peace begins with a smile from the heart
causing another a smile to impart
'smile' is a language we all understand
ageless, eternal, like holding your hand
'smile' recognises the depths of sorrow
'smile' understands there's always a tomorrow
a smile looks for a rainbow in the storm
a golden sunbeam that will keep you warm
a smile can even mend a broken heart
because a smile can say "let's make a fresh start".


Roses, Roses fragrance from above
peace pervades from the wings of a Dove
Rose in it's garden in sweet ensconce
the Dove touches down yet makes no response
Roses, Roses you have thorns on your stem
we have problems but learn to live with them
the beauty of life will always bloom
even in a world fixated with doom
Roses, Roses beauty, love and peace
even in a world where wars never cease
will we ever have peace just like a Dove?
When the love of power becomes the power of love.


plaiting your hair as you sing all alone
basking in evenings gradations of tone
a fuzz of russet gold surrounds your wings
for you are the colour of living things
sing to infatuated painted clouds
consuming sunsets away from the crowds
adorning petals in your patch of peace
our senses soften like your dreamy fleece
I'll go fetch my flute and play you my song
please wait Ambrosia I wont be too long.


stood in awe of a Marbled White
smoothly it contours highs and lows
poetry in motion just like waves
she's spreading glitter as she goes
far beyond our latticed world
Small Blues skip in the timeless corn
like angels flying hand in hand
emerging in a golden dawn
under creation's timeless sun
Curlews cry and a Peewit sings
birch trees are rustling in the breeze
they know the joy of simple things.

this is actually a Swallowtail!


an interview with a local Poet conducted by himself in front of a full length mirror.

how does a Poet choose his words?
Primarily there words are meant to be felt
sometimes even they don't understand what they are writing
on some occasions there words need to be as precise as geometry

so where can you find Poets?
They are often seen walking in the hills
or in wide open spaces chasing butterflies
perhaps simply walking by a river
or sat contemplating by a mountain stream

how can you tell if a person is a Poet?
they always tend to have a dreamy look about them
they like to hide away in their imagination
because they know that reality can have sharp teeth
sometimes they are dishevelled and disorganised
a sure sign is when they are furiously scribbling away in a notebook

what special qualities do Poets have?
they have the unique ability to add passion and emotion to inanimate things
they can make mountains float
they can make rivers sing
they can hear in a gale
they can even see in the dark!

how would you describe the feelings of Poet?
Like dust on old piano keys
they have feelings of perpetuity
in a world where nothing is constant.
Above all they are in awe of anything beautiful.

so how can I really get to know a Poet?
By reading their poems
their Poems are generally their auto biography.

may I thank you for taking part in this interview
don't mention it, the pleasure was all mine.

stumbled across this gentleman and concurred he must be a Poet!


random dewdrops roll off drooping leaves
carefree days in a warm summer breeze
bound in a hollow of space and time
new sun rising in this silence of mine


red lapsing waves in a fire of poppies
nature patented, there are no copies
butterflies clutching in bold solidarity
wild flowers abound and blossom in clarity


I know a quiet space away from the din
I know the Red Hill will always take me in
it's charming secrets can never be lost
come taste the new wine and don't count the cost


cows seeking shelter away from the sun
slumber in soundness till the day is done
as the sun's green music tones down it's call
like aural sculpture in a concert hall


Peace help me blossom, You are always beautiful
go to nature it is always dutiful
to love all seasons and each passing day
tarry here a while till time calls you away



noitcefrep s'hcol eht fo ecafrus eht
noixelpmoc htooms evah sekatism tsap
noitcelloc straeh ruo morf sgnivargne
noitcelfer ruoy tsuj uoy ees t'nod uoy
etatse ylhtrae ruo tcelfer ew
etaxif ton lliw seow fo dlrow a
etaciraverp sevaw fo dlrow a
etanoser lliw senots gninetsilg tub
evahebism lliw selppir tnelucurt
eval ot erohs eht sdrawot gnipollag
evals ew slairt ruo urht no gnireidlos
evaw eht emoceb tnerroc eht ecarbme

the surface of the loch's perfection
past mistakes have smooth complexion
engravings from our hearts collection
you don't see you, just your reflection
we reflect our earthly estate
a world of woes will not fixate
a world of woes prevaricate
but glistening stones will resonate
truculent ripples will misbehave
galloping towards the shore to lave
soldiering on thru our trials we slave
embrace the current become the wave.


