Thursday, 16 February 2017


Is it possible to love a wren?
Must love own its object?
Or seek to own it?
For the wren takes
‘What is hidden is more alluring’
To the n-th degree.
Glimpse here,
Blur there.
Then gone, but not forgotten.
Is it enough
For love to love her wild flight,
Wishing nothing but good
To one going, going, gone,
Asking not even acknowledgment
Of the looks of love
She is receiving?

Wednesday, 8 February 2017


Coming from the dead wood
Where snowdrops issue white
Invitations to a new season
I see the red kite,
Huge and magnificent –
A celebrity, launching.


 Later, at home,
A sparrow calls
Beyond the kitchen window.
So what? No one sees you sparrows;
No fans, no twitchers come.
However you aspired,
You’ve grown up one of millions.


 I boil a kettle, look again,
And note you’re not half bad.
Surviving, eh?
Well, aren’t we all?
You may be going cheap,
But you wear brown

Tuesday, 7 February 2017


No more queues?