Tag Archives: mortality

The Afternoon Sun Will Soon Be Done

The afternoon sun
Will soon be done
And each bird that does sing
Will fold it’s wing
In sleep.

Why do I keep
Indoors and maintain
This sad refrain?

All will pass,
Lad and lass,
But until then
There is ink in my pen
And I trust sufficient time
For more than mere rhyme.


A Flower Found Within A Book

Shall I compose a poem about a blood red
Poppy that I discovered in a book,
And how I took
It dead
From within the grieving leaves?

Shall I say
How, yesterday
I placed that flower
In a carved
Box where it will languish, love starved
For countless hour?

The book I had when we met.
I forget
Why the flower (paper thin)
Was there with it’s sharp pin
Still intact.

I remember the fact
Of you and me
Buying part
Of a once living tree.
Each heart
Is dying or dead


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

Oft Of A Summer’s Day

Oft of a summer’s day
Have I turned away
To write.
I shall go out tomorrow
And forget my words
In the singing of birds.

But when night
Falls, I shall return what I borrow
From my ever present friend
Old Father Time
And my brief rhyme
Shall reach it’s end.


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 …