A Fleet of Moments

Sailing in the wind

searching for the aft

in too-fro

 two-four time


lost gone

 both seconds


now have passed


when choice

had not courage

to find deep

its voice


and spoken knots

were all

that tongues

could unwind


fare laid on tables

platitude’s plates

with goblet greed


set ‘gainst fate


with singular point

of focus



where the capital M

barbs the wired fence


for brothers know

longer are


You are U

And not I


yet at end

all must die


colours and flags

their tattered




else to pause

and pose

that dreadful,

dreadful, why


 And that fleet of moments


weighs anchor

to measure twice

and cut

but one


live we must

with all




the sorrow

of tomorrow

comes fast

in seems



on cloth

in sand grain’s



knit one

pearl one

out of all

has beens


 time pinches

the eggs


quick, slow


He said that

Aesop’s foibles

are all ours

to stow


And the fleet of moments

sails by






where only

is the




A jury

on a




a mantram

and a



found not

on blade’s




for eyes

that cannot see

the fleet of moments




hear not me


gone they are

with  n’er return


I wonder

will I




1.5 billion

1.5 billion


Are the beats of my life

more than 17

thousand days

and now


each sand grain second

in the egg timer

is longer

longer than ever before


each shard of  desert time


and the hundreds and thousands

which I shared


are sprinkled fairies

on the ice’d cake

the wrinkled rink

of skating circles


the rub of blades

pirouettes and curtsies

as the waxed popcorn cups

leave the frozen stage


a decade since it happened

and now it happens again

790 and 510

days now roughly counted


the spreadsheet of a life

made to excel

has come roundabout again

mores blues than swing


each rhapsody 

is clarinet clear

and has all the silver keys

pressed and shiny


and now the penumbra

of the passing

flows on under

the bridge of sighs


that price of will

and of injured pride

tags not humility

and brings again divide


its longevity is marked

upon near half

of all those seconds

exact in the price


And it is a crying, crying shame.

Serenity “Haiku”

a heron stands

one leg in the reeds

he reaches for his oboe


a contented carp

blows bubbles

puckering his lips


a lotus unfolds

her petal wings

butterflies waft incense


a busy dragon-fly

is a rainbow

who caresses time


clear crystal ponds

reflect pure light

whiter than snow


a pendant drop

hangs from the gallows

of a moment


a ripple stretches

across a dewy pond

and yawns sleepily


a reed bends

in the harsh winds

which soon, too will pass


a moorhen dives

hungry for breakfast,

a croissant with butter


the spirit churns

all of the milk

to spread on toast


a hungry falcon

hovers in the wind

seeking a morsel


the rain falls heavy

the ducks rejoice

water off their backs


a rōnin waits

for he has no master

else his heart


he sits seiza

and watches only walls

for there, is wisdom.


On the diaphanous membrane

Of the dream’s lightest

Flowing veil


Comes the faintest




Stretched out between the pegs,

In the twilight cusp

Of a virgin day.


Written by The renaissance master

On the sky’s

Soft and yielding canvas.


Danced in the pink vapour trails

And the monks

Golden hand.


Leafing through the pages

Of the autumn’s footstep



With summer’s seaside toes,

And springtime’s

Tulip heart.


As winter’s night time sleep,


Now rested on the earth.


And yawns

….And stretches


The audacious snowdrop

Raises a cautious

Meercat head.


Searching the heaven

For the Eagle’s

Winsome, win some



And feeling the feather

Tickle the memory’s

Venetian crystal bell.


Of perfect point


In moon dust’s

Weeping fire.


And tenuous tingling

Touching hands.


Reaching like winter’s breath


And stretching

Between the stars.


And finding

The owl and the pussycat.


Floating in the sea

Of dreams.


And sailing with

Poseidon’s breath.




Into the Chantilly



Of fate’s

Fertile plain.


To watch the numbers

On the dice’s

Worldly clock.


And to count the seconds,

Tick tock

Tick tock………….


Pear Drop Memories

in the glass jar

behind the pear drops

are some memories


they have no insistence


if I pull out the cork

I can lay them

on a white handkerchief


they have no order


they are more delicate

than they used to be

filigree sugar – work


they have no substance


I can weave them

with the thread of time

to build a tapestry


they are a story


the sell by date

on the jar’s bottom

has long expired


they have no tang left


like cirrus envelopes

they float across room,

rice paper notes


they have no more rain


I can pour them

into a paper sweet bag

and then twist the corners


they have no weight


dried in a tissue

wrapped in gossamer

now back in the jar


they are ready for bed


I know where to find them

in a glass jar

behind the pear drops….

The Exquisite Second


In this exquisite second



All the fate-clouds



The ashes of before

Wash me

Marrow deep


The blessings

And the curses,

Envelop me


Those powdered deeds

They finger-fly


That cloud-burst

… inevitability

Soothes & enlivens


I sense the thunder-clap

The applause



The moment


Heavy, birthing


Naught can I do

Else bathe

In the very time of it


It flows

Suspended, here

This exquisite second