We had our first snow of the winter yesterday. As always there is something special about that first snow. Even though it causes chaos when traveling or trying to get to work, there is a solitude and sense of peace that comes with it as well. The earth seems to quieten somehow. All of the peripheral noise of the city is muffled by a blanket of white. The grassy side garden outside my screened-in porch is now covered with snow. Only a few blades of grass peep out above it. The only recognizabl...
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In January My fish died and for 20 days I cried and lamented. In February My best friend said I was crazy and extremely demented. In March I moved into my new home. I couldn’t buy so I rented. In April I won an award, but wasn’t there when it was presented. In May My new neighbour’s loud music caused me to be tormented. In June My best friend said he was going to have me committed.

In July I found out that I was sexually oriented. In August I did a very small sin, but never repented. In September I...

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This poem was written for my daughter Ruth. Having lived 12 years in the US and due to uncontrollable situations our relationship has been strained. I seldom hear from her and she from me. Due to an often lack of finances I am unable to fly to England as I would desire. Though I pretend everything is fine, it is not. Seldom do days pass that I don't think of her and regret many decisions I have made. She always was the best thing that ever happened to me and I am so very proud of her achievem...
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In Lebanon where I lived for a short period there were lovely Snobar Cedars, which grew predominantly in Lebanon. We could see them all around and I would often retreat beneath their shade for an afternoon get-away or a picnic. I would sometimes talk to the trees (and yes, I am a little odd) and could imagine our discussions had I been able to hear their voices. I'm sure we have all heard of the phrase, "oh, if walls could talk". I applied this phrase to the cedars which rested on the hills a...
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One of the most memorable experiences in my life is having had the opportunity to live in Israel surrounded by Holocaust survivors. On one kibbutz the majority of residents were either survivors or children of survivors. You can read all of the books in the world about the holocaust and apart from actually living through it, one can never really fathom the inhumane atrocities handed out by fellow man. In my mid-twenties the stories I heard, and lives I encountered, has undoubtedly shaped who ...
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Rumi's words danced in my mind over and over…

"Come, come, whoever you are.
This caravan knows no despair."

Caravans are so primitive. I would much rather fly.

"Come, come, whoever you are.
This caravan knows no despair."

My true despair comes at the thought
of being captive in such a place.
Stopping, going, staying the night in God knows where.

Bumping into strangers I don't understand.
Being forced to sit beside them and make idle chat.
Exposing my true self would be inevitable.

A very small part of...
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Fuchsia lips press forcefully against my own.
Dear Aunty Pearl once again makes her mark.

What sin have I committed to deserve such affection?
Permanently stained on my collar,
                on my glasses,
                       on my face.
I stand with a stiff embrace,
waiting for the pagan ritual to end.

Escaping to the garden as she makes her tea,
twenty-three years have gone and,
I am still a victim of her wanting lips.

The purplish red tulips
my mother planted for me stand erect
beckoning he...
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I remember in 1991 walking on the white cliffs of Dover
and thinking how fortunate I was to be there.
It was a place of great hope for the men of the 1940s
and became a popular war tune sung by Vera Lynn, and many others.

The wind began to lick at my face and run playfully down my back.
I thought I heard in the clouds above me, the most lovely of melodies.
The lilted song splashed back and forth against the ivory crag.
I now realise it was the spanking breeze whirring about my head.

Looking out o...
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As I was drinking oolong tea and wearing my karakul hat,
I recalled a time of years gone by when I bought my first water rat.
I was ignorant then of its importance and thought it a mere covering for hair.
I soon realised that when choosing a hat, one must take the greatest of care.

To sport a water rat, when you should clearly be wearing a mink,
is to announce to the world and for all to see that you simply cannot think.
The measure of man isn’t his penis, his muscles or hair on his chest.
But the...
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Though I consider myself an extrovert, there are certainly times where I need to retreat to myself. One of the most enjoyable times is when I am out in nature. There is definitely something calming and healing about the solitude found in such moments. In those times, it is not uncommon to find little treasures. I see a lone wildflower blooming in an unexpected place, far away from human eyes. I then think about what its purpose is. If I hadn't stumbled upon it, who would have admired its beau...
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For one to fully understand the below poem, you have to be acquainted with Cockney rhyming slang. It is said the true Londoners live within a mile of the Bow Bells and it is in this area that rhyming slang developed. Cockney rhyming slang has uncertain roots. One popular belief was that it was once spoken by the thieves of London. It would certainly have been a very effective code, being incomprehensible to the authorities or any eavesdroppers who were not familiar with the slang. There are o...
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The weathervane was rusting and blowing in the wind,
Like the whirling dervish, dancing by the stream.
I wondered of her mystic past;
Was it bitter or sweet?
I asked her if she played a tune, or only swung for me.

In a trance she called me, round and round we’d spin;
Strolling through my fantasy, playing in my tent.
Could it be she was never still?
Did she ever rest?
Would she continue reeling around with vigorous energy?

