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.


She could not pass

the first bright crocus

peeping through the grass;

Its ochre shade

a biting yellow.

The thought of bluebells

in a wood.

If only she could

go where mauve/blue shades

of the Madonna’s gown.

It hurts at times

to live in town

where church grounds

are her countryside.

And buses the daily guide.

Yet memory holds

Apple blossom from

the Cotswolds

And lilac too

The scent of ecstasy.

She left it all

for you.


Holding the wall

for support

careful not to fall.

Each day a battle fought

with pain

From which she wont complain

Although at times distraught.

So long and winding her past years

While the horizons shrink.

There is little time for tears

But hours and hours

to think.

A precious time

In her free mind

To ponder on the deep

Is it just in old age we find

The irony of sleep?


The taste and scent

of grass so green;

the drifting clouds

And air serene.

Young, vibrant

stretching limbs.

With joy all her

songs were hymns.

Trees whose branches

gave dark shade

under which promises

were made.

How the blood

in her veins sang.

The joyous beat

of the heart’s pound

All life’s music rang

As she merged in with

the sound

and was part of everything



I didn’t mean to say

what I said yesterday.

I inadvertently referred to you

when you didn’t want me to.

Now you put me to shame,

But it was not a critique

The message of which you speak.

We admired your audacity

The friend with who

I shared your story.

Now it seems that you and I

must break the tie

of pain;

So strong it had seemed

But was it that I just dreamed?

I can’t apologise this time.

The hours press on

And I am guilty of no crime!


It’s back again

that pain.

I’ve allowed it to return.

When will I learn

To be careful what I say?

The sorrows of yesterday

bite keen.

But what has been

I can’t change.

I can just remain apart

once more,

like before.

Keep clear and not feel:

Not such a big deal,

Better by far

to travel under one star

Than always be at fault.

I shall bring this friendship

to a halt;

Cancel out thoughts

of self doubt

and rise.

It would be wise

To travel with those

who love me

And are not striving always

to prove themselves

above me!


Through the window

Snow is falling.

Listen to the children calling.

A small girl is dancing

in the snow alone.

Speak not of climate change

For she could not have known

Why snow is now a rare sight.

Don’t tell her.

Don’t spoil her delight.

Large white flakes floating

On the soft morn:

An icing sugar coating

On a world reborn!


A man selling trinkets

or somethings of that kind

Had cash laid out before him

The risk he didn’t mind.

When I alerted him of a thief?

He pointed to the sky

and said he was protected

by belief.

That God watched over him

to keep his money safe

That no one would steal from him

Because of his strong faith.

While the market bustled

round him, his image

remains clear.

I’m so glad I found him

A man who knew no fear.

That was twenty years ago

Yet still I recall

That brave salesman

sitting at his stall.


Are you an evil chief

You animal thief?

So you have a gun

And kill for fun

And the photograph

to make your mates laugh

At the dead tiger displayed

So casually laid.

The once gold and black

We cannot get back.

The grand creature of Blake

You thought you could take

Big hunter of game?

For shame! For shame!


When she was young

she followed the sun;

Was attracted to men

who seemed to be fun.

She danced all night;

Came home at dawn.

Going to work

was one huge yawn.

When she was young;

She walked for miles

Cycled great distances

With happy smiles.

Sometimes hitch hiked

in days that you could

with no one to tell her

whether she should.

When she was old

She looked back

On the youthful pleasures

she now seemed to lack

And the photographs of people

she’d met

When she was part of

a glamorous set.

Ah… but who could have told

That even the beautiful

grow old?


Varied shades of green:

the leaves and stems,

as willows lean

dew shining like gems.

Fish leap; the river coils.

Gulls hover overhead.

Waves like tin foils

ripples of silver and lead.

Walking along the path,

breathing the moist air,

the spirit rises to laugh

to see swans beautifully pair.

A wish that the world could thrive

with such beauty all the time

with so much alive;

perfectly in rhyme!