Her days of housework are over.
She has to live with the dust.
She would say to me, “Come on over.
You’re the only one I trust”

Her days of not cleaning the windows
Scar the incoming sun.
A curtain flaps
Where its hook unwraps.
The repair has not been done.

Her days of action suspended.
She sits upright in her chair.
An old lady I’ve befriended.
She refuses to go into care.

There are many old people
Liviing in isolation.
What they really need is
Lively conversation.

She is deaf. Her eyesight is poor.
She is aged ninety three.
Nothing happens anymore.
She’s content just to rest and be.

There’s a splendid view from her home.
East London spreads out below.
You can clearly see the Dome
Lit up in the sky’s rosy glow.

Reader, pause for a while.
Say a prayer for such as she.
I can still see her bravely smile
As she waves goodbye to me.


Some time ago,

where the sun glows

came two jet winged crows

to the tree, its splintered

branches resting on the sky.

They built a nest,

We watched the fledglings

grow up high.

When they grew

they flew.

The nest its outline clear

still darkens the tree;

It’s lasted many a year,

braving gales and rain.

We look at it sometimes

But the crows have not

returned again.

I called them Floey and Joey.

I wonder where they went

Those builders of intent.

No other birds have

come to rest

in their strong and

vacant nest.

Perhaps the area is

thought too low

Even for the departed crow.


Giving is a feeling sublime;

A way of living

perfectly in time

with a sense of calm.

Giving leaves a place of balm.

Yet bereft;

When you have nothing left

Giving may seem like harm.

Freedom from possessions

may be liberty of a kind

not many find.

This is a secret when we

try to uncover

reasons for keeping things –

invisible strings

That can restrain

Yet in giving

We may have much

to gain.


Thank you for the air we breathe

And for our good health.

Thank you for beauty we perceive;

We know this is wealth.

Thank you for light and food

And for sunshine bright.

Thank you for everything that’s good:

Our hearing and our sight.

Thank you for love and empathy

And for peace of mind.

Thank you for creativity

And each friend we find.

Thank you for water that we drink

And humor that we share.

Thank you for the freedom to think

And for neighbours who care.


Softly silver

the first light

sweeps away

the deep night.

Translucent blue

beyond the trees.

Black branches

the wind does tease.

There are lights

from blocks of flats.

far below the city cats

slink the pavements

yet unpeopled.

The church towers

slender steepled.

A lone witness

of the morning;

Bed abandoned

sleep scorning,

Thankful for

another day.

Time it is now

to pray

that the world

will carry on

long after we have gone.

So please don’t drop

the bomb!


Across a lake of emotion,

Swift past the island of guilt.

Riding on waves of devotion

To where Love is tenderly built.

And the birds have wings

like gem stones

And the trees are purple

and blue,

As the island of Love

With its splendid tones

wraps itself around you.


Rain splashed pavements

where chicken bones

and cardboard boxes

lie crushed.

The blue grey sky

with murky tones

under which the people rushed

Eyes glued to their phones

as rain in torrents gushed.

Passing people unaware,

But appointments they

must keep.

A flowing crowd were passing


of those who seem half asleep

as they move towards

the underground

all of them go work bound

into the tunnels deep.

A church clock strikes eight.

Out comes the morning sun

None of the workers will be late.

There’s time for everyone.

The street now shines

and shimmers

As traffic swishes through.

Light in puddles glimmers

The street seems born anew.


Red lights shining through the trees

glowing rubies on a grey sky.

In the distance, gold lights

amber globes

Pockets of silver in tower blocks

We don’t know why

Tower blocks are for living in

But the others

We don’t know what for

We could ring the council

But a recorded message

would reply

And they wouldn’t know



Through a glass of lime juice


an iridescent sky;

There black branches lean.

In the air sun beams

And through the glass

lime juice gleams.

A question why

hovers on the day,

refreshed by lime

thinking what to say.

Another time?

Risky this delay

another time……….

Transparent rose skies blush.

Across the heavens

thoughts rush.

No answer will there be

though lime juice so green

quenches utterly;

illuminates the scene,

But can’t dissolve

what has been,



She will come with you

to your dream;

Though indistinct it may seem.

She is scarce a part of it;

Not in the heart of it.

where the ocean’s roar

crashes sparkling on the shore.

Where the dark cliffs rise

And the seagulls plaintive cries.

There is a great price they say

that the exile must pay;

so let’s hope in memory

your Cornwall once again you’ll see

And the sea breeze so thrilling

Though imagined is fulfilling.


She has done all she can

And is tired.

Her physique needs to

be rewired.

The shining sun

says life has begun,

But she wants life

to be fired.

Sadness comes with this;

It replaces occasional bliss.

She hopes soon to go,

But that it’s not slow

and there is time for a kiss.

There is a need to rest,

If life is to regain former


Perhaps to give in

is a great sin,

But what can one do

when depressed?