go fetch me a Hare I beg thee
said the Prince to his young hounds
it will make an awesome supper
I know your fitness knows no bounds
so off they trotted valiantly
to bring home their great spoil
eager to go in for the kill
the fruitage of their toil
but the Hare was far too quick
and the hounds gave up the chase
they were so embarrassed
to go and show their face
we came back empty handed
tho as fast as a switchblade knife
we were running for your supper
but the Hare was running for it's life.


the tide it rises and the tide it falls
tottering along the Curlew calls
busy on the beach with stilted legs
and long curved beaks on small bobbing heads
leaving little footprints on the beach
like memories of loved ones out of reach
but a gentle wave with a small white hand
effaced the footprints that were in the sand
the pale moon behind the hills so tall
the tide will rise and the tide will fall.


do you remember the good old 1980's?
when the word 'stress' was a new watchword

Remember buying records
and listening to the Top 40
music seemed to be so important in those days

Do you remember having telephones?
Ours was in the hallway, everybody could here you when you were on it
if you wanted to phone a girl you had to go out to a phone box
but hold on, they're not there anymore are they!

And those libraries that used to hold millions of books
you could find out anything that you wanted to know
whatever could replace that?

Did you enjoy photography?
There was an air of anticipation
waiting to see if your photos were simply stunning
or a complete flop.

Wasn't paying your bills a lot better organised
when we had those cash boxes with slots in
for paying various different bills

don't you sometimes wish you could go back to the 1980's
when things were so uncomplicated..

but would it really be the same?


up with the Trappers and push 'ram-it'
we'll break our backs to earn our pay
us Drammers are tuff so pull 'jack-it'
we'll be driving coal till the break of day

they all went to work in the normal way
before the sun and the light of day
the Children didn't do as they were told
in the dark and wet and biting cold
the storm the dayhole began to fill
most of the Children are down there still
because not many got out there alive
oldest was seventeen the youngest five!

up with the Trappers and push 'ram-it'
we'll break our backs to earn our pay
us Drammers are tuff so pull 'jack-it'
we'll be driving coal till the break of day

the bird of scandal flew out of the cage
Queen Victoria was all in a rage
she stood perplexed and looked in her diary
"right that's it I demand an enquiry"
then stepped up a man who was not a fool
"it's the right of Children to go to School.
I'll break my back to enforce this law"
- Lord Ashley-Cooper 'friend of the poor'

his wranglings with parliament were immense
it took fifteen years for them to see sense
"I will fight your cause to my last hour
and do all I can with all my power,
it's not moral to be treated this way
cut up by chains for just two pence a day
women and Children shall suffer no more"
- Lord Ashley-Cooper 'friend of the poor'

up with the Trappers and push 'ram-it'
we'll break our backs to earn our pay
us Drammers are tuff so pull 'jack-it'
we'll be driving coal till the break of day

so the Chidren as one put down their tools
and enrolled in the brand new 'ragged schools'.
a 'right to learn' the law was re-written
his reforms sent a shiver through Britain
so now when we send our Children to school
we learn from the man who was not a fool.
At his funeral, slums converged as one
at Westminster where his glory shone
men and boys hatless in the pouring rain
respect for the one that freed them from pain
their Earl had gone they will see him no more
Lord Ashley-Cooper 'friend of the poor'.

up with the trappers and push 'ram-it'
we'll break our backs to earn our pay
us Drammers are tuff so pull 'jack-it'
we'll be pushing coal till the break of day.


I was just a Pawn
in an angry game of chess
the Devil moved the pieces
I had to second guess
the world, it was the chess board
and we were merely players
bound to one another
as opponents and portrayers
we are just like chess pieces
moved around by others
keeping our true intentions
unseen behind the covers
some of us like castles
can only think in lines
but I need to see around corners
I need to read the signs
you must always endeavor
to remain two steps ahead
one lapse of concentration
and your Queen could lose her head
now go hone in on yourself
make enemies out of your friends
they can think in straight lines
but you can see round the bends
letting go of your finger
that decision was your sword
your noble Knight it fell
right in the middle of the board
just then the curtain fell
on all this chess and strife
I was just a pawn
in an angry game of life.


see the Children play in the midday heat
long skipping ropes, games and all sorts of fun
folks meet on the green and talk in the street
under the backdrop of the setting sun
an over the garden fence atmosphere
life of peace you didn't need any laws
no-one in the Village lived in fear
you could go out and never lock your doors
... and then the sun went down.

