The New Green



Earth worships Green –

Bows beneath leafy canopies

To the fountain of youth,

Sings praises to virility and supple strength

In cathedrals fashioned by fads.

But after life killed her chlorophyll,

Her true beauty bloomed;

Wisdom and resilience have proven

Gold to be the new green.


Growing Old

fall spirea

Gone the glow of verdant youth,

Fragile joints replace fresh stems;

Roughened bark succeeds the smooth,

Strength and power, spring’s bold gems,

Falter with the frost of age –

Stumble in the autumn breeze;

But, as Time turns weathered page,

Beauty brings us to our knees.

Mid Life Living

clematis fuzz


Summer’s hair is growing spare,

Her locks are going grey;

Her closet sports an orange theme

Since greener frocks are frayed.

Her temperature jumps back and forth

From warm to showing claws;

I wonder if her neighbours know

That she’s hit menopause?





Demure damask,

ubiquitous ruffles

cloak June’s exit

and herald July’s

approach, perfuming

time itself. Petals

will droop in

tomorrow’s heat

(for who of us can stand

against the march?)

but the scent

of rosewater

celebrates not

yesterday or

next week,

but now.




Your world covers your lines

in high-powered ad campaigns

that promise forever young

in a bottle,

the fountain of youth at a cost;

but swallowing emptiness

cannot fill canyons.

In your lines,

I trace the conquest of first love,

baby bottles and funeral baking,

losses and gains

multiplied by loaves and fishes.

No serum

can replace the living

drawn in these lines –

this is no paint-by-number

out of a box,

but an original,

a hand-drawn facsimile

of you. So hang out your laundry,

put it all

on the





Composition of petalled form –

multi-faceted, layered,

more than meets first

glance. Hers is a beauty


of texture, where life’s hard

knocks iron youth’s folly

into wrinkles in heart

and skin. Of colour,


where joy and tears mix,

the yellows and blues

combining to grow grass

green. Of flavour,


where character’s finer

subtleties make ingesting

her presence delightfully

palatable. Of aroma, where


trials and tribulations have

heightened olfactory nerves

to the presence of peace. Mother,

wife, daughter, friend, professional –


petal to petal, sepal to stem,

they build the mosaic,

complexity of bloom. Hers

is a beauty to own, layered.



Line By Line


A wrinkle in time

traces linear language,

connecting age spot dots spelling out

the sum total of a life;

creases of compassion

linked to crow’s foot trails

where sorrow and laughter


eloquent epistle,

novel penned hour by hour,

word by word,

line by line.