Hammersmith on Thames at Low Tide
This sparkling beach of river silt, quiet and white
the barge boats languidly tilted to rest
...
May Peace be upon you
tread soft on the ground
May we spread peace-
May it fall all around
...
Praise Poem 2008
Again i hear the word in my heart
falling like generous drops of peace
flowing through my grateful core
...
Composed at the Times Square Cafe in Rocky Street, Yeoville, late 1999, a few months before Sinclair's passing.
My poet friend, sir Sinclair Beiles
Who has survived through many storms and gales
...
Composed on a walk between Hampstead Highgate (not too far from John Keat's house) late 1980's
It has been a day for wandering
beneath this sky of early spring
...
Run Rhino Run
Let your thundering stomp
reverberate among the mountains
Echoing your heartbeat
...
FATHER, MY FATHER
Father my father who were you father?
Father whose eyes were not two stars of the night sky
...
The bus driver is only doing his job-
he says i am out of my zone
come on mate- take a look at the rain-
i just want to get home
...
Hammersmith On Thames At Low Tide
Hammersmith on Thames at Low Tide
This sparkling beach of river silt, quiet and white
the barge boats languidly tilted to rest
a rustic wind that tastes of brine the gannets nag a rebellowing cry
these spoilt natured birds hungrily hover and comb the low tide Thames
Bleached jetsam, driftwood, cork, plastic detergent bottles
frayed rope, flotsam, rusted chain, emerald-green glass
broken smoothed with time treated, caked in silted London clay
chipped ceramic, porcelain, frayed nylon twine
and rusted green copper hinges here are ideas of Caesars coins
elusive treasures, lost goblets- teasing thoughts of Londinium...
Roman Gallipots and galleys sunk deep in layers asleep beneath the river bed
an old and rusted barge an exo-skeleton grown over with watery weeds
scattered with rags and oil cans discarded rusted tools damp straw and flies
The Great Thames, smelly mother
indifferent to Empires Great artery, mighty sewer
of the city washing away the cities sins
assuming with neglect and time our spoilt oily natures
in a rising of breath and a sighing of fall
singing the metres and moods of history.