Posted in Gallary, poetry


It’s world ocean day

what can I say,

but where would we be if they all went away?

So much that sustains us is dependent on our waters,

yet we neglect and abuse them…

it’s like a pretext to our own slaughter.

Our pollutions and policies cause our oceans much harm,

it’s like we’re oblivious to those sounding the alarms.

So today make a promise, I urge everyone… please,

to think of our oceans, our waters, our seas..

think of their charm and all that they give

for without their contribution our species and planet can’t live..

& within that promise to yourself or your god

give thanks for our oceans, our waters and seas

& promise to do your part to take care of them please.



starman… 1947-2016

The starman, now…

back on his way

having fell from Mars

back in the day…

a lad insane

at times they said

& yes, sometimes

he went off his head

from Time to time

& station to station…


The rebel rebel with painted face

a crusading hero full of grace…

the golden years he did embraced

though fame,

had brought it highs &


oftime’s his woes, and raw emotions showed

in lyrical soulful sound & vision

shared with all on radio waves & television

the lodger

loving the alien…

the heathen

soul he held within…

a hero,  an idol ,

he couldn’t stay

a star man who stopped along the way

to share his genius & walk among us

back off on his voyage …

beyond the infinite








Posted in poetry

Abigail …

Abigail Abigail, how ye blaw,

turning the rain tae sleet, hail and snaw

I can hear ye roaring doon in the brae

blawin the trees in a ferocious way

makin’ them creak and wildly sway

oh how I wish ye wid haste awaw

angry Abigail….

Abigail Abigail how you rage

turning the ocean into your stage

howling & wailing your velocity soars

a rhapsody of waves dance wildly to shore

crashing on to the rocks, as moon looks on,

as it always does through calm and storm

angry Abigail…

Posted in poetry

I don’t wear a poppy

I don’t wear a poppy 

I don’t wear a poppy 2 remember the dead
I keep them in memory inside my head.
I don’t wear a poppy 2 remember the dead
children…, injured, killed by drones
as they lay in their beds.
I don’t wear a poppy like those grown in the fields
patrolled by solider with guns… until the crop yields.

I don’t wear a poppy, as they remind me
of the life’s that are ruined, by opiate toxicity.

I’m not being disrespectful to the life’s that  are lost,
as they battled in wars at the very high cost…
I understand the mindset, as to what they believed,
that they were fighting for a good cause,
but they were deceived…

when I see a poppy…
it makes me feel sad…
for life’s that were lost
& futures never had…

I think of children and families,
left without homes
workplaces destroyed,
piles of rubble, and bones…
I think of the lies that our leaders have spread,
the war propaganda, they try and put in our heads
 I’m haunted by the tears and pain,
of those mourning the dead
while these warmonger leaders
stand at the Cenotaph with bowed heads
I don’t wear a poppy,
because what it represents to me,
is war and destruction, greed and toxic debris.
Posted in poetry

the daisy & the willow tree


Was on a mid-September night

I chanced upon a wondrous sight

a little daisy on the brae

to her goddess willow prayed

& as I watched in silent awe

I was humbled with all that I saw

I listened to her words of praise

as she was blessed with goddess grace

Oh mighty willow goddess green

Share with me all you have seen

for it is said that you are wise

and in your wisdom goodness thrives

and it is said that you can fix

all that ails and makes us sick

Sweet goddess willow share with me

all natures secrets known to thee

pray tell me goddess willow tree

of all your sensitivity

tell me of each new tomorrow

tell  me of your joy and sorrow

for it is said you hold the key

to life…

to immortality…

Sweet little flower I hear your prayer

but what secrets with you can I share?

As I stand here each day and night

I am blessed with wondrous sights

I feel the wind caress my leaves

and in my catkins butterfly’s grief

the caterpillar… as she departs

reborn with flight, a brand new start

And often when the sky is dark

I sit in council with the lark

who whispers a quiet sweet refrain

as he takes shelter from the rain

And little flower it is true

my bark and leaves infuse a brew

filled with healing properties

used in herbal remedies

that ease and soothe the anxious heart

kill a fever when it starts,  and dissolves pain

from aching limbs and joints and migraines.

