I found it on the high tide line
after a night of fire
the grand old lady of the sea
destroyed by spite and ire
Never proved but always known
her final hours presumed
the work of arsonists with flame
the pier now lost, consumed
Towering like a monolith
up into the sky
Brighton’s i-360
is really, really high
Dwarfing the remains
of the ruinous West Pier
it stands alone just waiting
for the summer to appear
I think it was Bizet the zebra was playing
in Brighton today in the sun
Nocturne in D Major if I’m not mistaken
Yes, I think that piece was the one
It was somehow fitting for the time and the place
a tranquil and quiet melody
Brought an air of contentment to those wandering by
In Brighton, so close to the sea
Seagull silhouetted on the canvas roof
as we sat with cup of tea
in January sunshine there with Sal
and Holly, Grace, Wolfgang and me
He made a happy picture there
synonymous, replete
so I quickly took a picture
making this fine day complete
Cathartic this wide expanse of beach
tide low under deep blue sky
just the tonic that I needed
as I wandered slowly by
Splashed winter boots in cold water
found a bright red shell
dragged my toe through the wet sand
with words I'll never tell
February the first, hip-hip hooray
to start afresh on this Wednesday
what it will bring I cannot say
but all the best to it
I'm sure there will be smiles and tears
there always are in all the years
as each day comes and more appears
with all the best to it
It's January's final day
Tuesday the thirty-first
one month gone of Twenty-Three
thirty days dispersed
I'm not sure where they've gone mind you
as it doesn't seem that long
since we were still on holiday
and singing festive song
But gone they have so onward
to the shortest month we go
What it will bring a mystery
though soon we all will know
This Red Leicester cheese
is completely divine
but this is not yours
for it's wholly mine
But if you're near Co-Op
go get some today
'cos your mouth will thank me
in every which way
Sat in the hospital waiting room
there with Sal for moral support
on a very cold winters' morning
('cos it's the right thing and I ought)
Here for an eyesight inspection
post-op (trust everything's good)
'cos we're not as young as we were
and things don't work quite as they should
'For not' or 'not for'
in juxtaposition
two different meanings
for intent or for mission
Language of substance
for writer and poet
who will always exploit
as it's they who will know it
I have written of winter, the chill and the rain
and the ice and the snow and the shivers again
of the iron cold muster that lingers and bites
finding its way into warmth with a spite
But throughout all of this always I have half a mind
on the warmer days coming I know soon I'll find
For it's January now but soon I'll see May
and the sunshine that'll soon brighten my day
For a brief moment in the sky
a rainbow glowed and caught my eye
but in a moment it was gone
replaced by lovely sun that shone
that briefly dried up all the rain
before the grey clouds came again
Is this the last line or the first?
is my syntax back to front?
or is this perhaps the middle
I don't know - it's worth a punt
Perhaps I'm discombobulated?
Maybe you are now as well?
and reaching for the dictionary
(believe me - I can tell)
For actually we're nine lines in
and nearing now the end
of this little series ditty
which I've written for a friend
In October red I paused beneath
its lofty heights in wonder
at the absolute magnificence
of this redwood tree asunder
So imagine my dismay today
to find that storms with thunder
and a lightning strike reduced it
to a stump and piles of lumber
Yes, there's like still there but
its pride is lost for good
a sad, contrite reminder
of a once proud tall redwood
An angel perched close by our side
in the branches of a tree
as there we sat beside the lake
with flapjacks and cup of tea
He tweeted sweet a little song
reminding us in case
we needed that, though it was clear
by his exuded grace
He stayed there just a little while
before fluttering away
an angel on his angel rounds
on this fine winter's day
Tangible this winter chill
In January’s raw intent
As beneath these spectred morning veils
the silent mist is sent
Intrusive to beleaguered calm
Whispers like a shout
I’m a stranger in an iron-clad still
with no one else about
Yet frigid though the air might be
January serves to bring
A shivering smile through chattering teeth
that it will soon be Spring
Bereft of foliage great trees stand
proudly gracing England’s land
There amongst the winter green
the rolling landscape clearly seen
And pausing here before this view
we are completely thrilled anew
This is England where we live
where nature has so much to give
And we feel a peace when in this place
bequeathed to us by simple grace
Winter’s overstayed its welcome
and we’d prefer it now to go
‘Cos we’re fed up to the gills with cold
and howling winds and snow
It’s been staying with us now for months
and whereas we didn’t mind at first
We need the room for Springtime
now the former’s done its worst
Winter greyness seldom sun
Brittle chill for everyone
Daylight precious shorter now
Nighttime lingers on somehow
Yet still to find and bring some cheer
Despite the chill a beauty here
As winter hides but brings to fore
a treasure kept for us in store
The wonder of this winter view
as it fell to minus seven
with clouded breath escaping gave
a little glimpse of heaven
White on fields and white on trees
on verge and hedgerow too
As if with one cold overnight
the world was formed anew
As shorter days draw in
with colder climes and
a pale sun often hiding,
a white rose of Spring
reminds me that,
behind the curtain of winter
waiting there with bated breath
comfort awaits, next in line.
And it is only the shadow
of the winter chill that
keeps its warmth away from me
Yes, there’s beauty in winter
I’ll give you that
But, no brainer given the choice
As between both of these
Quite opposed to the freeze
it’s the summer in which I rejoice
This twenty rod* plot, our 'erf', our realm
our saving grace, our haven
is such to bring a 'joie de vivre'
and oft a cause for 'pavan'*
As though each year we toil for long
to dig and plant and sow
the reward of produce that it brings
gives reason more to grow
The circumstance of words
from a pen there to flow
is something which only
a thought comes to know
But when committed to paper
as ink passes through
these words take on meaning
as they come into view
And the curl of a smile
from the poet reveals
the wisdom he shares
from the thoughts that he feels
Framed by aging iron posts
the ancient steps behind
the padlocked gate lead nowhere
(least no place I could find)
Mysterious the setting
with the undergrowth and tree
left me puzzled and a-wondering
at what it all could mean
We coddiwompled in the mud
up at Barcombe Mills
all eight of us together
amidst the Sussex hills
The rain held off but underfoot
the mud was thick and wet
but we all had the best of times
so never cause to fret
Around a table with Cluedo and Red Leicester cheese
with good conversation, precious days these
Laughter and merriment the six of us here
these are the days for which we all cheer
As it's all about family and closeness together
for the bad times and good, the known and whatever
For we all are as one, best of friends and of kin
arms linked with a smile through the thick and the thin