Tuesday, December 6, 2016

Poetry Indeed !

I have long been tormented by poetry, 
tortured by lines calling me from their depths, 
in early hours before dawn. 
When even my house was asleep. 
To rise and sit at a wooden desk with pen in front of paper 
and write all alliteration that comes to mind.
Fec ! 
It is enough to drive drinkers mad, 
such prattle, poetry indeed.

©MRL Dec 2016

Friday, November 11, 2016

LEONARD COHEN - Forgive me ?

I stand swaying in dead air
crying a bucketful of dry tears
as deep as the Ocean
Hearing music so soft, so silent.
For a man  who reached his end.
Did his soul touch yours ?
Were you there at his concerts
or like me stone deaf busy ?
I stand in silence now
Begging forgiveness with dry tears
for staying away so long.
Hearing only Hallelujah 
recognising a single rhythm
That filled a hundred songs

Leonard Cohen 
please forgive me ?

© MRL Nov 2016

Saturday, October 29, 2016


Mistress wind kisses
sweet deciduous trees
her lips sap savouring
sucks caresses
every leaf dry
To paint
Samhain colours
Pale yellow
Red Gold - Bronze
and lays a lovers blanket
to dissolve
Upon the ground.

© MRL Oct 2016


management said The Yard is closing with effect - immediately
I saw in a dark corner a senior foreman weep
heard another knee deep amid wood shavings cry
It went against the grain this……for my father said
“Big men don’t cry”
I shouted at his grave the Sea and said
“They do, they do !”

Watching waves of tears flow once - unknown
Fears of a future wrecked, washed up - beached.
scattered stocks held craft part built
never to float or taste the salt
Idle debris of design and trade
For a century of industry has ceased.
While grown men weep.

© MRL 2016

Tuesday, October 11, 2016


Between blue and green 
I sleep dream
glide givingly
float freely 
to slide silkily supple
as a breath of air
to She a gilded golden
sunset singing softly
her hymn - my twin.
We one being.

© MRL 2016

Monday, October 3, 2016


A blossom of old faces stare silently on old walls
none drawn by a human hand just nature in relief.
Some on raw ancient weather washed stone,
others rendered on a lime sand mortar mixed.
Women wearing hats not now seen and hairstyles unique
while men bucolic bellicose frown and stare down.

Others too stay hidden unbidden creatures
seemingly fossilised in servitude to ancient gods.
They are infused amid green leaves to shrunken brown
in hedgerows around wild wooded forests lurking
Barely discernible, threatening my eyes to espy 
their existence these the old dead and yet alive!

© MRL October 2016

Wednesday, July 13, 2016


See you, I don't want to get accustomed to the seasons, 

nor do I want to be complacent with this living and being alive. 

You see, I have seen the ghost-people who have done that 

they are locked onto this planet, trapped almost for ever

Or at least until some kahuna or druid cuts their bonds.

So I sit here with 73 years of cold toes in July waiting.. 

For my flight to the great non-consciousness. 

Join me and we could form a non club, If you like ?

© MRL July 2016