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.


Is it surprising

that advertising

The art of persuasion

paints many occasion.

Do not forget

That today in debt

Is the way many live

And will they forgive

When the time comes to pay

On that future day.

A car polished and gleaming

essential from dreaming

Paid for by card.

It will be hard

when it’s wrenched back

And we feel the lack

For it represented

that we consented

to being owned.

Even our houses are loaned!

So many afraid

because we obeyed

the desire of possession;

The modern obsession.

How will we be freed

From want and not need?

The massive lending

led to so much spending.

When will it cease?

Our lives are on lease.

If we’re to escape

We have to re-shape

our consuming

by resuming

simpler ways

to spend our days

and rebel!

Yet it could be Hell!

Do fields still exist

where to walk in the mist

And spend hours

looking at flowers

Or when short on words

To study the birds,

But sadly I know

There’s nowhere to go

for the indebted

Which is regretted.

Where will it end?

How can we mend

the broken

For whom this is penned?

The answer is prayer;

increasingly rare

Or to ignore

what it

is all for

And hope

we will cope,

But the wealthy are

clever and stealthy

when they lend to the poor

who can borrow no more.

Will the rich run away

refusing to play

And hide on their yachts

from the have nots

whose rage may overwhelm

those at the helm ?

And destroy.

Will this bring us joy?

I fear not.

We’ll be consumed in their rot.

But I did not mean

to take you there

to the place of despair

through my mind I’m sifting

For something beautiful

and uplifting

And with the searching


thoughts of poetry and find

freedom of expression

has lifted depression

as books from our past

Give independence at last

from oppression!


Once what I created

was fully and vividly wrought.

Now it seems I am fated

To sit silently deep in thought.

Oh to stroll near the water

And watch ducklings and swans

glide by.

But these views have been

stolen from me

as I remember them with a sigh.

Often I swam in the ocean

And even ski id in the snow,

But Oh! that youthful emotion!

Tell me where did it go?

Where did the beautiful songs

of love in a Roman cafe

Vanish in the cloud of wrongs

That are part of old age today?


A virus that settles anywhere

Is an enemy for which

none of us care.

Soon a vacine must be made

Though many are afraid.

Something safe

the world can use,

Free of charge.

There’s no time to lose.

We don’t know who will

be next.

Most of us are perplexed.

This is a terrible scourge

An infection we must purge

And value the time

We are free

From this blight on



From the other side of the planet

A poet pierces my mind

with his dreams.

Imagination reeling

For nothing is as it seems.

Dissolving from fiction.

Evolving into tales unreal.

Now there are illustrations

to express what vision can feel.

One goes on his travels


to form a veil of patterns unique.

In a strange way he has perfected

Our temptation to endlessly seek.


Before a threat

Clouds your mind

Remember those who loved you

And others who were kind

Who moved you.

Before the night becomes dawn

Think how some improved you.

Before the clouds cause

you to mourn

Thank the lord that you

were born.

Let prayer soothe you.


To the place of his birth

He longed to return,

Where the waves danced with mirth

And the pale sands replied

With a rippled language

A child could discern,

But he went with another

Who was not his bride.

O the cliffs of Cornwall

He’d climbed as a youth.

As an old man returning

He carried a truth

That to do what you feel

is right at the time

Though it may be selfish

Might not be a crime.

His wife stayed behind

Her tears long shed.

She thought to appease him

Before he was dead.

And the clouds over London

Hung heavy and full

They could not retrieve him

Or his new friend annul

A marriage that lasted

thirty odd years.

His wife now old repressed

lonely tears.

She read of a poet Quaker

whose faith

Though her husband forsake her

Had made her feel safe.

So cheerily she waved her

husband goodbye.

We must do what we must

With trust,

‘Ere we die.


She didn’t want to rob a bank

Nor even to steal.

She longed to be arrested

To see how it would feel.

Though eighty years of age

With no crime ever committed

The Sergeant at the station

her arrest permitted.

So he read a made up charge;

Informed her of her rights.

She said “Thank you Serg.

I don’t get out much at nights.”

They even put the cuffs on.

And then once in the car

They took off the sirens screaming

She felt like a star!

“It was exciting,” she told

the man next door.

“Such polite young officers;

They could tell

I knew the score.

I’d like to go to jail

For a real crime.

I would not want bail

Just for the thrill

Of doing time!”


Ripe red tomatoes

Succulent and sweet;

Juicy tomatoes

So good to eat!

Slice for a sandwich,

Very good with cheese.

Ripe red tomatoes.

Let’s taste them please!

Round tomatoes

Grown in the sun

Picked from the vine

Bliss every one.

Chopped tomatoes

Even from a tin

Make a dish tasty

That’s sure to win.

A bright feature

Of salad as well.

Life without tomatoes

Would surely be hell!


The sound of gulls

through rain streaked air.

Silence that annuls

the need for prayer.

His key will turn in the lock.

Home safely,

I have watched the clock.

All is well with his return.

And faith can discern

that doubt may be a sin,

But is this where we begin?

Love flourishes

with nurture.

Even nourishes the

empty hours

until the future flowers

with an embrace.

Yes, two people can live

for many years with grace

And still care.

When he arrives

the time has come

For a thankful prayer.

That Love survives.


Like shadows they passed through

our lives as we recall

A dim remembrance of them all.

Their fleeting names

that are forgotten

Pain now lost

with thoughts that soften.

Tomorrow there will be fresh faces

to be aligned with new places.

Yet the past must have made

us what we are though

memories fade.

We sift our brains in vain attempt

To find the ones that time has lent

Is perhaps a futile chore

Because we’ve been there before.