He said; “mycelium spores”

Poets for Hire.jpg

Bob and Madge

Walk ‘Dash’

Every day in the park

like metronomes in pursuit

Of a persistent illusion

The dog, obedient but loping

is ever able to break the sound barrier

with a spurt of inherited genes.

A greyhound for Bob and Madge

Both in their eighties

Are sprightly still

And believe, I assume

They will outlive


One day I noticed a ring of mushrooms,

incongruous amongst the rough mown grass

I asked Bob, ‘ how so’?

and here I paraphrase

“these faerie rings articulate

what the earth silently knows

and how the soil accommodates

secrets that we can anticipate

with knowledge of the seasons and,


The embedded wisdom of people

concealed only until

the question is asked.”

The Morning After.

The Morning After

The Morning After



Last night amongst friends

I felt the void

That lost feeling in company

When I am unnaturally meek

And this morning I felt

The geometry of our warm limbs

Soft flesh on shy bones

And the stirring of a forgotten hope

Though all around the evidence

Belies my vacant stare

While downstairs, one child

Coughing with lungs polluted by smoke

Though he is not really a minor now

More progeny ready to make familiar mistakes

With his deep-voiced young friends

Fellow revellers staying over

From trampling decency

At a party in another home

Are ungainly at this hour

Too soon to heed anything really

They are so young

And I feel that void again

The timid being

Who has quietly held my hand

Invisibly for all these years

Beseeching me to take the lead

To rise and shine.

Shock in Awe

Shock in Awe

Shock in Awe

Shock in Awe


He spoke to me of grace

And said it was ‘second-hand’


I found that hard to understand

When the words came so easily


The air he used he said was spent

Just turned and turned around


A soft breeze

That could threaten storms


And there I was, as if

In the presence of a prophet


Spell-bound in admiration

For a weaver of thoughts


But he just smiled and said,

‘ It’s a wonderful thing’


And left me flailing

In an alphabet. Like a dope.