it was the long hot summer of 1914
sleeping village inhumanity's not seen
nobody even had awareness of history
the place 'Sarajevo' was all but a mystery.
Mothers shout their Children, it's time for bed
they'll need some sleep there's big changes ahead
soon their names will be eloquently displayed
down on the village green where they once played
... and then the sun went down.


as the mist
aimlessly rolls
across the mountains.
Ocasionally behind books
but more often on the internet
the next wave of appreciative hearts
are all gathering as one across the nation
soon they will feel the lichen on the mountains
soon they will fringe the edges of sleeping lochans and
walk down slopes flecked with evening vermillion
feel the  russet gold that crowns the peaks
feast on the throbbing of a saphire sea.
 Sky never quite goes asleep before
it is in a riot of rich colour
a dappled mass of glory
the jewell of the

Dragonfly (for Mr Tense)

emerging joy on transparent wings
there is power in delicate things
eighty days is all you have to face
eighty years too go without a trace
framed against a metallic blue sky
happiness ... was like a Dragonfly
come and glisten in the sun a while
see the brittle shell of our lifestyle
fine Blue Damsel by the river side
crystal clear wings they were your pride
eyes of liquid on a face of glass
but only one summer did you last
our days are like a Dragonfly
those summer days go quickly by
one short season to tell our story
on our way to a different glory.

Common Hawker

Brown Hawker (both subject to confirmation from Mr Tense)


sweet was the freedom
no word of tomorow

heaviness of a synchopated rhythm
thoughts lost in a maze
memories like seeds
carried away by the voice of the wind
the mind moves secretly and stealthily
in vain to try to retrieve them
in order to put the pieces together
to try and see the picture
that has slotted itself in the frame
of my subconscious

recounting my affliction
pushing for a brightening respite
refusing to dance a different tune.

'Solvitur Scripto' literally means 'solved by writing'. After a cycling accident in Switzerland I recalled 'The Room'  from (you no doubt remember) in which 'Wisdom'  counsels us to write about our painful experiences in order to handle them mentally. In fact Wisdom say's "a mental wound is harder to heal than a physical one".

author/poet celebrates after doing a whole ride without coming off his bike!


caravan confinement
naturally power washed
24 hours a day
screaming weather
sreaming children
no respite
but the Winkles were in the bag

I walk down to the beach for some peace
away from fractious children
but straight into the jaws of Atlantic anger!
blown about like a Butterfly in a gale
fighting for every step
the storm rips the sand off the beach
like it is frantically looking for hidden treasure
it leaves no stone unturned
the sand with the rain is blasted into my face
I head back for the caravan our haven of peace
the winkles were in the bag

the mountains are around somewhere
but I cannot see them
they are engulfed in low cloud
it would be tortuous to climb any higher than glen level
any mobility higher up would be impossible
the hills are guarded
natures impeccable act of preservation
the weather continues to argue with itself
we do too
shall we stay in this living purgatory or should we follow the sun?
the day before we left
the wind eased
it stopped raining
the clouds parted
sun shone through in bright unbroken beams
it was just a passing shower
it lasted three weeks
I was unperturbed
the winkles were in the bag-

and so was my affinity with the Motherland!


distilling the words
that people have said
more people you know
the wiser you tread
like picking brambles
wisdom can be found
in life's thorny hedge
what goes round comes round
people need people
you might not think they do
but no man's an island
and someone needs YOU!


a place of lazy bog cotton days
cry of the wind and the surge of the sea
ambling along head full of poetry
now all commited to time's mental haze

timeless memories under a northern sky
just to hear your children laugh and play
until gone was another summer's day
then bog cotton like hankies wave them goodbye

as now they've grown up and gone their own ways
sound of their voices echo down the glen
sound of voices we'll never hear again
can't we go back to those beautiful days

we can't stop our mind going back and forth
nothing in this world will forever last
will we ever stop clinging to the past
onward we set our compass to North.


North and South (for E.B)

busy like Beevers, dont know which way to go
the leader's directing but progress is slow
a map in his hand as wisdom blossoms forth
if you lot go South then we will go North!
The East is the beast and the West is the best
intellects decreased and brain power's gone west
fiddly streets in olde worlde places
Brothers and Sisters with bright beaming faces
oh dear ground will you open up please,
before Petriberg brings me down to my knees
I wish I'd never opened my big mouth
if you lot go North then we will go South.

and finally...

an unusual response to one of my poem recitals!

please leave comments of appreciation to a maximum of twenty lines as I've had complaints from Blogger!

KTDA, Markles.