Advent’s last dusk

Quiet waiting.

Still no breath has broken;

rumours abound.


A child unwelcome

by those who think better

clings to the last few unseen nights

afforded him in his amniotic haven.


Stir and sleep child

before the wind wild burns your face

and your tears lament your rejection.

An unexpected guest:

I wrote this a few weeks ago but didn’t put it up as I was unsure if it was quite right. I still like it, in what seems an unfinished form, so here you go. A poem on grief. 

                                                                                    O Grief, why do you visit me unexpectedly?

Warm fires are for conversation

yet while they burn

questions and statements remain

without response.



the silence of our loved ones

leads us to that longing for future times

when death will not steal our shared deliberations.


by a memory, one not even real,

complacency is disturbed

by the absence it pretends to ignore.


                                                                                     does not play fair!

Tears perch.

I’m uncertain if they will fall.

Whether they will stroke my cheek

or die, themselves, on the woollen landscape



fire and dog