Winter tree, by Stephen

Version 1

The winter skeleton of the flame red autumn tree
forlorn against the glowering grey sky
bends back and forth in the wind
dancing through the winter storm
waiting for spring buds to create its summer dress

Version 2

Sitting on the freezing park bench
looking at the grey frost covered tree
remembering the flame red autumn tree

The sky roofed over with low grey cloud
Mirrored in the frozen pond
the mind slowly clouding like the sky

senses dulling over going numb
the world going grey in the mind
slowly becoming one with my little tree

rapid thumping coming closer
high pitched laughter and a squeal
small arms wrapped round the neck

a voice telling me Im cold
as I swim back to reality
lets go get a hot drink


ghosts of yourself moving down the hall
walk away to escape the past
leaving music floating in the air
ghosts of the sound you once made

ghosts of yourself moving down the hall
walk away to escape the past
leaving music floating in the air
ghosts of the sound you once made


late august morning
Prickly thorns, brambles galore
sticky stained fingers

Above is a Haiku in response to Gary’s ‘jam’.

late august
fingers stained

From Tuesday 16, August 2016


Clive James – Event Horizon

On hearing of the death of Clive James I reread his poem Event Horizon from 2013.

Event Horizon

For years we fooled ourselves. Now we can tell
How everyone our age heads for the brink
Where they are drawn into the unplumbed well,
Not to be seen again. How sad, to think
People we once loved will be with us there
And we not touch them, for it is nowhere.

Never to taste again her pretty mouth!
It’s been forever, though, since last we kissed.
Shadows evaporate as they go south,
Torn, by whatever longings still persist,
Into a tattered wisp, a streak of air,
And then not even that. They get nowhere.

But once inside, you will have no regrets.
You go where no one will remember you.
You go below the sun when the sun sets,
And there is nobody you ever knew
Still visible, nor even the most rare
Hint of a face to humanise nowhere.

Are you to welcome this? It welcomes you.
The only blessing of the void to come
Is that you can relax. Nothing to do,
No cruel dreams of subtracting from your sum
Of follies. About those, at last, you care:
But soon you need not, as you go nowhere.

Into the singularity we fly
After a stretch of time in which we leave
Our lives behind yet know that we will die
At any moment now. A pause to grieve,
Burned by the starlight of our lives laid bare,
And then no sound, no sight, no thought. Nowhere.

What is it worth, then, this insane last phase
When everything about you goes downhill?
This much: you get to see the cosmos blaze
And feel its grandeur, even against your will,
As it reminds you, just by being there,
That it is here we live or else nowhere.

A trio of Haiku’s

Number one

Heavy rain falls hard
Strong winds bend and twist the trees
British summer starts

Number two

Blue grey lights the sky
It feels like under the sea
Winters wonder light

Number three (not quite a Haiku as the last line has one more syllable than it should have)

Buds appear and grow
Leaves expand and cover trees
Path becomes green tunnel