Today was a dawning day,
stay in winter’s hold.
Ice-cold was the eve of spring,
a thing of wonder that it could bring
the well-spring of a season’s change,
exchange the chill for heat,
beat the blues of rawness,
take on summer’s dress.
Blueness in the heavens created delight;
night fell suddenly,
apogee to stay daybreak’s coming,
bringing frost, but only for the time
it took the sun to climb
above the mist that shrouds,
clouds, threatens setback,
backtrack to our comfort.
Spring comes, retreats this March,
but each day seeks advance,
dance of delight,
motion towards summer,
comer to the trees, fields,
healed by rays of light,
bright upon the eye of wonder.
Sadness of winter has gone
and only promises remain.

First Sitting, 13th March 2017

The garden chairs are out from winter slumber.
Afternoon tea in the warming sun engages happiness
at last from months of hostage
to freezing nights and house-bound days.
The neighbour is cutting his grass, perhaps from fear of reversal,
But I just sit, and read, and write, and enjoy the laziness.
Bees fly madly in this unexpected hint of summer.
Early daffodils add lightness to the dark damp soil.
Tomorrow may be cold; frosts may return; it might snow,
But for today I revel in the heat, and offer thanks.

Going nowhere slowly

Written in CHOKA form at a time when I am having difficulty in writing anything.

The bare page presents
a tyranny of blankness
and of lame resolve.
It rebukes … censures … resists
the pen’s slow advance
across the leaf of time’s edge.
Held by frustration,
the mind lies rooted in defeat,
and stares at failure once more.

The Concert

Written on the day following an orchestral concert by the De Havilland Orchestra at the Weston Auditorium, University of Hertfordshire.

Program: Berlioz – Rob Roy Overture
Mozart – Violin Concerto No 5
Tchaikovsky – Manfred Symphony

Such an evening,
Stirring, soothing, romancing.
Emotions on fire
With excitement and wonder,
Awe and amazement.
Sounds linger in my mind’s recall.
Softness and melody challenge
Loudness and clamour.
Youthful brilliance as Mozart charms;
Elation at the passion of Tchaikovsky;
Delight that Berlioz did not give up.
I marvel at such genius
And the talent of the players.
But, no standing ovation: how remiss!
I should have risen
At exaltation of the music’s adventure.
Perhaps next time.

Glosse on Brooke

The following poem is a GLOSSE based on a poem by Rupert Brooke. A glosse is a tribute to another poem. Each line of the original poem is used to start and finish stanzas of the new poem in an expansion of the theme of the line. The line length, rhyme and metre are at the discretion of the poet.

And think, this heart, all evil shed away,
A pulse in the eternal mind, no less,
Gives somewhere back the thought of England given;
Her sights and sounds; dreams happy as her day;
And laughter, learnt of friends; and gentleness,
In hearts at peace, under and English heaven.

Rupert Brooke, The Soldier

And think, this heart, all evil shed away,
No time to shirk the duties of this time
Of challenge to the will, of dispute as to means,
And think, this heart, all evil shed away.

A pulse in the eternal mind, no less,
Will spur the thoughts of pure release from guilt.
The rapture comes, the bliss of endless ease,
A pulse in the eternal mind, no less,

Gives somewhere back the thoughts of England given;
Though far away from where the fields shine green,
And hills and valleys draw a vision clear,
Gives somewhere back the thoughts of England given.

Her sights and sounds; dreams happy as her day;
Skies vast as heaven; rivers glide with peace;
And voices make an imprint, spirit’s ease,
Her sights and sounds; dreams happy as her day.

And laughter, learnt of friends, and gentleness,
The joy of childrens’ artlessness, sublime gift;
Some tears that tell of love, of times recalled,
And laughter, learnt of friends, and gentleness

In hearts at ease, under an English heaven,
The traveller will find rest wherever found,
And fondness for the country left behind,
In hearts at peace, under an English heaven.


This was written as an exercise to see if I could use metaphors to describe poetically the emotion of anticipation.

Anticipation is a coiled spring,
taut elastic to the touch.
It is sunshine, energy for the soul,
heat to the mind.

Anticipation waits to jump,
an athlete at the blocks,
a racehorse ready to charge,
straining and stretching the imagination.

Anticipation does not like waiting.
It is an eager child,
ready for realisation,
full of daydreams.

Anticipation is a game of chance
with unloaded dice
in the casino that is life.
Anticipation gambles on the future.


The following poem is written in the form of a GHAZAL, which consists of five to fifteen couplets, usually on the subject of love, loss, praise etc. Traditionally, the first two lines rhyme, and the final word of each couplet are a repeat of the last word of the first couplet. Each line is in the same metre, and no enjambement should exist between the couplets.

A cottage full of oaken beams.
Look and behold, here come the dreams.

We gaze and think, how much is this,
A house of stone, subject of dreams?

For city folk, escape’s the aim,
A cherished hope; fulfil our dreams.

But is it truth, this wish to run
Away from smoke, satisfy dreams.

We are in love , the plan is set,
We make our move, realise dreams.