When the pen takes control.

The early morning, the time when

fishermen go out to sea again

gone are thoughts of nice warm bed

but think of tide and wind instead,

for now the sea is calm and flat

but before too long they might find that

the calm waters of the estuary

have become a foaming raging sea

and with a silent prayer to God

they can start to hunt the elusive cod

Beware of satire

where praise can be full of barbs

cleverly hidden

Impartiality is a false reality and is most emphatically not a Test Match commentator’s speciality

And after six hours or more of crashing through the dense, damp, dark undergrowth with only a cheerless canopy of dripping leaves through which the light could not penetrate as if somehow day had become night whilst all the while imagining the sound of low voices and running steps behind and all about us, we came upon a hole in the thick hedgerow from which there came a small ray of light and as we cautiously approached found that the opening gave way to a view of fields and bright sunlight, as if in answer to our prayers, escape beckoned at last.

The voice of a parent I always feel

is probably the most effective panacea

just a simple phrase like there, there my dear

would drive away my pain or fear

now both have departed this life

their words still comfort in times of strife

In shimmering skies

sharp edges soften and melt

bright like Summer sun