Tag Archives: memory




As the warmth of the day crawled away
and Dionysus loosed our tongues
the conversation slipped to sliding doors.

Is it possible to miss a life not lived?


I knew you
in the crude cave markings daubed by thick
Neanderthal fingers, in sand grains beneath
the soles of slaves at the foot of Pyramid labours.

I knew you
in Inca trails, in Pucara temples in Tiwanuka
and Titicaca, in stratospheric particle matter
before and after the fire starter.

I knew you
in Bluestone caves, in sinews of the brave
who carried them to Pentre Ifan, in their deity
and in their deaths on Preseli’s heathered hills.

I knew you
as a stripling yew, in its sap as it grew
and bled, trickling amber down husky bark
to churchyard daffodil beds.

I knew you
in the sparkling streams of Mynydd Mawr,
in Gelert’s yelp, Llewellyn’s grief, in Arthurian
tales and Cerridwen’s poet child.

I knew you
in vellum maps, stained beneath the fingers
of Columbus’s wanderlust and in the stolen
Spanish gusts that filled El Draque’s sails.


As the warmth of the day
crawled back and Dionysus’
wrath lay heavy on our tongues

I knew
that had I lived the life
I miss, I would have known
only the gelid absence of you.


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Filed under Free Verse, Poetry


solo cappuccino,
waitress brings today’s special.

Crust breaks,
cinnamon shakes pungent
at nostrils.

Tumble into orchard,
harvest apples; sliced, stewed, spiced,
preserved in jars, air-tight.

Sit quietly on the shelf,
waiting for when two spoons
can share dessert again –



Filed under Free Verse


As loneliness slips in beside,
and fills the space where warmth once lay,
in creeps hiraeth in shades of grey;

cuts deep the sheets with sharpened scythe.
Future borrowed from tomorrow
to gladly pay the levied tithe

and have the past rewind/replay
as loneliness slips in beside.




~ Hiraeth is a Welsh word. Like many strong passionate words in the language there is no single English word that adequately translates the meaning of the word but it means a deep sense of longing, a yearning for that which has past, a sense of homesickness tinged with grief or sorrow over the lost or departed.


The piece is written in Octain form, an explanation of which can be found at this link.





Filed under Octain, Poetry


sitting at the little wooden table

eating rocket and mozzarella
and cherry vine tomatoes

we spoke of Keats
and Wilde
and others
who had shaped us

my bare legs
tangled around your waist

as we ate
and touched
and talked

l left
as the rain arrived
and wondered
if it would be
for the last time

I think of you
when I taste tomatoes





~ Posted for the Wonderful One Shot Poetry Wednesday.  Lots of delish poetry to read here One Shot Poets


Filed under Free Verse, Poetry