Best Brickwork Poems

On a path laid as a snake,
Trodden down a winding wake,
Curls and slithers into night,
To thrones of ever-dimming light;
I hold still and gripped with feeling
In...

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Should you venture home, now,
And see the cobbles gone,
Hear the rattle on steel shutters
As the rain falls on and on,
You might as well be leaving
Just...

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I, Lazarus*, have seen the brickwork sky,
Its throne is made of night!
Its salt and lime are drying to the eye,
My wandering… 
a sound! a rumble,...

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My head rested on my arms atop the wooden ledge.
A basement window I peered through covered with packed snow.
My mind wandered to the fridge where...

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behold now everything on this earth;
    the fields with abundance of grain,
    palm-grove harvests rich and fruitful,
  ...

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SCENES OF A CARELESS BOYHOOD

The sound of water,escaping dams
willows,old rotten planks,slimy
posts,brickwork,old timber props
wet ditches,sedges and silvery nets
towpaths without gates,horses that
tow barges collared with crimson fringe.

Wheat...

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When I’m smoking outside bars
And the ash falls in the rain,
The alloy wheels of passing cars
Spin blurring down the lane;
It takes no sense of reason,
Still...

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All ye who enter here
despairing statues of salted liberty,
merging solidarity with Earth’s poor hunger
to range free falling Victorian bricks
and mal-bourne sticks
to land here with now
with...

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NEW LAIR

Lestat walked down the street muttering to himself, 
eying the tide mark faintly etched on the brickwork 
of his once glorious house. 
Damn! Katrina...

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travelling to my never was,
my yearly time in the yard
spring time back to cold Ohio
gripped in nonsense and melancholy
I travel to old town
misted by the...

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Vultures swooped at fast
evading carrion;
Vespa hornet squadron buzzed;
Paparazzi psychology, ruthless
across screaming Macadam black
as the blackest slabs of night.

Sheet lightning born of
flashbulbs popping;
illuminated faces strobed
under toughened...

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the still life paints in water colour as moments dissect the day

an autumn leave falls quietly in tangible peace of the quiet soul

a tranquil hand...

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If I was a house I’d be detached
Secure in my walls, untouched
My roof angled against the rain
My windows, tightly shut, secure
My front garden neat, the...

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Dustbowl sentiments profusely bleed the cherry fossil eyes 
Into cataracts of scarlet, fused with empty alibis, 
Spitting feathers from the lips quivered cancerous with pain,...

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Those who argue with sheep,
are condemned to be black,
because controversy needs
an open mind. 
Odd innovations, 
forward of our time,
are emerging into our
brickwork today,
yet, we stand...

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