A spider

In the corner.
She lurks.
She hides.
She shirks.
She scuttles.
She spins long, long,
tendrils of silken thread.
Ample amounts of yarn
to catch any unsuspecting.
flies who hover too close

Spiky feet take turns to
test air currents.
Suddenly she descends
along an invisible line.
Some people are scared.
I am not
I escort the spider outside because
I spied her.


Clouds. they are blown into cotton ball streamers by wild winds. when they get black and heavy rain pours, lightning strikes and thunder rolls. I love the fluffy cumulus clouds. Looking up at the sky i see such funny things. A saucepan, a man with a massive nose, a trumpet. But today I was told these clouds hold computer data. They are very useful. I have seen both sides now. Clouds.

Darker Night at the Hairdresser

As the day gets darker
I go to the hairdresser.
Thinking of colour
I open the door and enter.
Maybe emerald or azure.
I want a bright colour.
I discuss this with Catherine as I am not sure.
She sits listening quietly to what I desire
and goes and get the colour.

‘My dear blue is not what you require.
It will make your hair brittle I am sure.
Your hair has settled into a lovely colour.
I suggest you opt for a lovely rose couture.
It is quite on trend and it will be much better
for conditioning your hair.

I will trust my hairdresser.
Literally in her hands I place my hair.
Catherine gets her paints as I wait on my chair.
Car lights zoom past faster and faster.
They are still looking for a good hairdresser.

Funny Phone Feeling

I did not charge my phone last night.

The phone is going flat.

Low battery warning flashing on my screen.

Years ago public phones were outside every milk bar.

These days there are none to be seen.

No more do I fold myself into a telephone booth

and push 30 cents into the slot.

The world today is divided into those who have a phone

and others who do not.

I do not save coins to make an emergency call.

Instead I unfold my mobile.  My monthly bill will pay for it all.

I don’t know how Orwell did it but he looked into the future to see

1984’s Big Brother rubbing his hands with glee.

A curious Big Brother who can see you and he can see me.

What is more he can see where we have been

because we are all blips on his computer screen.

I live in the information age. There is nothing I can’t know.

If I want to find out something I don’t have far to go.

I google what I need to learn.

Instantly that information will show on my phone.

The world is at my fingertips.  I am no longer alone.

The world has shrunk quite a bit.

Instead of talking to the lady next to me

I could be chatting to my old uncle Abner in Apartment 3,

New York, New York City.

But i can’t right now.

My batteries are going flat.

What am I going to do?

Twiddle my thu ……..

beep, beep, beep …….


The sun rises in the east
like a ball being served
at a giant’s tennis match.

The shadow of the sun spins
and rotates into the distance.

It disappears
over the next hill where
I cannot see it anymore.

What do these shadows
have for my today?

Will there be happiness?

It is all out of my hands.

I am not playing in the
giant’s tennis match.

The ball has been served

When Angels Come to Poets

Do angels come to poets?
Have they ever been?
Yes. My muse is with me always.
Heard but never seen.

Lyrics whispered in my ear.
Songs at their birth.
Enough time given to
write down the words.
Always with me from
morning till night.

Should I accept the poem as my own?
Do I search for someone else to
write the poem down?
My imagination runs riot.

I don’t construct.
My poem forms itself.
Spectator not participant in the process.
Like song and air flowing through the body of a singer.
Pushed and moved by the current of
extraneous forces but
not an entity in itself.

Poem Hunting

I have a vain ambition to
hunt my poems down.
I have put them all on Facebook
so I am sure they will be around.
I started out slowly but really wrote a lot.
Some were good.
And some were not.

They are all out hiding on Facebook now
so with my cutting and pasting tool
I will hunt them down.
They have been kind to me
and have let me pour my heart out
into the words as my brain
worked out what to say.
Like butterflies they are fluttering and
flying away from me.
I want to catch them
but I am sure they just want to be free.