You need to ask?


Spring Is Here


Spring is here, the grass is green and warming is the air,

As scudding clouds ride colder winds, above the trees still bare,

Which spread their arms to greet the sun that rises from the lands,

Where dreams are woven out of night, oases from the sands,

But strange, I see a possum, in a place it shouldn’t be,

Perhaps a warming refugee from its home in Tennessee,

Walking down a country lane, past groups of stranger birds,

That cannot fly, but run so fast, it seems they live in herds,

While squirrels are looking ragged, unsure what coat to choose,

For first it’s warm and then it’s cold, it’s easy to confuse,

You see, the seasons are upended, and nothing’s as it was,

And one could think, in just a blink, this was the land of Oz,

But now a vulture overhead that flew from Mexico,

Circles slowly round my head, I think I’d better go,

To play Vivaldi once again, and dance a barcarolle

To remember how it used to be, and satisfy my soul.

Behold, She Walks The Room As Though A Queen









Behold, she walks the room as though a queen,

Who rules alone where death has been,

Silent as the scented air,

That curls around her greying hair,

Fingers bare and intertwined,

Her eyes aflame, her face now lined,

For yesterday they sent her word,

Her sons had died or so they’d heard,

In wars she could not understand,

The reasons why, the marching band,

Or why the crowds called out for more,

Until the din became a roar,

And off they marched while singing songs,

To right the world and all its wrongs,

So were told the young and bold,

For so it goes from times of old,

And then in through an open door,

Like a broken wave upon a shore,

Comes a man she barely knows,

Transfigured by a world of woes,

Who moved towards her in a daze,

Aging with each change of gaze,

And raised his head from off his chest,

He really tried to do his best,

But sorrow is a heavy weight,

And always come when it’s too late,

Who said with slow and feeble breath,

We were foolish, we were proud,

We listened to that howling crowd,

Now all we have is emptiness,

Please, let’s sit and share our tears,

For missing sons, the wasted years,

For what else is left but you, and I,

A world destroyed, and all the rest, oblivion.














In Northern Climes When Winter Comes









In northern climes when winter comes

And heads bow before the wind,

Happy times can spring to mind,

Like visions in a dream,

Of kisses in a car’s back seat,

On a gentle summer’s night

Hands moving in the dark

Entwining eyes and limbs,

Of toboggans packed with arms and legs,

Racing wildly down the snow,

Of donkeys walking on the beach,

And Punch and Judy shows,

When friends were yours forever,

Though they be so very few,

When love was possibility;

And revolution in the air,

For death was then unknown to us,

Despite the daily news,

We never gave much thought to that,

Were content to play the game.


We Never Taste A Perfect Wine

We never taste a perfect wine,

Nor live for long in happiness,

The path we walk is stony flint,

We walk alone there, side by side,

The sun awakes the flower’s bloom,

The rain, the sleeping seeds,

But sometimes in my dreams I hear

Faint whispers of the sea,

Which bore our ship on heaving waves,

Through storm and diamond ice,

Through fears and  through misgivings,

The old world to the new,

Which appeared to us in glitter,

That first night in New York,

When a taxi man drove us round

And a black man eased our pain

On the journey north by clicking rail,

To a land that lay in snow,

Where new troubles borne of old,

To regrets gave birth anew.

We never taste a perfect wine,

Nor live for long in happiness,

The path we walk is stony flint,

We walk alone there, side by side.

November Month









November month is cold and grey,

A time for books, for films, and tea,

When loneliness walks in the door,

And sits with sadness in the gloom,

When trees shed tears that fall as leaves,

And clouds in mourning gather round,

As mouldy men in dusty rooms,

Count their days in dividends.





When I Was Young







When I was young, oh just a lad,

there came to me a man,

who wore a coat festooned with stars

and on his face a mask,

that changed its shape as shadows do

when winds move through the grass,

who asked me where he’d lost his way,

but who was I to ask

of mysteries of that kind,

so since I had no answers

he turned to go his way, and groaned,

‘oh, why this cruel and futile task?’