The Mystery

From the edge of the park I see

The railway bridge and the Georgian row.

The rugby posts catch the setting sun

In a wooden frame.

The people walking by

Don’t see me where I stand,

Melting into the worn brick.

That suits me fine.

Sounds fly in from every side,

Even above, from the birds and planes

And swishing leaves paint a wash

Over the harsh clatter.

There used to be swings here

A lifetime and a half ago.

Tarmac and swings and laughter and fear

On the Mystery.

Controlling the Weather

I’ve started controlling the weather.

I know that it sounds quite absurd,

But wait till you hear why I say this

And then you’ll believe every word.

Last weekend I made a decision

To work on the garden, you see,

As long as the weather was pleasant

As the forecasters said it would be.

I got out my gloves and my wellies,

My trowel, my rake and my hoe.

I dug out the key to the back door,

So, then I was ready to go.

As soon as I walked through the doorway,

I felt something land on my face.

The raindrops got bigger and colder

And rapidly picked up their pace.

I looked at the grass and the soil,

And faced a stark fact there and then;

There’d be no useful work I could do there

Until it was dry once again.

The very next day, there was sunshine.

Once more I collected my tools.

But right the way over my garden,

The rainfall had gathered in pools.

It needed a few hours longer,

Enough time to clear up and dry.

I honestly felt really hopeful

When I looked at the cloudless blue sky.

I busied myself somewhere inside

Till I felt that it must be okay,

Then picked up my bundle of goodies

To work through the rest of the day.

But as I set foot on the threshold,

I couldn’t believe what I saw.

The sky was now full of bad omens

And it soon began raining once more.

But now, I know how I can trick it

Into being the dry day I’d love.

I’m buying a brand new umbrella

And I’ll shout to the heavens above:

“Just look at my brand new umbrella.

To try it out would be so good.

It’s lucky for me that it’s raining,

So I can go out in the flood.”

I’m telling you now what will happen;

The rain will just dwindle and die,

The clouds will grow smaller, then vanish

Leaving nothing but blue in the sky.

You see, I’m controlling the weather

It’s quite an incredible knack.

So, I can get digging and mowing

And wishing the rain would come back.


One is the moon, alone, untamed,

Changeable, fluid, strong.

Two is the dance of day and night,

Moving to life’s dark song.

Three is the water, wind and air,

Rolling around the rock.

Four is the bulk of the compass,

Making the world’s great clock.

All are the Earth and the space around,

The land and the lives within.

Where each real story flows to an end

To allow even more to begin.

The Wise and Friendly badger

You see them in the stories; they’re always very wise.

With gravitas, with patience and with kind and caring eyes.

They steer the woodland animals away from foolish errors,

They keep the mice and rabbits and the hedgehogs from all terrors.

Their guidance is unparallelled, their insight quite astounding,

Their sense of fairness most advanced, their qualities abounding.

Their homes are neat and cosy, their habits most fastidious,

Their entertainment perfect as each one’s a host punctilious.

The other forest creatures know that these beasts can be trusted.

They’ll sit and tell their troubles in a cottage highly dusted.

But if you see a badger as you walk out in the twilight

A rustle in a hedgerow and a peek of black and bright white,

Don’t tell it all your problems!  Don’t expect it to be nice.

It will tear your sodding throat out without even thinking twice!


The topic for this was chosen by a Twitter friend, Sian Ifans () and I’d like to thank her for it because it was a lot of fun.


Sunlight on water,

Splinters of day,

Broken, but dancing,

Carried away.

Sunlight on water,

Fire on the waves,

Speak without words to me.


Breeze through the woodland,

Scent of the bark,

Holding, but moving,

Sumptuous yet stark.

Breeze through the woodland,

Timeless and free,

Whisper your tale to me.


Shadows of wild birds

That swoop through the sky,

Flash o’er the grassland,

The hedgerows, the rye.

Shadows of wild birds

That soar in the blue,

Give back my breath to me.


If only I could mute the world

Or pause, rewind or press delete.

Such things I’d do, such work, such art,

If I could mute the world.


If only I could press reboot

Escape, refresh or hard reset.

Such wrongs I’d right, such crap, such dross,

If I could press reboot.


If only I could download skills,

Input, key in or just compute.

Such flair I’d gain, such gifts … know-how,

If I could download skills.


If only I could leave the grid,

Shut down, log out or pull the plug.

Such sky I’d see, such light, such life,

If I could leave the grid.

Dawn Bats

They came as though from nowhere,

Melting into existence,

Wisps of grey against the silver streaks,

Wheeling and tumbling,

Bats returning at dawn.

Silent in the overhead, they catch the eye

And keep it until they’re gone.

Vanishing in the same arcane way.

As time paints over the silver with gold and blue,

Leaving me standing.

Staring at the sky.

Park Bench

From the bench between the lampposts

I can see the path stretch off

To the distance through the trees and through the grass.

I can see the wrought-iron fence.

I can see the tangled shrubs.

I can see the winding road and cars that pass.


From the bench between the lampposts

I can see the open field

Where the families and friends spread out and play.

I can see the distant spire.

I can see the old café.

I can see the palm house hiding by the way.


From the bench between the lampposts

I can see the ground slope off

Where it gently forms a hill beside the lake.

I can see the beds of flowers.

I can see the tiny bridge.

I can see the perfect scene these features make.