~

there are worlds within 

worlds within other worlds,

 there are distances 

in space, in deep space

so incomprehensibly far 

they are measured in 

numbers that man finds

unfathomable,

as man stands in wonder

to look at the majesty of 

the heavens,

beneath his feet, myriad

colonies of minuscule 

creatures inhabit the tiny 

patch of soil under his shoes,

we are in parallel, both 

small and insignificant

man relates to the enormity

of the cosmos as if standing

alone in the universe,

worlds within worlds

unimaginable distances

the earth a speck of dust and

mankind’s irrelevant presence 

hardly worth computing

*

GRS 7/24

~

words wake me,

some striding purposefully

across my reverie while 

others take a stealthier tread with 

the practised guile of a thief

all demand my attention,

a few, a small hearty band

jostle me with the impatience 

of children who will not be pacified 

prompting me to step carefully

through their infantile alphabet

some are slippery fish I cannot catch

or enemies I choose not to fight

they paint crosses on my door

a plague that isolates me 

in the torpidity of endless hours,

others come to stay like friends

asking for gentle discourse, mutating to 

become curious tourists with colourful

questions from within the dark

if I am careless some might shun my hand 

and slip away without a care whilst

others cling on to me as if drowning

these myriad words alone

understand the tenure of my loneliness 

my word blindness, fractured viral

broken, I owe these words 

everything and nothing

as do they to me

*

© GRS 7/24

~

it is often said that

for a ten-year-old

a decade is a lifetime,

three hundred million

inquisitive heartbeats 

of hope wonder and 

aspiration,

*

© GRS 7/24

~

I’m not an old warrior

or a displaced refugee, 

nor a jilted lover

a politician, prophet 

or a parson,

I have no angst 

I’m not addled nor addicted, 

not allergic or awash

with argumentative rhetoric,

I am shrivelled, desiccated 

and cracked, parched so bare 

that nothing will grow within,

all my inspiration hampered 

by banality, that dilute substance 

devoid of taste, the burnt-out 

residue of overwhelm

I am diseased with the vague

limp of tawdry blasphemy 

I am ordinary, a voiceless 

wordless cadaver

hankering glumly over

this empty page

*

© GRS 7/24

~

dreamers see a dream

as a story, a tableau that

might include themselves

in which they never

appear in person,

~

in a dream, the cast of

characters may differ

in age, juxtaposed across

generations, illogically set 

next to those of another

time and place,

~

a dreamer may enjoy

supernatural powers and

abilities outside his 

normal ken, or else feel 

disabled or slowed by 

the invisible torpor of the

unconscious realm,

~

dreams are a gamble that

the dreamer cannot refuse 

to take, thrust nightly into an 

environment that may be 

either hostile or friendly,

a dream being the perfect

mirror to our true psyche

*

© GRS 7/24

~

four AM again

it’s very still, no birds, strange,

the cityscape silhouetted in

a pale salmon pink and 

thinly washed-out grey dawn

imperceptibly lifts to the 

translucent pale blue, of a 

thin person’s skin in cold weather,

from behind the cherry

a wet sun starts to bleed

through the dormant branches

ushering out the pastels,

I’m hungry but it’s too early

yet for food, so I potter

through the vegetable patch

that’s become a mini jungle

overnight, the pollinators have

been working overtime to

catch up as it’s almost July,

it’s the aromas that take me

by surprise, overt freshness 

that I can almost chew

my grumbling stomach signals

its acquiescence

*

© GRS 06/24

~

who are you? 

you who seek to tell 

me what to write, how

it should sound to make

my words take flight,

poetry is a magic garden 

in which many species 

bud and grow, and what 

soil is best for one, others 

cannot hope to know,

feel free to walk amongst 

the multicoloured shrubs

breathe in their heady bouquet,

even a thorny ragged thistle

has to have its day,

enter, stay, think, breathe 

take your troubled ease,

rest quietly, don’t explain

inhale the hypnotic essence

of this rare poetic breeze,

but if graffiti is your wont

and cultured beds and 

borders are what you hate,

take the long path, past the

nettles beds and compost

and leave by the secret

hidden gate

*

© GRS 6/24

~

before the birdsong at

3am the night air is cool

and hangs as if suspended, 

waiting patiently, stored

in a frigid vacuum

prescient, expectant, 

then my ear catches the 

rhythmic melody of your 

timid dream breathing, 

half waves lapping a shore 

half a distant breeze that

mesmerizes palm trees

and I imagine warmth,

the darkness is hostile

an erstwhile witness to

beings that wake before 

the overture of dawn, 

fair prey to the daemons

that lurk in the shadows

so I feign sleep to trick the

solemnity of the departing

night, content in the

subterfuge of my wilful deceit

listening to the ‘chisk’ of

breaking waves and the

balmy shiver of palm trees

*

© GRS 6/24

~

the very young and 

the very old, poles apart 

in the spectrum of life

both regard time through 

the same lens, with little 

need if any to pander

to society’s traditional 

customs and limitations,

a child’s time effortlessly

spans borders and boundaries,

visits countries and continents

leaving ample time to be

home for bath time and bed,

time for the ‘olderly’

often appears to stand still 

allowing for long reflection 

and remembrance, for

memories and musings

all from the comfort of home

hand in hand they may both

travel together unhindered

through a shared time and space

one looking forward, the other back

each never once meeting 

or greeting the other

*

© GRS 6/24

~

1965 not

fourteen years old 

virgin hormones 

freshly pressed 

music madness 

O level French  

and there you were,

smooth chocolate 

melted butter voice,

an ache somewhere

I’d never felt before

could it be love

this hurt, this pain

fourteen years old

a poster on the wall

and that dress!

my first wet dream

and so it began

a leap, a fall

yeah! yeah!

1965

*

© GRS 6/24