Later Poems

How do we know when a flower wants to be a flower? How do we know if a horse wants to be a worm? Or a giraffe wants to have short legs? How do we know what moves the very

My girth encompasses six thousands years Each ring within my bowel marks history. I offered up my olive branch to Noah in flood Crusaders, with their swords all soaked in blood, To them I gave my olive branch, my mind.

  Journeys are teachers, They teach us to feel tired, They teach us to walk round obstacles, They teach us to think about process, They teach us just to be. I crossed the Atlantic In a galleon, The way you

  Old age comes upon one like an unpaid bill, Suddenly forgotten years are trying to get in, One looks so changed yet inside time stand still, We owe life this, inspire and smile and all the while Wonder if

I’m going to run away. ‘Oh no you’re not, you’re here to stay.’ I’m trying hard to hide among the grains of sand and tide, my foaming head has nearly gone into the sand where I belong. ‘Oh no you’re

  Man standing at a bus stop staring at his shoes Woman glancing at her wristwatch, no time to lose Cat sitting in a window, how to pass the day Dog howling at the moonshine, in a very doggy way.