poetry diary

I rhyme to see myself, to set the darkness echoing. (Seamus Heaney, from Personal Helicon)

Category: Love poems

After the time of the bees

It was after the time of the bees
she bloomed alone, a single rose
among thorns; scented and white, I see
her petals, pink-edged in the dawn light
of those final days.

I could have wings, and buzz, a bit, at
least – or hum. My shorts are yellow too
and I have a stripy shirt. I like
honey, and flowers, and I dream of meadows,
despite my being a man.

So I landed on your petals, and
sipped your dew. Scented with longing, you
helped me sleep, and we dreamed together
alone, of times of bees and roses,
until your petals fell.


Posted on dVerse Poets, open link night.

Never leave burning candles unattended


silent like swans;


Your candles:
warm light


slow shadows;


ancient ways
of seeing

through darkness,


Remembering, like candlelight.
Keep away from children, and
handle with care.


Posted on dVerse Poets January 24 2012


I can watch golden-crowned clouds flee today’s
rebellious sun,
but who can I tell without you?

I can face yew trees at dusk, scent-swamped
and proud, beyond time,
but who can I hold without you?

I can drive north across hills, sensual
like flesh, and warmed now,
but who’s hand to touch without yours?

I can dream and wonder, imagine you
with me, yet you’re not,
and no dream can match your last look.


Sunlight-etched hair swims in china sky
and frames your blue deep water eyes.
My senses shocked smooth by river’s zest
have space only for you.

I close my eyes as you kiss me,
feel your lips on mine; the tip of your wet tongue,
your body’s warmth, breasts against my chest;
stretched out together – my hand on your head,
stroking your river-washed hair.

You ebb, and the calming waters sparkle
to the swan’s caress,
reflecting autumn trees,
yearning hopelessly for a fish’s kiss;
making empty rings in the evening light you love.

Now the light drains into the waters,
and the river moistens the darkness, expectantly.


Naiads are river nymphs.

River song – at end of summer

Imagining you, walking by the river;
evening light still, soft on your cheeks.
I can hear the water, now; gentle whispers,
caressing her banks, that touch your feet,
warm in the grass – toes most alive
at the fading day’s end.

Summer lives, but she is tired
and spent;
on raising swans and apple trees,
swathes of grasses and bright echinops,
fox cubs and marigolds:
a rest deserved, and sought.

And so the blue sky fades to white
and pink;
laying down her head on softening clouds,
and closing slowly blossom eyes
to sleep, and dream,
of spring.

I think of you

I think of you in between moments,
when the first raindrops fall
or shadows reach out to welcome the sun;
at the end of each day’s exploration,
or half-waking to distant bird song.
I think of you far away, dreaming,
or floating past swans as they watch;
your words like light among leaves;
your face laughing,
and your touch completing.
Though time and space edit my memories,
and we may meet again as strangers,
I think of you.


My love is like a river
searching always for the sea:
a cascade in the mountains,
and meander in the plains.
I long for days of ripples,
and undulating shade;
a splash and laughter,
the unrelenting, gentle flow;
warm towels and sunshine,
and afterwards, just you.


I had to decide today whether I should keep (and pay for!) the wetsuit I hired this year to do a triathalon. It was not too hard a decision – swimming outdoors in nature is wonderful (and maybe the wetsuit is for wimps (or just for racing) but this is England, and I am still a beginner).

Sleep easy

I will sleep easy with you in my heart,
whatever tomorrow will bring.
I will rise early and welcome the spring,
to see through your eyes at day’s start.
I miss your soft laughter,
your eyes and your sparkle;
your considered replies
and your little asides;
I miss your soft arms and your warm fireside,
but these waters run deep and flow back to your shores.
I will sleep easy with you in my heart,
whatever tomorrow will bring.


I’m in London, in a little hotel less than a kilometre from the riots. There are some sirens and policemen, but life goes on as normal. People are amazing – none of which has anything to do with my poem!

In parting

After we parted,
I was suddenly so lost.
Then you waved to me.

Seasons of the heart

I opened to you
my virgin heart this summer.
Winter came anon.


Posted on Poets United