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This crisp autumn morning,the great tree sighsfor its destiny: a dictionary.This warm summer eveningthe dictionary sighsremembering when it was a..

These two cows were ruminatingand one says, I was listeningto the milkmaid’s transistorand this French philosopherwas explaining that there’sno..

Two birds rest on the same tree;their eyes are bright;they look alike; yet oneis the Teacher; one the Student;the Student tastes all the many..

Look at this old photograph..some of these old photos lookmore ancient than their, what,hundred-and-twenty years;as if the very air was different..

Let's get away from it all..that is, to take 'it all' with youand dump it on an idyllic beachwhose native population rake smoothevery morningbut who..

Oh, how to report to truththe many shades of love?Saint Bernard of Clairvaux,monk of a silent orderwriting what he could not speak,writes of love for..

Today(Mark it in the diary -then throw the diary away..) :Today dawned with the unusualwrapped intriguingly in the familiar;a freshness..

When you re-ad alou-d your ow-n po-ems –(prizewinners, dammit, every one) -lingering on every no-un, ad-jective and ad-verbas if they are..

They were black of course.Saturday mid-morning; myselfjust searching to round offthat poem on praise, adequately, so as notto let down the poem up to..

Spring morning; air full of promise in the nostrils;scents of flowers yet to bloom;dew as diamonds on the grass stems;sunshine on the hills across..

Come back, swim back… I need you…When I stood a child upon the seashorewaving through the tears as firstthe one and then the otherwas taken by the..

A bath when you're born;a bath when you die;between, a long river

God walked in his garden;his footsteps became the universe;his shadow became Man.In the garden, the shadowthat knows itself a shadowlooks for the..

The door creaks, as she opens itand the fall of the heavy iron latchechoes through the empty church.The atmosphere inside, this cold cold day,is..

Here in this river valley below the Alpswhich mimic high Olympus’ watching spirit,everyone’s a silent poet of nature:lakes; rivers; green fields;..

Although it is a cold evening,down by one of the fishhousesan old man sits netting.If this were a novelby, say, Jack London,something would be about..

The great temple belland small butterfly asleepmay both be surprised.

The midwife’s tidying upwith professional detachmentand there you are; wrinkled; pinkwith a glow that no man ever made;and I, a part of you for ever..

You know how people who arereally serious – that’s, not thosewho pretend to be serious, orthose who are paid to be serious –pretend to be not so..

Haiku's wet inkshines;a warm heart

What can I give you –for only giving can I think of,in this dark season of the yearwhich needs no festive name, to name the need…this dark season..

A book of learned scholarship,open in my hands, at the first page…and then I saw, to the right of it,my thumb nail…and marvelled –at its perfection..

Three of them.Young; they’ve written prize-winning essaysabout their life so farand what they’ve had to deal with.Their photos are attached.They..

Yes, it’s a photo of the three of them –it’s not so often I can get them all together;they’re so much in demand…This one’s Rosa. She has..

So it’s morning start time at the office.Or should be.Red-eyed, those tell-tale diagonal ridgesfrom eyes across the cheeks..we roll in late, proud..