Sailing to windward
Biography of Sailing to windward
but a tear-drop
to a smile
Sailing to windward Poems
If thoughts were carried on scented winds And prayers were caught by candle light,
(0) Gone Green
Ages ago, he converted to envy
When I Go (Message From My Mother To My ...
When I’m gone, I will be quiet as a mouse; My scent upon the pillow still, But I will have left the house.
What's expected of this thing called hope; is it a medicine; is it just smoke? Merely a screen - perhaps a misty haze, to sweeten our journey around life’s maze?
Her warm teary breath fogs the mirror glass as she tries to fix her face to pass the coming frantic wave of hands.
((O)) Wrist Tag, Toe Tag
At birth, a tag on the wrist generates a list of places one may roam.
(0) Me First
I am left behind In constant state of catching Up flies another target And I miss
In community lies strength of numbers. to support the sick and the weak. In community somebody hears me, with louder voices to speak
(0) Pity The Pen
The temple siren calls, deep within his walls stirring in his isolation, a need for expression and creation. Reaching for notelets, grabbing at memorets and pigeon holes, his hands slide and his memory glides,
(*) The Hat That Fits
The hat that fits the head that shakes knows not the warmth that nodding makes. The shirt worn on the back that turns knows not the joy that friendship earns.
Rope Tricks And Lighthouses
Cinnamon coloured slingbacks dangle from her fingers, as she searches the tide line for discarded gems. A warm steady breeze whispers somewhere offshore, but she turns her head in fear of sandy eyes.
It was a glorious day in Padstow; A real seaside bucket and spade day. We strolled the little Cornish port in sunshine, Wifey and girls in search of arty bargains
(0) Passing Tissues
We pass each other a tissue of lies With which to dry reptilian tears It seemed it was forever thus.
(*) Missing, Presu...
Not for you, those cold clothes woven of worry and made ragged with regret. You lived your final hours fearlessly, as if becalmed, with a whole life yet to fetch that other shore.
When I curve a round pebble
into that silvery black skin,
I hope for very little sound;
A tiny per..lop perhaps,
as my small stone parts that skin
and for the water to toss a few droplets
quietly into the air, as it colludes to cover itself again.
If my wavelets bring the slightest nod
from the wild rice