Enduring, I accept the marching dark
where goosesteps strike, igniting sharp-edged stars
in shadow columns, rhythmic while they arc
away and back: a cyclic cross that jars.

It pulses pain. A fist or palm pressed hard
against that eyebrow socket only starts
a flood of flashing action replays, marred
by spliced in should-have-could-have blueprint charts.

Conveyer crossroad belts of blanket shade
return to jolt my head and I regain
awareness of two legs. They’ve moved, obeyed
some instinct – scissor shifts – I felt the strain.

My robot limbs are magnetised in bed,
and gagged volition weighs me down like lead.

Arthritis in the Rain

A subconscious reminder avoids any limp,
while it hints at what lurks overhead
I react to the clouds that are clotting the sky
with a shiver, instinctively shed
all vivacity; hunching, imagining cruel
and sadistic-mad, torturing squalls.
But I’m wrapped in such glittering rain with a bow
of excitement, so stabbing that mawls
is a price half-accepted. My age.
As I hurry inside to be warm
I forget that my gait is uneven because
I’m alive to exult in the storm.


I sense her disappearing – my younger, siren self.
She’s merging into shadows on an antiquated shelf.

She’s disappearing, fading, she’s been camouflaged in grey –
fatigue that drags, despondent, like a wilted winter day.
That youthful incandescence slowly waning, starlight dim,
There’ll be no gauntlet challenge where she teeters on life’s rim.
She’ll vanish into wrinkles carved to channel grieving tears
of rueful loss. All entities decay with passing years.

I sense her disappearing with every silver strand;
Invisible, enshrouded in an overlay too bland.

A Woman’s Place

The woman found her place as caution’s tongue:
subservient, a minor part to act,
for “Think before you speak” was drummed-in young.
She offered an opinion based on fact
and couched her reservations in more tact
than any others. Brushed aside, she tried
expanding consequences they’d implied.

“You think too much,” their bigotry announced
and hurt, her eyes withdrew while protest spurred
adrenal glands. Emotions reared and pounced,
denial surged, reactions quickly stirred.
But these were thoughts that no one ever heard,
self-discipline locked feelings in a cage.
She’d ask and listen. Men all crave the stage.

Loving Isn’t Easy

My heart is swollen, bruised with tears
they fall, a private, masked ordeal.
They squeeze through wrenching, violent splits,
before renewed resolve can seal
the evidence. I love.

There’s no escape, despite pretense;
the ache is like a hollow core,
expanding as I yield control.
I’m empty and I can’t ignore
the truth. I need your love.

A lethargy imprisons me
in chains of hopelessness. I lie
in mourning, all defenses down
and face the feelings I deny.
Despondent. This is love.

The Pain of Loss

Rainbow feelings arch between my heart and deluged brain,
gentling returning storms of reincarnate pain.
Pastels colour memories as tears rain and reflect
the spectrum of emotions I both relish and reject.

Love that reaches out will touch me tenderly, it shines
healing rays in empathy; illuminates, entwines
bitter thoughts with honey comfort, sharing all the weight
of never-ending emptiness: my future and my fate.


You were not welcome when you knocked,
I daren’t believe in you.
I turned away and barred the door
but deep within, I knew…

Unwelcome though your drumming was,
demanding, you compelled.
Evasion lost, persuasion won.
By need, I was bespelled.

You would not leave or be ignored,
your pounding made me ache.
I heard, my heart was in accord.
I let you in. Mistake.


Her eyes, a one way mirror,
insulated and remote,
walled with inner distance,
protected, taking note.

Observing empty actions,
planning all the angles,
meddling with emotions,
detached, aloof from tangles.

Her life a plot she plays with,
ending orchestrated,
risk avoided, rapture forfeit.
Futility created.


A flower wrapped within the bud
holds hints of beauty yet to be;
a shattered heart is sealed shut:
an endless winter’s barren tree.

A baby curled within the womb
holds total innocence till born;
a shattered heart is sealed shut
and can’t forget it’s ripped and torn.

Essentials crammed within a pack
hold promises of carefree days;
a shattered heart is sealed shut:
a martyred pilgrim’s inner maze.

A moth-balled hoard within a trunk
holds memories of days gone by;
a shattered heart is sealed shut
to mourn, unheard. A silent cry.

Once Bitten, Twice Shy

That pristine linen life of yours –
Determined innocence,
Habitual permanence,
Mapped out on wishful, golden shores.

A risk once ruined peace of mind
Precariously balanced,
Destabilised when challenged,
Snapped into fragments hard to find.

Now celluloid and monotone
With limited exposure,
A self-imposed enclosure,
Wrapped up, protected and alone.

Romance can offer only threats –
Seductive siren call,
To fly at first, then fall,
Strapped up in bonds of old regrets.

So stay within illusions’ shores
So falsely energised,
Emotions paralysed.
Trapped pristine linen life of yours.