Birdsongs

On the train home from Cambridge... Friendship that doesn’t speak Only eyes that look on the written word. The knowing know that tr...

Butlins, Skegness Home to the circus where hope has come to die to die, to sleep, no: Never to sleep perchance to give up on dreams. To...

The dreaded poem I can’t write any words today My pen is empty of the invisible ink that tells my secrets. Old man language, my old...

My sad in Budapest, my aching treasure chest Familiar sound in unfamily surroundings An unknown reason, no need to rhyme Sad for it...

Unruly: Unloved: Un-nurtured Forgotten children, begotten of neglect, Mothered by ambivalence - Of who’s society’s afraid. Do u...

Missing “I really do miss you,” “And I do too” Words so much too said, What it means is never read. I miss your voicemail mes...

5 th January; Be gone Two dates to dread, Two poems to write Two loved ones too missed In a world that will never be right. To...