The winds slipped quickly past her; above her head were clouds;
Beneath the sha...
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Though we were removed from the greatest danger during the war, one would often hear rockets and explosions beyond the hills. The tanks would drive past our front gate, reminding us that though we were in the "Green Zone," war was still reality.

I cannot remember how we met Bill. As a mercenary, he went from war-zone to war-zone, fighting for whichever side would pay him the most. He showed up at our home and being a fellow Westerner in the Middle East there was always a common bond that natu...
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This poem is based upon one experience I encountered while living in Southern Lebanon. We lived across the Maronite church and slowly the villagers were returning from the north. The Palestinians massacred most of the village, apart from those who escaped into the Snowbar Mountains and fled north, either by foot or by sea. The Palestinians then propelled rockets into northern Israel and occupied the villagers homes. Later, the Israeli tanks had no choice but to blast into the villages to defe...
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When I studied in Istanbul, Turkey with my wife and daughter we would take the bus from our apartment into the centre of town where our classes were. Some of the nicest and rudest people were found on these buses. It was a memorable part of living in this bustling city of 12.5 million. Coming from England where there is such a thing as queues and waiting one's turn was more than a shock to proper manners and the way one should act in public! Everybody was out for themselves. The three of us w...
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If my name was Betty Windsor and Philip was my queen,
I would travel around the world, demanding to be seen.
I’d sail to every sea port and claim them each my own,
and then I’d fly to every land, establishing my throne.

Perhaps I’d have grandchildren and call them Corgi names.
I’d ban those Greek Olympics and start my own world games.
I would use blue rinse in my hair, with streaks of pinks and greens
and hang out with the Londoners in skin tight studded jeans.

I’d have a topless bodyguard...
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“Islambek has fallen…has fallen.”
Like an album stuck in the groove, over, over and over.
“Islambek has fallen…has fallen…fallen…off the roof.”

The shrill became louder behind the tall sea-green gate.
Rushing down my pomegranate-stained path,
I pushed open the heavy door to see her ashen face.

Shh. Quiet.
Calm.
Slowly.

My words had no effect on the distraught mother.
Only my ability to follow with similar hysteria
seemed to provide any sense of comfort.

Neighbourhood children, the famil...
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Around the blade of grass,
the small red-haired girl twirls her finger, cocooning it within.
As the caterpillars innocently hang on the willows,
nimble fingers make a home for her companions.

Castles of broken sticks –
Lanes of odd sized pebbles –
Mountains mixed with brown chalky mud–
The apprentice architect works in silent meditation.

Small wonders of creation
anticipate the completion of paradise.
In curious whispers they stand around,
waiting for their invitation to the banquet.

The titmous...
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Sense of humour
Love to slumber
Never hurried
Seldom late
Quite a joker
Once a smoker
Love to love
Hate to hate
Once a victim
Now a victor
Free from sorrow
Sometimes pain
Still I suffer
From depression
Love to write
And to create
Never finished
Always changing
Day by day
I’m growing old
Who I was
Or who I will be
You or I
May never know

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As many people know, I love to garden and find great comfort in digging in the soil; in planting and watching new life form. I learned this love from my mother, who now due to Alzheimer's Disease has lost her ability to enjoy her lifelong love, gardening. It is for her that I wrote the poem. It was one of the last times I saw her in the garden and enjoying herself.

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The steady gentle hands which I once held are now wrinkled.
Small walnut coloured spots from the sun lay as a map to former years.
F...
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High on a narrow path we crept.
Eyes forced left,
we dared not look below.

The ancient path was cracking.
Crumbling, pebbles fell around us.
Nobody muttered a word.

Too late to turn around,
people were behind us.
Step-by-step, look left. Be quiet.

I was calm until she started
panicking, sniffling tears.
Why did she come? I whisper silently.

Be quiet. Look left.
Without pity I bitterly reach
my hand to take hers.

This was to be fun.
For miles you can see
the desert below. Look left.

Some behind us were unaware...
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As I go through life, I wonder where I’m going.
Haven’t I been down this road once before?
Haven't I seen the anguish, the heartache, the pain?
As I walk, I cannot help but question where it is taking me.
No one knows for sure where it leads; where it stops.

Whenever I feel trapped, like a prisoner or a bird in a cage,
Subject to all the demands of the day;
the tugging, the pulling, the constant drone of demand.
I close my eyes and soon my spirit rises upward;
I begin flying like the giant e...
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Having lived in a number of countries and traveled extensively through many years, people often have asked what my favourite place was. This, of course is impossible to answer. Each one has wonderful memories, intermingled with difficult and painful memories. Each place led me to a new depth in discovering myself. Each place has a myriad of emotion attached to them.

Shodieva Street, is in reference to my home in Uzbekistan, where I lived for a number of years. Due to illness I had to fly back...
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