When the pen takes control.

A country cottage such as this

is most people’s idea of bliss

on a quiet road with little traffic

encouraging feelings soporific

on lazy days of Summer sun

with a glass of wine in the garden

birdsong filtering through the trees

who could not wish for such days as these.

Sub-compartmentalised,

each drawer full to overflowing

leaflets printed French escaping

drawer-fronts varnished outward facing,

the pitcher, bulbous and self-satisfying ,

a green-skinned gourd lazily reclining

this provincial study hinting

at a room both calm and homely.

The clearances are due to begin

with burner, spade and barrow

perhaps the work would easier be done

by a sow preparing to farrow

I’d like to see one rooting around

looking for tasty morsels

in this piece of old waste ground

just right for hungry porkers

My expression is often misconstrued

as being one in a melancholy mood

but I can assure you these furrowed lines

show only age not troubled mind.

Croissants and coffee

a continental combination

sustaining body and senses

at the start of the day

The climate actions that make a difference

I am looking over the Nile

with Joseph standing at my side

the first of ten he would say to me

in order that we will be free

consider now this whole land cursed

the last will seem by far the worst

A grubby, knotted rag covers his eyes. Bare-chested, revealing grubby but muscular, tanned flesh streaked with blood. Hands tied, he stumbles, only kept upright by the two uniformed, burly, stone-faced escorts at each side. The slow, regular beat of the drum measures each solemn step as they slowly progress towards the upturned, salt-bleached grating.

now is the time to sow

sweet peas

to ensure they grow

As lights across the harbour shine

the silent cranes their labour done

await the early morning tide

to bow before the rising sun

then raise each load up to the sky

barrel, bale or even bundle

to trade across the world destined

each adventure not yet begun