Sunday, 11 September 2011


Evergreen hardy vigour
flourishing in youth
feeding on world offerings
almost feels obtuse,
firing out letters
words flowing forth.
Days becoming years
stories stay the same
stagnating in veins
spreading to his pen
grinding to the stop light,
what is missing?
He hangs up hack hat
tossing screwed up
verbs into the trash can
world worn & weary closing eyes,
out of the waste paper a poet is born.
Haggling with Haiku
tangoing with Tanka
Swimming towards Sonnets
the writer is renewed,
following an angel wings
frolicking in wild flowers,
his romping romantic streak
wreaks havoc
swooning swans almost sink.
His story surpassing expectation
reviving fantasies of fiction
releasing ardent inspiration,
he sings in the orchestra of dawn
resting in the grassy knowledge of home.

(For Joe, hope you like it Happy Birthday)

Thursday, 1 September 2011