Select Page




Hummed rings of traffic buzzed high by yellow horns

Run riots on baked red brick and broken paves of stone

St Luke’s gardens West village 2011 – half-cloud sun eclipsed

Where people swarm to eat and chat and sit


I thought of home …


In England now the luminous green chirp of plant and tree

Has pushed the flowers from their seed

A thousand oaks in willowed shade and mossy bank

Have sparrows, toads and worms to thank


A steeple long dead yet stubborn peeps

Through bracken tongues of lamb tongued leaves

In quiet shadows lilacs blooming erupt their scent

Around maidens’ brooks and stony Roman bent


Under knuckled stone, Ley lines curve and moan

Welsh dragons swell in hills their ancient bones

Crop circles crown the breasted Saxon field

Aliens in England secrets yield


This American soil of womb copper blood

Ushers my spirit back to English mud