Tag Archives: death


My poem, “Leaves Blown At Night”, came to me as I walked with my guide dog, Trigger, on a December evening in Liverpool. The leaves blowing around my feet reminded me of the fleetingness of things and, in particular my own mortality


My Owl

I have lived in Upper Norwood since 1997. Upper Norwood is one of the greenest parts of Greater London and I am fortunate that my home overlooks an historic park. The prevalence of greenery leads to a diversity of wildlife, including foxes and owls.

From time to time an owl’s mournful cry reaches my ears. I like to think that he (or she) is the same owl. However given that I have resided in the same spot for some 20 years this is impossible.

Below is my poem “Owl

“Owl” can be found in my collection of poetry “Refractionshttps://www.amazon.com/dp/B01L5UC2H2

Keats had his Nightingale

Keats had his Nightingale, which made him think of death.
I have my owl, which brings to mind Macbeth.
Tis a different name
For the same

The morning birds sing
Replacing the owl’s cry
And I
Ponder on Keats, who is remembered still
And wonder will
My owl survive
Long after I am alive.

There Are No Pockets In A Shroud

There are no pockets in a shroud.
The proud
And the humble
All must tumble
Into the grave.
But you should save
One solitary coin
To enjoin
The ferryman to take you on
Your final journey.


Going to bed
I shed
My skin. When I awake
I shall take
It up once more
From chair or floor.

One day
I shall go away
Leaving my skin
To be sold in
Some charity store.
Rummaging through bags on the floor
Maybe some shopper will buy
A piece of me.
Perchance a thoughtful soul may wonder why
My skin came to be there.
Or, more likely they will not care
For bargain hunting is the new thing, and besides, giving money to a good cause
Oft results in applause.

Going to bed
They shed
Their skin. When they awake
They shall take
It up once more
From chair or floor …

The Hall

The cold rain does fall.
I recall
We stood in the shelter
Of the old hall.

Helter skelter
The years whirl by.
Now I
Sit alone
In my home
Thinking on the cold rain
And the old hall that will remain
When I also make my way
Into those woods where we were wont to play.