Poems

Poem

The seagulls are doing their dance again – Wings clasped to their sides, they stare up the street.
Up and down, up and down, go their knobbly pink knees;

Give The Ball to the Poet
Poem

We don' have a Springtime like some folk
Who live in dem colder place,
but we have a time when de soft rain come,
an' tease open de seedcase

Let in the Stars
Poem

We turn our faces up and jiggle thirty toes,
Morse-coding longing with our restless beat.
When will it come?
Shepherds on the first Nativity, we scan the skies
and huddle,