We stood upon the beach While the waves battered the shore, Sandcastles all alone And shaken to the core. With pebbles underneath And the wind in our hair, Splashed by the parting waves And stung by the salty air. We faced the parting tide And slipped along the shore, Eroded by the waves And battered to the raw. With our feet in the foam And our hands in the skies, Never wanting to leave And tears in our eyes. ‘I don’t want you to go’ Were her last words to me, Amidst the parting waves Of the distant sea. ‘I don’t want to but I must, If I could take you with me’, But I must walk away And not let you see. Battered by the parting waves Head bowed and alone, In the wake of the surf And drenched in the foam. I hold the pebbles still And the memories, Though they cut my hand raw, Are the sweetest of follies.

I came to a wood, Wherein two paths stood. The sun was hot upon the leaves And my senses were deceived. One path lay upon a road, With many companions to share my load. T’other lay in the darking deep, Where not even the shadows sleep. I would like to say, That I chose the broad way. I would like to believe That I have not been deceived. I chose the darker route, Whose branches overhung with fruit. Past nettles and ivy and holly, I wondered was this folly. I vowed to make my own path Through thicket and hedge and past The obstacles that lay before me: The sprawling roots of evergreen trees. The woods turned into a jungle, And I found myself humbled. The solitary path I had chosen Was only one of many ways in. Beyond the woods I found, The riches of a life unbound. In the jungle I found wonders And much on which to sit and ponder. Before the woods my life had been, About how much I could dream. About how much I could achieve When I only had time I could thieve. I chose the road that lay in the darking And left with many a sad parting. My life’s journey already begun I set my face to the rising sun. The ground was soft underneath, A carpet of leaves bequeathed To cushion my fall; To help me stand tall. The wind blew down from the hills, As I sat and gazed into the rill. The sun was warm upon my face; I knew I had found my own race. But still I tarried longer While the leaves fell through September For I missed the light’ning load Of my companions from the road.

Pass through the door and dip your fingers Into water dusty with spider webs. Candles flicker in the porch And piles of hymn books stagger high, Wearied with incense and candle wax. Pass into the body of the building. The light no longer streams through the stained glass: All is dark and hushed but for a red light Beside the altar. Make your way down the aisle And bend your knee to the sacrament. He died for us, not pillars of stone And hierarchies enthroned in Rome. Make your way into the world Gaining in confidence as you gain in trust. You have nothing to fear Knowing your friends will be there.

The willows bend to the river Their leaves whispering, kissing, Their branches enfolding, Crying their last farewells. The leaves drift down from the woodlands. A carpet beneath our feet. We pass this way in silence: The forest bears us home. Into the red gold of autumn Our straying footsteps roam. As the shadows lengthen, The forest calls us home.

The church bell tolls, the sun rises and chimes the castle. With a song in my heart I take to the wing and fly Along the river where the salmon dance, cross the Lovers Leap Where the spray fountains into the air as the river hits the rocks. The sun glorious upon my back, the water sparkles Like a rainbow, all colours and none. The earth alive with flowers, the wind scatters the clouds, Ruffles my feathers as I climb Jacob’s Ladder to the Apostles: The earth’s beauty below, Heaven’s majesty above.

Give me the freedom of air and sky And clouds scudding over mountains high. Peveril castle rising to my right, Its stone walls broken in height. Stray sheep scampering up the slope, Scattered by the passing walkers’ lope. The rising path meanders between the hills Like the water flowing where the winter wills it, Until rising high above the town, And opening out Mother Nature’s gown, Rolling hills bedecked with crowns of flowers And April days with scattered showers. What’s a summer’s afternoon without a little rain, In the English countryside nothing’s the same, As we cross fields drizzled with snow And watch the startled passing of a solitary crow. Coming down from the hills to the dark woods Below, the light passes out of sight Alongside streams of dark gurgling water And crickets like a cat’s welcoming purr. The wind tossing the leaves and then the clouds, Spreading the dress of night like a shroud, In the restless tramp of boots on stone, Of boots on boulder, I’ve found my home.

When I am dead, do not bury me beneath The ground to rot and waste, for worms to feast. Commit me to the fires, the tongues that lick, The voices that roar, the flames that flicker. Scatter my thoughts like ashes to the clouds That nevermore on these hills will I roam. That nevermore through the woods and fields, Is there a single place that I call home. Release me over the Roaches and scatter me In Castleton and Hope and Eyam. Distribute me over Dovedale and Wolfscote Dale And lavish me over Lathkill Dale. Let no one say I took and gave nothing back. To the land I give everything I have: I give myself.

