I’ve always liked to dabble with verse. Through the songwriting process, it’s somewhat inevitable. Parallel to the creation of lyrics, runs a different thread. Here, verse is presented randomly and…
The water is too clear, They'll see him on his rock, with his new rod. The bait is well enough, Wriggling on its hook, on its line. Baseball cap and…
It is a grotesque representation of power. The shouting of it from castellated rooftops, the feel of it on the backs of slaves and the ultimate poverty of its exercise…
If God had anything about God, God would surely not bother With churches or mosques Or some of the human beings God created, Purporting to be God's envoys on planet…
The tracks are there but the train cannot travel, The copper thief has struck And the service will unravel. The engine is poised but it must stand still, The signals…
The muffled church bell is forlorn. A dead ringer in the crow-cawed dawn. It used to summon, now it pleads But a thousand other promises Will meet their Sunday needs.…
Eagle Rock is still there. It would be. It is an outcrop of etched Pre-Cambrian strata and thus, as long as it avoids sticks of dynamite in the hands of…
In the flesh - thoughts. Invisible, infinite, whirring. This is life. Of course there is a God If we think there is. Of course the cause is just If we…
The clock sits on its third shelf at the back of my lean-to. It is not allowed in the house. It acquired woodworm some time ago when it sat on…
There are cuckoos in Croesor And their call is distinctive. They live in the nests of others. One evening we walked up the valley And we heard the sound. We…
Lying there in the dark, Outside forever, Is comfort from the day That brings them to scratch your scars. No cover from the scour of wild winds, In a universe…
To trudge it is to span the years On mudded boot-prints, To share the uphill struggle of careworn life. This puddled, rutted track, A hundred years in the fine rain,…
Blood in the tubes, Steady beat, Pulse to headache. Boots in the snow, Every step Won the hard way. Numb around the mouth, Frost beard Aches the face. Hands on…
In an inverted world, Blurring lines trick the sense Of the known. Beginnings and ends That merge within The new uncertain zone. Nothing is the same, Misplaced markers float Around…
There is no Avalon down there in the patchwork. The knights have gone And their great stone strongholds are small. This fortress could mock such vanity for a million years…
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