Published in 2010

Reflections on the majesty, mystery and power of the sea and … life.

Available from Brambleby Books

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Love and the Sea


In this eclectic mix of poetry, the author tells of his passion for the sea in all its moods, as well as the nature of dreams, his thoughts on being grounded on a flight to Ottawa, to how a stuffed tiger can still evoke deep-seated primitive emotions within us. These poems will be enjoyed by all those who have a realistic view of the world.


After the Storm at Nørre Vorupør, Arcadia, Battle of the Butterflies, The Black Poplar Tree at Osted, The Old Water Mill at Brobyvaerk, Cleopatra, Clouds, Daisies and Other Plants, Dinosaurs in the Park, Dreams, Evening, Fields of Blue, Flight 889 at Heathrow en route to Ottawa, Graffiti, Heather, High Cirrus, House Without a Name, June, Late Summer in Cardiff, Long Days of Summer, Love and the Sea, Music and the Proms, Navarino Bay, Nemoptera, Pulling Back the Curtains, Reflections on a day at the Seaside in Thy, Ride Destiny to Where you Will, Sailing on the Ammersee, Saint Nicholas, or Santa Claus, Sand Dunes at Nørre Vorupør, Sea and Moon, Song of Summer, Star of Bethlehem, Strawberry Time, Stress, Sunday Morning at Utting, Anglers, The Beached Whale, The Black Redstart, The Butterfly, Butterfly Princess, Conker Hunters, Copper Beech, Ghost House of Pickford Hill, Batford, Papilio and the Parthenon, The Pygmy Shrew, Rain at Utting, Spider’s Feast, The Sun, Sunbathers, The Thistle, The Stuffed Tiger, Trilobite, Through Butterfly Eyes, Thy Weather, What is Life?, White Horses

What People Say

“I have to confess that I was so captivated by Clouds that I have accepted it for my selection in the anthology. It reminds me of being 15 and lying in the grass watching the sky and feeling dizzy at imagining the world spinning. I was totally immersed in that for a while, lovely, thank you.… I loved the flight poem (Flight 889 at Heathrow en route to Ottawa)…who would have thought something so poetic could spring from such a boring experience? And to see the World through the brief-lifetime eyes of a butterfly (Through Butterfly Eyes) …there is thought to keep me daydreaming for a while.… Thank you so much for your submissions; they are a beautiful addition to the site and the anthology.” Paula Brown, People’s Poet Anthology (2003)

Selected Poems


Grey-white, surreal, fantastic,

Light as cotton, 

They scud, half-hearted, across the sky,

More intent on hiding the Sun

Than roving eastwards, 

They deny its warmth 

To us. 

Breaking at their radiant edge

To shear into smaller and smaller fragments, 

Seeming to rotate, 

Yet in layers stacked,

Round and slowly round 

They go, 

Evaporating, trailing, tearing 

Until even the very wisps 

Disappear to leave… 

Nothing but azure… 

And the Sun’s disc, 

As pure bright, 

Unforgiving as before, 

We watch, full prone,

Our heads nesting on the ling

As the clouds, 

Silent bring…

Their load of tears…

And cry freely on the fragile land… 

Before moving off… 

And out to sea.

Flight 889 at Heathrow en route to Ottawa

Whatever happens, we must wait; however long, however late, the plane sits on the tarmac wet, its engines silent, poor lifeless jet.  

The passengers unsettled, many reading,  some standing, others still asleep, they snore. 


We wait on, hardly better than sheep, not knowing how to act, nor where to go…  

The pilot occasionally breaks radio silence to cheer us up… but the messages get worse, the tone more abject….  

First the fuel switch, then the fuel line, now the fuel pump too!  

Our patience is tested. 

We desire change,  yet little changes. 

No sign of flight.  

Even the baby in the seat in front, his parents proud and determined, has finally sensed the futility… of screaming.  

The rain like soothing balm strokes the aircraft’s cold, metallic skin, to trickle down in virtual tears.  

The scene outside viewed from square portholes seems detached, grey, half worldly…  

Trucks scurry between planes in slackening  pace; they seem always to avoid us… as if they know the hopelessness of our plight.

 We continue to move in time, although not in space.

Love and the Sea

I love you…because you love the sea, as I do. You love its bottle-green turbulence, unwillingness to conform to our expectations, recklessness and energy, its hidden, secret depths.

I love the white horses urging the surge inshore, the brilliant morning light glinting on the surface far out, the Moon’s reflection shining ever more – as it is wont to do – when the nocturnal waters and clouds allow…

The smell of wrack and shellfish served up on the beach – as tokens, stranded along its irregular, sandy length, mere remnants of its desire and wasted strength.  

And most of all, the sea breeze, – the wind that blows soft from its most distant reaches.

I feel those soothing caresses in my hair, as with your fingers on a sunny day in June; its gentle breath on my exposed neck, so bare. 

All this I love…as with you…as we ply the wooden deck of the pier, or dip our feet into the cold, stinging surf…to stare towards the horizon – to a promised land where yet there is no land.  

To hold you tight, so tight, as if at the straining helm, whilst listening to the seagull’s raucous cry.  

And we are at one…you and it…and I...

For love of the sea… 

The swell that now flows vigorously with a proven passion…and power to overwhelm.