Last Rose

Ruby Red Rose
Is this the last rose,
ruby red against the fence?
Last blood of summer.

Before the Forecast

Sunshine and blue skies.
I sit outside and soak up rays
before the forecast wind and rain
comes again.

Black Head

Cat’s black head
peers through cat flap,
I glare back.
Eyes meet.
Not my black cat,
‘Grrrr’ I say.
Cat backs away,
gone in a flash.

On Writing

So long as you write what you wish to write
that is all that matters;
and whether it matters for ages or only for hours,
nobody can say.

Virginia Woolf ‘A Room of One’s Own’

Time Now

Time now
to bring in the garden ornaments,
my fairy, dragon and the rest,
before the first frost.


Autumn chill is here.
The trees and I change our clothes,
pack Summer away.

Lost Things

Lost things always hide
in the last place you look.
So far I cannot even find
the last place!

Second Time

Have I read this book before?
I don’t remember, start to read.
Yes, it seems to be familiar,
but now I have to carry on;
I find I’m gripped a second time.

Eskimo Song

The great sea has set me in motion,
Set me adrift,
And I move as a weed in the river.

The arch of the sky
And mightiness of storms
Encompasses me,
And I am left
Trembling with joy.

An Eskimo Song quoted in ‘Walking the Healing Labyrinth’ by Helen Raphael Sands

Little Creatures

Crisp, golden-brown leaves have fallen.
Now, breeze-blown, they scuttle along,
little creatures scattering,
feet pit-pattering,
then hunkering down
in clusters, in corners,
making no sound.

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