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So blue -
the wide, wide world of sky above us,
grey-patched with white-edged hairy, hoary
bespangled clouds this bright new morn.

Overlooking this timber-beamed, wood and junk-floored space
is the water tank and his little brother, impotent against all invaders,
now guarding other occupants that have come to stay - for a while.

The tree has climbed back to its resting place in the corner by the wall,
five Christmases old and not a needle, only its lights, shed;...

Enduring darkness and thunderstorms
Bilbo Baggins and his dwarf friends
met trolls, goblins, giant spiders.
I, too, was dangled
at the end of an elastic rope,
which raised me to heights of fright;
my skin squeaked as I held in my breath
and my eyebrows and knees clenched.

I could see through the wired-glass panel
of the wooden, hinged door of my school train
the face of a class-mate coming.
After I pushed, it whooshed closed behind me.

Paolo came across Francesca one day
as he led his war horse to a small bay
at a woodland lake not far from the town.
Seeing her bathing there at first gazed down.
She bade him turn his greedy eyes away
till she had dressed, but she asked him to stay.

No one planted you in that wooded strip;
a hundred years or more ago
an acorn fell from a mother oak,
welcomed by moist mother earth,
and grew and grew, life surging through
to build the massive tree we found
shadowing our grassy garden.
Your roots spread deep as you were high.

That branch that clawed clouds for soaring sentiments
now hangs limp, powerless.
That root that grasped ground on long treks
along Wessex hilltops, now lies still.

Down the village lane, through a wooden door
in a stone house as grey as a rat
with a roof thatched with lichen-spotted straw
live a mysterious couple who chat

over their wicket gate to passers by,
sharing how they are and the time of day.
How could you ever guess they're being sly?...

Guide my
boot down
from the stile.
my muddy path ahead
through the Spring wood
when I catch my breath at
wide, silky waves of bluebells
pouring from horizon to horizon,
springing into my amazed eyes.
Scattered trees - masts of galleons
in the calm ocean of pale blue - their...

A decade short of a century
I prize you for all you have done.
You rule well over our country,
Many people's heart you have won.

I should know your name, but I've lost it,
hidden in my mind I must admit.
Set it free to roam till it comes home
to match your face a perfect fit.

A stranger on his horse
Plotted his favoured course;
Straight to the old castle
Without any hassle.