The sun blows hot over the peaks, Down from Hollins Cross. The grass that bent beneath our feet Will spring up, and die, and be born again, Ere we should meet. Far out to sea the ocean roars But here in St. Martin’s bay it is still. The waves that lapped upon the shore Will rise up, and be cast down again as rain, Ere we should meet once more. Upon the hilltop lashes the rain, But Snowdon is crowned in light. The paths that over the heights reign Will be trod a million times or more Ere we should meet again.

An aviary of chattering chaffinches And screeching sparrows. (No strength but in your mind.) Their wings shorn, mindless voices Babbling a torrent. (No strength but in your tongue.) Trapped in the cages of their minds Empty headed, beating their heads on bars Only they can see. Far above the cages and bars and wards An eagle, a hawk, a kestrel Soaring on the evening breeze.

With the waves came the wind and water Piling high, mile upon mile, towering Into the black sky, until it looked As if half the world had risen To fall upon the other half. The water rose. And fell Deadening, deafening, dredging, Sweeping all before it, scouring the streets And stripping the sea on a sunny day. With the wind came the warnings That were ignored. The water rose, Swamping the swamp, stinking the streets, Hijacking the high school. Orleans was overcome And the world watched, with baited breath, For the united response that never came. The city was raised up. Torn down. O say, can you see, the star spangled banner, Borne in triumph over the mass graves, The bodies left buried beneath the wind and waves. The day will come when the weather breaks. When the sunny day becomes silent and full of shadow. When the river reaves as it receives. The sun will shine cold and dead And rain will fall on your cheeks As hurricane day comes unexpected. You will not see the shadows You will not feel the rain Until the storm breaks over you Until tragedy strikes you.

For three years I worked in a paper mill Because my parents died in a crossfire on a hill And don’t I deserve a new future? For six years I lived with my grandparents Tilled the land and worked the soil until they went And don’t I deserve a new future? I was blind from birth and my parents cared for me But when they died in a landslide nobody wanted me And don’t I deserve a new future? All I want to be is a child, Happy and free, and a family That cares for and looks after me. All I want is a home, shelter From the rain, a bed to share, toys To play with and two meals a day. All I want to be is loved And protected and cared for. I’m willing to go to school I want to learn and grow And help others so they’ll know That it doesn’t always Have to be like this.

The doors open to a panoramic view And it’s as if you gazed upon something new As the sounds and sights wash over you Of beggars crying their wares Of taxis honking their fares Of monks shouting their cares And the smell of petrol and cordite And the stink of a drunken night And the sweat of a day’s flight And the cries of the children ‘You have sweet rupee pen’ ‘You want buy something then’ The smell of dust and heat and sweat And you’d long for something cool and wet But don’t drink the water just yet. Tibetan prayer flags flapping Dust in streets swirling And the sun in hot streams scorching The Sandu with orange blossom smile Offers you his blessing while Asking with rapacious style For Nepalese rupee ‘Blessing not free To those not in poverty’. A family sleeps in the shadow Beneath adverts for a western cash cow And it sickens you to wonder how The street children of Nepal With begging hands below the wall Are forced into prostitution and all The temples here have statues of gold And the people don’t live to get old But that’s just the mysteries of this place untold. Cows lay down in the road A tuk-tuk roars past with a heavy load, As you set out upon the pock-marked road.

I walked four-score around The ancient town. The doors were open the walls broken And dust scattered upon The ancient town. The glory days are past The ship has broken its mast And beached here upon The ancient town. I disturbed the dust with my passing Barely trod the surface As I passed through on my way To some place else, away from The ancient town. The sun beat down A crown of neglect. In beauty decayed The ancient town. Ancient and shrivelled, they watched me From the doorways of The ancient town. I have been forgotten, but I never forget The ancient town.

Old men, like bearded crows, Hunched and stooped, Shuffle past. The wind strips the streets. Tattered newspapers on the wall. A radio blaring in the silence. Gathered round the chessboard With nothing else to do. Giggling schoolgirls run past. Old children in the street, Play with carrier bags and hoops, Chased with a stick. Their raucous voices raised. Namaste from the shadows. Gasoline and coca-cola. Hands dipped in bowls of rice and curry And glasses of rakshi. The sand scours the street.