I shelter newborns as they sleep

I morn with widows as they weep

and neath the shelter of my leaves

passing strangers ofttimes sleep

veiled by night…

hidden safely out of sight

I’ve shared in moments of joy and bliss

as young lovers have their first kiss

vows and promised made…

moonbeam wishes, in my shade.

From the cradle to the casket

life’s tapestry, a woven basket…

yet I am only one of many

we trees are family, diverse and plenty

what er our name or our domain

we stand tall in hail and rain

and bloom as sunshine feeds the grain,

Vital to life’s energies…

natures pure identity,

we trees are life,

and so are you…

Sweet little flower so humble thee

you are wondrous just like me

a part of natures mystery

the great evolving Majesty…

nature define, life immortal…

Posted in poetry

you’ll never know…

how you reached me
how you opened my eyes
you’ll never know
how you made me feel
every word you said
turned my head
I’d felt so long dead
you opened my mind
I had been so blind
to reality
what you done for me
was you made me see
love so true
it wasn’t just about you
or me, but humanity
what it meant to be free
what it meant to care
in a world full of despair
you’ll never know
how all that you do
made me fall in love with you
such true virtue
that’s why I love you
but you’never know…

Posted in poetry


Imagine lying in your bed
the sound of warplanes overhead
You go to the window & all you see
is rubble and carnage where homes & schools used to be.
The local hospital raised to the ground
the shops and your work place can’t be found.
No where to work no where to play
everything bombed, life in disarray
No clean water to cook or wash
no gas or electric, for the hob
no heat or light,children terrified,
wondering will they die if they sleep at night
Imagine war was all around you
living with oppression, what would you do?
would you pick up stones and try to fight back
knowing the odds against you were politically stacked
would you pray for safety, would you try to flee
Imagine the dilemma of being a refugee
ordinary people just like you and me

Posted in poetry

them upstairs

every Friday night at 7 o’clock
off tae the pub ye’d see them trot…
arm in arm & dressed awe nice
her perfume taboo, his old spice.

10.30PM back they’d be
stagger up the stairs, then
their favorite LP,
Slim Whitman, usually…
then he’d say moan hen gie us a wee dance…
I could her heels clatter as they  pranced…
Then in a few minutes more…
he would roar…


& so it began…

a crashing bang, breaking glass
there was always the sound of something smash…
then her feet running across the floor,
the banging of 1 , 2 , 3 doors
then thump thump thump
she’d start to cry
screaming “ahhh ya bastard ma fucking eye…”
more screams & pleas,
i’d pick up the phone
the dialing tone… would drone….

999 the phone would ring
hallo i’d say, number 14 r at it again
can u send a car,

i’m really worried he’s gonna go too far…
then i’d wait…
till silence would return anew.

Saturday night 7pm,
they’d be off tae the pub arm in arm again,
11pm back they’d come
ready for another rerun.

On Saturday nite the music would be Patsy Cline

I fall to pieces, every time…
On Saturday’s it was conjugal rights
but still there was the sound of a fight
as he would roar …

“yer a dirty cunt…get doon on the floor”
there’d be thumpin’ and crying as she pleaded and begged
STOP PLEASE yer hurting me,STOP pushing my head

then, NO more…
the sound of her feet running again and the bang of the bathroom door…

Sunday morning 10’o’clock
Off tae mass ye’d see them trot
His head held high he’d smile at the priest.
her head bowed low, eyes staring at her feet.
Everyone knew, no body stared…
they were husband & wife, who would dare
interfere in a domestic affair.

he stands alone

He stands alone
clear waters flows
where once he roamed
where will he go
he wonders …

where will he find resting ground?
where do the hooded seals abound?
what shall he eat?
What of his friend the arctic fox?
will all sign of him be lost?
what will do, where will he go?
will he be lost forever more
what of the reindeer where will they go?
when there is no ice left
no sign of snow?

images (11) polar bear