the pavilion

.

A hall a marble floor
A flash of mirror steel
twisting skyward
Glass, seductive curves
Signs black on white
Stark.



Strings and wind
Discordant tuning
The maestro taps his baton
then a quilt of harmony
cossets the hushed crowd
Unheard outside


Figures creep silently
twixt sculptures, images
Standing back
Contorting bodies
finding the best angle
to view

A table in a hall
littered with spent paint and crayons
Surrounded by tiny stools
where children just sat
Art pegged to a string
on the wall

The ding of a till
Books chosen then wrapped
Painting bought
Small works of art
taken home
Souvenirs

Above, a clatter of cups
and glasses
Excited chatter
The air filled with the smell
of food and
and wine

Out on the roof
couples cuddle in the breeze
Stare out to sea
like actors on the set
of Titanic

Sun sets at the end of the day
White concrete glows pink
in the setting sun
Glass reflects
the dying rays
It sleeps

'

let me read my poem to you

To see my photos of the De La Warr Pavilion, click HERE!

lost then found

Left, abandoned
Sad beginning
Lost, discarded
All alone

Found and rescued
Happy ending
Held, embraced
and welcomed home.

Creature of the night

As the night drops its blanket of darkness over a slumbering world, I softly slink away into the stillness of a silent street. I hear every sound – the rustle of fallen leaves as a breeze bustles between them, the rattle of a discarded can as it cartwheels down the gutter.

Objects which hours before sang with colour have now taken on a more subdued pallor. A paleness in the shimmering moonlight, which bathes everything in a sea of silver grey.

I cowl and spin my head toward a screeching owl. I am not alone on my nightly journey. I turn again as a fox skips across the road on its way from one overfilled dustbin to another. A busy bat swoops, then glides then dances above me. Fluttering moths frantically bounce to and fro as they attempt to break inside a street lamp, and a spider weaves its web then waits stealthily for the flying fruits of the dawn.

For these are the creatures of the night. My night. My world. My ecstasy.

rainbow

Red streaks on grey
Above a splash of orange.
Indigo, deep, sensual.
Now yellow brings light and
Blue borders green
On a violet curve
Where the rainbow ends.

wasp

What in the world is a wasp for?

It doesn’t contribute a thing.

All that it does is annoy me,

and it bloody well hurts when it stings!

the willow whistle

He sat cross legged under a tree
in a wood
In one hand a piece of willow, in the other
a shiny pocket knife.

He chipped, and smoothed and whittled
until he was sure
that his little wooden whistle was perfect
As perfect as could be.

It was to be a token of his love
for a fair maiden
A reminder of his promise to always be there
whenever she called.

But life can be cruel and one day
he wasn’t there.

Years later a girl walked through the wood
searching for the place
where one passion filled summers day
she lost her willow whistle

ferocious

Crouched it the long grass
The Black Panther
Rules the night

The silver blue moonlight
Glistens on her coat
Of deepest black

The slightest movement
And her ears twitch
In anticipation

Green eyes widen
As she fixes her gaze
On her prey

Her lips curl to reveal
Menacing white fangs
Ferocious fangs

Then like a bullet
From a gun
She pounces

Another night
Another kill
Another victim