misshapen beech trees 

carved by age and gale-force winds 

tethered by gnarled roots 

a celandine hides 

in the shadow of a pot -

bright star in the dark 

two buzzards circle 

above the misty valley - 

the baby watches

broken shepherd's hut 

in the corner of a field - 

no sheep on the downs

when I go to bed 

shadows of last night's dream fall

across my pillow

a herd of brown cows 

silent in a field of mud 

and cherry blossom

by the wishing well 

the one-eyed cat sits and sees 

all your heart's desires

old gate in a wall 

shut fast with tangled ivy 

when will it open?

a week in the earth 

and tiny tomato seeds 

have become small trees

over Brighton Pier 

starlings mass in swirling clouds 

dark against the sky

the first day of spring

high tides, bright moon, first baby

thirty years ago

bolts and chains locked doors 

guard the secrets of the past 

hidden in the dark

tufts of bright green grass 

spilling from a high gutter 

streaming with water

a flight of stone steps 

worn hollow and overgrown 

seem to lead nowhere

faint clouds of frogspawn 

float over the pond's surface 

mirroring the sky 

the pale light of spring 

draws shadows of winter past 

like pencil sketches 

a drake and two ducks 

bright-feathered on dark water 

scooping dregs of sun 

in the clear water 

we dropped coins, made wishes 

that shone among stones 

blackthorn in blossom 

winter's last light fall of snow 

before spring begins

did the smell of bread 

once drift across these old fields 

from hot stones in huts

blue auricula 

blooming despite the cold air -

the power of art 

a shed in a field 

bins of corn, hessian sacks 

I'm a child again 

trees stretch bare branches 

after the long winter's sleep 

sun warming their limbs

crow, twig in his beak 

hectic flight among the trees 

rush hour cars beneath

the sea surges up 

waves break against window panes -

only in my dream

in the white-washed shed 

north light comes through dirty glass
hens peck at shadows

Shipton Hill hull-up 

capsized on chalk-surfed green downs 

bones and pots beneath

young buzzard long-dead 

beak agape wings stretched for flight 

body light as air

driving home at night 

a sky full of guiding stars 

I follow cat's eyes

kestrel on a wire 

struggling against the west wind 

rags tied to a bush

flocks of gulls gather 

inland on newly ploughed fields 

gales furrow the sea