Poems...

//A Flock of Birds// Reading Between the Lines// The Gift// A Mother’s Love// Level in My Breeze// My Burning Desires// We’re Going To See Graham Today// Clocks// The Meadow// Evening Stream// Beacons// Unconditional Love// Honey and Vanilla Ballet// Beads// The Photograph// Sitting on the Banks of the Wye// Spritual Princess// Drops of Heaven// Pen Y Fan// Chill// The Wardrobe// Y Mynydd Du// Life Time// To A Pilot Who Guides Me On My Path// First Journey// Floating Feather// Early Morning Caesarian// Mrs Davies// The special effects of flakes// The Welsh Lad of the Mountain// Hush Now. Just Listen.// A Welsh Mountain Kind// Blowing Down The Cwm// Destiny// Drive Your Own Screensaver// Maximus And His Friend// The Dance Of The Queens// 10th of March 2007//

Introduction to 'Honey and Vanilla Ballet':

I feel there is an importance to keep imagination

Through life we lose this sense and get the feeling we are to busy, to many things to do and even at rest we are still thinking of jobs not done the pressures of others demands,

And never of how much we do miss in life.

I wrote this just after the tea was poured as it was on the table with the winter frost outside, the coolness of the room with the sun streaming just as I describe. and how much beauty and life there

is to gain from just being with this cup of tea.

...

Honey and vanilla tea in a china cup,

just poured, to the sun’s streaming rays

a brilliant reflection of the colour orange.

I see lots of tiny bubbles huddled upon its surface,

and in the cool breakfast air, not a breath to disturb.

A convection of the softest kind;

a ballet performing in my mind.

 

The steam rises soft and silky:

like tiny dancers across the top;

sweeping and twisting in the light,

from the surface of the cup.

So delicately, so fine, that I would have to say:

A pity,

if I have imagined them to be?

 

The ballerina rises up; her dance is wonderfully divine;

she floats and pirouettes with such amazing grace.

Her pearl is her free will but to vanish faster than a thought;

and as fast as I see her gone to see her reappear

but will she be the same ?

I dare not look away, for that would be a shame!