Monday, November 28, 2016


And so the story goes
But not for the want of telling
And the ice still grows
Upon the dead of night
Waiting for the sun
To break its covetous fingers
And where is the unicorn now
When our time is all but spent
When sighs break like farts
Upon the new morning airs
And if there is no more hope
There is always tea and sympathy
And it is just enough now
To guide a star fallen to earth
Back up into the heavens 

Friday, November 25, 2016

It must be...

It must be Christmas soon; all the lights are out and switched on. Is there any shop out there that is not having a 'Black Friday' sale. Methinks the frenzy is hiding some very weak sales. Here is a picture of the House of Fraser store in Manchester that I took last week. Very colourful but mid-November - really!


Radical heads cleaved and conspirator hung
From out of dark, tortured confession sung
And never imagine our malice cannot return
That on high pyres, witches again may burn
After all, only eight christening gowns ago
Heretics were destroyed upon a fiery inferno
Now scarce we can believe that we did such ill
But remember in other lands, it happens still
Here they wait for the dark days to reappear
To hunt down the weak, the free and the queer
Liberty is a currency each generation must earn
Only vigilance can stop the archaic night's return 

Monday, November 21, 2016


I need no longer hide in the world trembling
Lest I am discovered and asked to participate
Time has wrought this splendid thing upon me
I, decaying spectre of aged imperceptibility
A latent force; no longer any catalyst of chance
Walk slower now there is no fear of attention
I have time to watch rain fall in gentle elegance
For I am at last become invisible to all others
I move naked and unafraid through the world
An autumn wanderer among thickening mists
Where care and worry dissipate on resignation
I become a resting dove that shelters from cold
Stilled into such appreciative wonder and calm
Though it took a lifetime, I am in the end saved
With time enough for one last incorporeal flicker 

Saturday, November 19, 2016


And what is made well; endures
For we are not well provisioned
And now merry is as merry will
When our empty fields need no till
For now the winter finally holds sway
It is indoors we come to make play

Tuesday, November 15, 2016


Some pictures from my walk around Entwistle reservoir the other day

Sunday, November 13, 2016


Comes now the quiet time
In this decay of illumination
In the shrinking days
We flee to our comforts
To fires and hearty repast
But where firelight perishes
Where heat will not reach
To gloomy corners and nooks
Returns there the time of ghosts
That sit within quiet shadows
They brood and murmur regret
To prick late upon conscience
And look you well  
At what you have done
In the dark of a winter's night
When fairness was forsaken
And all they accomplished undone

Thursday, November 10, 2016

Winter is Coming

Summery autumn is finally overcome
The eastern winds and cold have won
They take the days and shake the trees
Conceal the birds and kill all the bees
Under skeletons of bare wood we now play
Looking up into foreboding skies of grey 

Monday, November 07, 2016

Monica Waddington (1931-2016)

A shadow has fallen upon us
Naught can be made whole again
Though I am forever undone
No shadow will be upon you today
And though tis a sweet deception
All things grievous will seem repaired
And time will attest my resolve
When wood and fields yield;
Deep skies less blue than my mood
But now is not the time to feel sad
For all shall be ended well
I will wrap my goodbyes in gold
And lay red roses upon your carriage
For you have been remade
To be reunited with your love
And though this loss is bitter to me
I say goodbye knowing you are in joy

Saturday, November 05, 2016


This is the finest gold though perhaps you do not count it yet as a worthy treasure. Yet when the days fall into ruin and the sea rises above your defences in the autumn of your existence you will see that the greatest treasures were ever about you; if you had, only but looked up. 

Friday, November 04, 2016


It must be autumn as the Amanita muscaria, commonly known as the fly agaric is growing in huge patches around Entwistle reservoir. They never get to full maturity as people always destroy them, but you would have to eat a lot to poison yourself. It is a hallucinogenic first and foremost, which thinking about it actually might explain a lot. I wish they would grow in my garden as they add a feeling of enchantment and colour to contrast against the decay of the season.

What grows in autumn between wall and wood?
Rises from the night in a fresh-dewed awakening
Tis a red opulence that blooms like fortunate treasure
A scarlet caveat and yet welcome sign the world is well
And is there not a comfort to see such dangerous things
For if, we are to be made safe from everything harmful
Then tomorrow may wait for its protected correlation
For no wonders in crimson disguise would ever come  

Thursday, November 03, 2016


I think, therefore I am
But if I would use flesh to live
I become a thinking fiend
And thinking makes untruths
And I have thought up such lies 
With my dimming finite sentience 
Infinitesimal and vulnerable
Ere compassion could coalesce clarity
And we could never live long enough
Not even if we had a thousand years
To see what monsters we are become
And this is the tragedy of man
In his war against the animals 
Surely it is time to make a peace