12 January 2015

                             Post Card

      Perhaps the first words which I saw you write
      Were gouged in age and algae on a bench
       Beside the creaking swings where once we played;
       Now silent metronomes to mark the times
       Behind us.  Words of symbiotic love,
       Reduced to letters of the alphabet,
       Were once enough: I wanted nothing more.
      (Commitment had not been invented then.)
       And so I aged, though not, perhaps, matured,
       But moved on, nonetheless, to other scripts,
       Finding fresh changes in new hearts and lips.
       (The same sun shedding colours on new dusks.)
       So why, each day, does mem’ry let you scroll
       A careless palimpsest across my soul?


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21 December 2014


                                       ever find yourself
                    touching a hand that’s not there any more
                       (not phantom limb but peopled past)

                                      it may be lover friend or family
                               with the suddenness of unexpected rain
                                                        they are
                                                   no longer here

                                   whether they have moved west
                                                  gone west
                                  realigned their compass to another heart
                                             doesn’t really matter

                                                 they’ve gone
                               your world is filled with mnemonics

                                          i may find myself in a department store
                                                        and remember
                                                   that awful moment
                                    (ah yes you know the feeling well)
                                                i ceased my prattling
                                          glanced up at my mother
                                  i was holding the wrong woman’s hand
                                       (not the last time for that one)

                                             in my mind
                                     chance upon a piece of road
                                    feel its bumps curves and camber
                                       as if you rode beside me still

                                                perhaps a joke
                                                     or moment
                                          needs another voice
                                                 to say
                                      i saw i heard i felt it too

                                 to this morning’s ambush

                                   i ran along the forest path
                                     the padding of my feet
                          playing bongoes to my labouring chest
                                 i struggled up a long climb
                                                 and then
                                     (as ways are wont to do)
                                           the track fed me a Y

                          this gave me cause to rest and look around
                                  at dappled snow on mountains
                                   a meandering river in the glen
                           (so distant  -  yet i heard its music call)
                                  through a faint seductive mist
                                                   the sea

                                     what could i say
                                      within my sigh
                        my cryptographic steaming breath

                                             it still remains
                                           that need to share   ………………….

                                 i held a hand that wasn’t there



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16 December 2014



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07 December 2014


            Two Jigs Played On Descant/Soprano Recorder.

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06 December 2014


The Isle of Skye  -  with Two Laments played on Descant/Soprano Recorder

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14 February 2012

Old Cat

Old Cat by floots
Old Cat, a photo by floots on Flickr.
Feline Sonnet

I am an old cat who sleeps in the sun,
Lying in heat spilled like a broken yolk,
Spreading ‘cross the floor ‘til dusk comes on,
As dreams of yesterday swirl round like smoke.
While slumbering, my paws pad paths long gone.
My nature all too red in tooth and claw
I gave no thought to those I preyed upon:
Mere games: once done there would be many more.
Dulled eyes and broken wings were part of life -
The role of predator inbuilt not learned.
So while at first it seems my faults are rife,
Judge me not harshly or let me be spurned.
Take comfort from my purr. When all is done
I am an old cat who sleeps in the sun.


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06 February 2012

coral beaches isle of skye

coral beaches isle of skye by floots
coral beaches isle of skye, a photo by floots on Flickr.

a sunny february day finally tempted me out of hibernation