Poem Seeds

Sometimes a poem comes – the seeds are sown

but it’s gone again before I write it down.

The good ones I know will come again

so I’ll keep to hand my trusty pen

and many left empty a small note book

just in case a poem should chance to luck:

sometimes a poem and sometimes not:

sometimes my pen just runs and blots

but where blackest lie, dark pools of ink

does a poem hide? Just let me think…

Writing Poems

I like to sit and watch the sun –

rise and write – but just for fun!

Sometimes I’ll stop, sit and watch, just mute

at othertimes, softly, play the gentle flute;

on warm dune sands I’ve laid my head:

and in the night sky, stars, above, I’ve read

seen many things just come and go

sometimes people – that I find I know

but if I should whistle up the wind instead

oh – what mischief – in this life I’ve lead!

Later on, as the sun settles down.

I’ll stay and wait until the moon comes ’round

to play hide-and-seek – and to-and-fro in

between the clouds will I finally find my poem.


There’s no time to stop and lie in bed

ten thousand things are busy going round my head:

each thing less important than the last

but round they go all whirling fast –

and when I stop and hold onto one

the others run ’round again just for fun.

I’ve been lying here since four o’clock

but how this madness just won’t stop

and now just as my thoughts stay steady

arrives the dawn again – here already!

Now needs must: get up, get on

ten thousand things I must get done…