When it rains
the sky gives
The earth does
when it shines

Earth and sky in pure love
give &

In the work of the world, everything is a poem;
slow petal hinges closing the drowsy flower -

The day shook itself, sniffed the air and sprinkled sunlight on my face
I woke,washed,said grace

Small birds, Red Grouse, scurrying mammals and
Short eared owls frequent the heather moorland.

A summer squall is rolling in
A subtle draft, a pleasant breeze,
has turned into a broiling

white windmills riding
on low cotton wool clouds
catching the wind;
changing currents to

The mist blanket
Tucked round the graves
Relents only slowly
To the wan autumn sun.

The

Woke up to a crisp August day,
Sun was shining, birds were hungry
Time long past to feed

Enjoyed this summer more than ever
Nobody disturbed my peace and quiet
Could rediscover myself and

mountain hare turns
from

She sits in a spindly lane-side tree,

Plump and delightfully pompous, 

Chest feathers

There’s too much noise
For Darwinian comfort:
As the robins bring grubs

To the bushes beneath

Garrulous choughs gather in the valley
As dawn etches rose and violet gullies
On frost-shattered

First day of winter,
Fog eats ice, snow melts.
Even without sun,
Temperatures warm
Like the

Black and white
followed closely by red.

Bang
Another is dead.

The superior race plays

Black and white
followed closely by red.

Bang
Another is dead.

The superior race plays

Hate to brag won't be doing it here
Just listing the birds I daily see.
Only to find out whether

You know what I’ve always wondered.
Tree’s.
Who came up with the idea of tree’s
God

The male Satin Bowerbird is an artist.

All the rest went chasing bugs and worms -
while his DNA

I heard her finger
scrape the chalk board,
jarring me from impending sleep.

Phantom

The souls of badgers taken,
Thoughts removed, feelings
Disregarded. Blood flows
Under a harvest

Mistaken for gusting leaves
Swirling mice chase
Around each other
Across paths at dusk;

A fox

Through precious streets as tender as the night which bears them grace
And luscious heat which

A perfect morning: getting up early
Before birds, listen to their little chat
Be one with nature,

Beery-plump bees
in gold-banded, furry rugby shirts –

underarmour sleeves pulled

Solitude and silence
Perfect and quiet
To feel at peace
A family of one
No worried strangers

Badgers:
Once upon a time we were happy
What have we done to upset politicians?
We were simply

I found St. Fiacre immersed in ivy
a hooded bearded statue
clutching a spade and bouquet.

He

You entered stage left through the fence
your hues shouting lines to my red
crepe myrtle as if

A mismatch conceived in disparate places
arctic trough spills down from the Rockies
humid air

A confusion of ivy—
The city’s heart is steel and stone.
Smokestacks slouch in the

Burning berries machine-gun heavenly blue,
godly iris.

Firing seed, tree and water dreams
to

She sits in a spindly lane-side tree,
Plump and delightfully pompous,
Chest feathers

The trees, they wave their naked fingers,
black against the velvet black,
and in the distance,

I am a kiss that wakes the long dead winter,
a sleepsong that rouses new heart beats.
I am air

A crescent moon shines a milky light,
a mysterious dance on the face of night.
More eloquent as

Leaf through crisp textures
that twine and tremble
leaves that flicker dance
and tumble.

She whips up waves, wrests them to fury
surfs on Atlantic crests, her voice

a siren's scream ,

Considering where he's been
mole is quite sleek and clean.
Nose sharp, an arrow head'
his keen

Autumn

Old man Autumns round my door
as summer waves goodbye,
darkness steals

In the cold blue smouldering of autumn.
Among ruined gold leaves,
smoking berry embers

The first true blue day of summer -

a simple song formed, whole
in my gulping heart.
Kept

a bright midnight
shadows long and sharp
dawn chorus of donkeys, dogs and blackbirds.
none can

When gardening, I genuflect and pray
For ev’ry blessed seed to germinate
A ritual of compost,

They retreat forever
From futile steps
And hide behind
A sudden wood.

Spider-silk catches

TUDOR COTTAGE

You know the experience.
The car stops in the country.
In the distance, 
Hills

If you could lift my skin you would find
things invisible to you. I call to you,
will you come

I am a kiss that wakes the long dead winter,
a sleepsong that rouses new heart beats.
I am air