Her Doric columns tumbled, The ancient kingdom reduced. “I was once what you held dear, But by time was I seduced.” Aged by weather and wisdom As the world passed her by She sank into poverty Never more to catch your eye. Her pride remains in the stones While her streets have become the beach. “I am falling now but once Was not out of reach.”

I came across the dusty terrain From the land of concrete and glass, To a kingdom parched of rain From a world of wonder past. The alien in a strange land, At home in grey skies, In a place of blue skies and sand And all-smiling eyes. I felt like I didn’t belong In the ancient city of the east, Where I could do no wrong; Where I should have been the least. They made me welcome And I didn’t have the words to thank them: They offered me rakshi and rum And I sat down beside them. They took me into their homes And what little they had, they gave me. I am only a stranger here, choosing to roam, Unused to such hospitality. They told me of their lives And I could only sympathise. The husband crews, in the fields the wives Labour on with bent back and laughing eyes. Their faces lit up with a grin When I offered what little I had. They filled my glass to the rim And refused to take anything. All I could do was gaze With wonder at the richness of the poor, And by beauty be amazed On the desert beach of a distant shore.

Song of the plains and the white horse running The white horse cantering The white horse galloping. Song of the plains and the winds blowing The wild grasses blowing The wild grasses buffeting. Song of the plains and the eagle gliding The eagle soaring The eagle descending. Song of the plains and the nations praying The free nations chanting The free nations singing. Song of the plains and the wolf howling The wild bison roaming The coyote calling. Song of the plains and the descendents leaving The young brave departing The young man farewelling. Sing of the plains in the city of men The concrete sidewalks Where no horse is tied. Sing of the plains in the concrete and glass The tarmac road Where the bison once roamed. Sing of the plains in the dull night When the yellow lights Hide the moon’s face. Sing of the plains and a moment of solitude A moment of stillness A moment of silence. Sing of the plains far from home Where the wind blows free Where the sky is free. Sing of the plains When the yearning is in your heart When the world overfills your heart.

‘I take the colours that are offered: Inks and pastels, crayons and quill pens, And I sort them into categories. The Some are worn down Pupil But some improve with age; Some tones are repetitious, some rare, But I take them to a journeyman or master, For them to declare “this is no good; That one may fetch a price”.’ ‘I take the colours stacked on the shelf For me to decide what is worth And what is worthless. The Some I hold to the light Journeyman And run my finger along the spine. Others I mark up and place upon the shelf. I dream of finding that elusive blend Of tonal wealth and depth and age That marks well a book of great worth.’ ‘I take the artists that volunteer, And explain about light and shade and age. I teach them of colours hues and seasons The And how to assess the written page. Master My canvas is the shop Wherein they express themselves: A colour scheme here, a suggestion there, To paint the walls with books And fight poverty with profit.’

A monkey in a God skin waves a chain above its head. ‘We will fight them on the beaches’ becomes The thunder swell of lap dogs clapping. A red sparkler takes to the sky Too early for bonfire night Ascribing the arc of the London Eye In glory over the Thames Lighting up the whole of London Until completing its arc it falls earthbound. A tower of cards a domino gallery Disrupted and scattered tiles like paper hats And the ricochet of Christmas crackers Laying waste to Harrods and Marks and Sparks Trafalgar’s Square revels in the ruins Of a New Year the same as the old. Snow deadens the sound of gunfire in the playground. Ash rains down from on high. The rough beast slouches towards Easter As the country is crucified As Blair declares war on Lebanon.

If I speak, I am suspected. If I protest, I disappear. If I try to flee, I am apprehended. If I own a flag I am imprisoned. If I believe, I am beaten. If I worship, I am whipped. If I call myself Chinese, I am censured. If I call myself Tibetan, I am tortured. But they cannot silence the sky. They cannot refuse the rain that falls. They cannot stop the seed from growing And the lotus will bloom again.

Lotus blossoms Scattered on a lake. When will my love come back to me? Lotus blossoms borne By the wind to the mountains. When will she be free? Lotus blossoms Strewn on the path. When will my love walk this way? Lotus blossoms Whispering in the trees. When will my love hear this? Lotus blossoms Soft upon her skin. When will she feel this again? Lotus blossoms In the pages of a book. When will my love read this? Lotus blossom Scent of jasmine and saffron. When will my love know this? Lotus blossoms Like nectar on the tongue. When will she forget her pain? Lotus blossoms dance In the flickering flames. When will my love speak her name?