Long Dorset Poems

Thomas Hardy the Poet, spoke with me last night,
Speaking of his thoughts, as I sat in bed upright,
Though twas in a dream, I never thought it strange,
That we enjoyed a moment for literary exchange.

In his...

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Boohoo is bidding for Boo-Boo
But Yogi’s not seeking a deal,
He’s scanning the park for a picnic
Looking forward to his evening meal.

Warner Brothers deny their involvement
So investors are kept in the dark,
But rumours are spreading ’round...

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Upon these craggy hills, I sit and in wonderment, I stare 
Gods beauty is reflected everywhere 
thundering surf crashing below
It's Thomas Hardy's world we know

The limestone rock formations 
Millions of years the transformation 
Under the...

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The window shakes from rain fast-beating,
From grey-torn clouds the sky fast-fleeting,
Relentless vapours madly swirling,
First autumn deluge earthwards hurling.

The chimney howls from wind mad-rushing,
From gutters pour full floods out-gushing,
Remorseless gales and gusts hard pressing,
Each earthly structure's...

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We all headed off from Chingford, from good old London Town
Us the McGregor Brothers, and 'Pigman' our murdering clown

Leaving the 'Turtle and Monkey' very close to 'Dorset Street'
Where 'Mary Jane Kelly' became the last of...

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John had an accident with a motorbike, 
Which left him paralysed from the waist, 
So since then Sonar’s have been his like, 
Three to five sailor boats which haste. 

He’s from Sunderland and he trains...

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The western media will report less on the Ukraine 
As the worthy underdog.. as putin closes his grip
There, there is real understanding now that Russia
Is able to influence food supplies.. And energy
Also there will
Be reports...

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I
A few hours after April 9th began
My puppies yelping woke me, helping
Me be thankful for this holiday -
Easter day! Better yet: Resurrection Day
For Easter was pagan, named for Oestre
A Persian goddess (?) Yet Persia had...

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At the end of a dry, harsh August, as
Autumn slowly descends upon Whitechapel, 
I begin my vicious practice.
From Buck’s Row to Hanbury Street,
I make each house call brief.
My methods most precise—each cut, so deep,
So effectively...

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Nearly two hundred years have gone by
When a man left these shores to die
In foreign lands he did go, but on his way
He landed in Lulworth Cove for a day.

What would I have said to...

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It’s a busy world, 
And life can be so full, 
Do this,
Do that,
Be here,
Go there.
But sometimes
It’s just good
To sit,
And watch the clouds go by.

So easily
Enticed
By advertisers’ dreams,
By images and idols,
Flashing screens,
And magazines,
A world unreal,
That sinks...

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Westward
in the winter mist
unwavering
wing-beat rhythm
thrusting
purposeful
powerful
pale creatures
of a pale world,
outstretched
magnificence
reshaped
from the haughty elegance
of arched necks
and curved wing-folds
white
on a summer’s placid lake.

On a cold foggy morning in Dorset, England, in January, 1992, I heard the distinctive wingbeats...

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Lines of youth on forsaken beach,
waiting forlorn for an unseen saviour.
Jagged metal machines of war lying lifeless,
once proudly ridden beyond the sea.

Billows roll where bodies now loll,
turning over in crimson foam.
The living watch, all eyes...

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