Sun’s
Reflection

The
sun’s
reflection on snow-covered mountains

Their
tops aglow like red-hot coals

Alpine
sunshine bruises the water’s surface

Opening
doors, inviting us into worlds we cannot see

The
waters surface is blowing like a blanket in the wind

Lifting,
shifting, revealing glimpses of speckled trout

Resting
on the stony river bed below

Shards
of bright white light spark off the scales onto flint rock

The
Magazine Rack

Black
and cold

You
cradle the world in your sleeve

Places
of interest, adventures secreted

In
the dark folds of yesterday

Headlines
boldly coldly read

Blank
bank verses

Curses
and purse strings pulled taut

Anyone
can be bought or aborted

Deeper
and deeper I look

Look
for the carefully placed hooks

Hidden
deep in the corners

Away
from the eye

Waiting,
waiting to hook and strip

Strip
away the thin layer of confidence

Exposing
a brave and sensitive heart

The
Hospital Gathering

Gathering

In
the welcome shadowing of the day

They
petrify

A
semi-circle

Cluster
of clams

Sounds
emanate in sequential formation

Information
given, bleep

Information
received, bleep

Quiet.
There are no conversations here around this bed

Bleeps,
bleeps, and then silence

Hebden Hills

Mist
haze rain sloshed on glowing hills

Trees
reflect their effervescent greens

They
are looking their best now

Healthy,
almost new

Their
sideburns look

Cuts
deep into the hills

Accentuating
the cardboard

Cut-outs
of stone-built dwellings

That
don’t
quite fit in, the colours clash

But
match the dull weather

They
are a match for the weather!

The
Courtroom

Quasi-Spanish
courtroom waiting

On
orange-tiled mosaic squares

Tinged
with black worn to brown

Doors
shut on their iniquities

Rows
of straight-backed chairs

Heads
cocked

Chins
cradled in hands

Watching,
listening with attitude

Eye
on time wasted

Some
time to serve!

Time
gone by

Only
two black plastic mouthpieces

Secured
to walls

The
only contact to the outside world

Women’s legs
squeezed into too tight leggings

Men
tattooed in dull full Technicolor

Mobile
strapped to hip

Low
slung like a fast shooter

Children
resting, restless in grimy pushchairs

Children
playing, their one day out

Not
inside, yet!

A
pregnant child, once a naive girl

A
headstrong son

A
cold steel pinnacle of strength for us

And
justice for them

Summer
Storms

Gliding
over tarmac

Hot
and sticky

Too
hot to think

Too
close for comfort

A
sudden darkening of the sky

My
chest so tight

Nicotine-stained
clouds

Surround
the hills

The
birds are silent now

The
tension is unbelievable

Everything
awaits it

There!
A distant rumble

A
few drops of squeezed out tears

Plop
onto hot skin

Counting
1, 2 and 3

Then
an almighty bang

As
the sky rips apart

And
releases its weighty burden

Black
Rose

Black
silk rose of petals

Forlorn

Sadness
heaves upon these

Petals
hung heavy

With
weighty world of sorrows

Green
stem offers colour of hope

To
weather-worn head

As
petals drop like tears

The
Artist

So
nice to share

Contemplations
mixed with art and drink

So
bohemian

While
sitting in animation

While
the artist’s pencils and brushes

Peck
and skim the naked page

Capturing
the model’s essence

The
Moot

Zephyr
bar awaiting the band

A
Moot subject!

Alternative
bar

Cool
band sounds emanate

Through
tall black speakers

Amplifying
sound

Laura
Crane Trust

Hardworking
day at the office

Most
enjoyable – hiding away from the demanding public

No
fees today

None
needed

Such
a worthy cause

Paid
in kindness with T-shirts and brooches

And
a picture sketched, then painted by Charlotte

The
Café Bar

Sat
oh so quiet

Comfy
sofas of

Brown
cracked leather

New
but stressed to look old

Stainless
steel tables and stools

Coldly
challenge you

Dare
you

To
perch on the

Precarious
authenticity

Of
their retro design

Mortal

Dressed
in black she wanders

Her
favorite haunts

But
still malignant thoughts reach out

Torment
her soul

Messages
on mobile

Remind
her

She
will never be

Mortally
free

The
Fog

The
dark damp air clings

And
hair absorbs its wetness

Making
it curl

Slowly
it creeps and seeps through clothing

Leaving
skin cold and damp

There
is an eerie silence

Among
the tombstones high upon the east cliff

The
fog hovers

Sneaking
silently through the ruins of the Abbey

While
flocks of birds take to the air

Cutting
through the fog

Their
once graceful movements altered by the fog

Making
their flight shudder

Like
an old black-and-white silent movie

A
schauerfilme

Caused
by the enshrouding fog

My
Dad

I
can’t
help but sense

A
change in my dad

The
softness has been

Driven
from him

From
within

There
is a hardening of a small body

Into
eventual brittle frailty