When the land is covered
With its blanket of white
And quiet over takes the night
With a beauty that is sublime
I think I am living on clouds
That have fallen from the sky
Complacency seems to overtake my mind,
Forgetting that there are still creatures ,
Stirring in the night.

Blame it on a moodswing
blame it on the wind,

Blame it on something
that you didn't do, again;

blame it all on others,
or on society,

blame it all on god,
or how mother nature rules the sea;

blame it on a feeling,
that, absurdly does return,

blame it on a lesson
that you are yet to learn;

but, placing all this blame
what no one wants to see,

is that no one wants to say,
"I've got to blame this one on me."

Margaret Ann Waddicor 11th January 2011.

Oh my man made of stardust, 
your face, your eyes made of gems, 
like the sun, in its death will become,
a diamond in the sky; 
the darkened charred remains
of all life gone, she/he will 
stay behind, a forgotten universe, 
full of life and excitement, 
exploding each second, 
then time will just stop
never having lived at all.

The magic hours of darkness, bring back memories
Emotional ghosts are resurrected, touching me with hands of recognition
Reality is blurred, by the haze of what was
I stumble, tripping over the paths of false promises

Cringing from blows to my manhood, I fall into traps of passion
Over the edge, into the pools of the damned
Nothing matters now, only the soothing balm of satisfaction
I cannot remember who I am, only what I was

No.1.
OK Stash It!

I like your secret
In how to double
Keeps em guessing?
Each one of them
And
Then keep answering
They will catch you
And
Take away all condoms
Hidden by uuuuuuuuuuuu

craft me with talents
all mulitiplicity and speed
your mind jumping frets of
indexes
and that bold beautiful wheel
of love turning bright
in its wicked flames

in this cold years January
with frozen fragrance
of morning caught
round us
chimney smoke
traffic exhaust
and the sweet
river smell of
water turned underground
in their concrete
runs

and I wonder
what it is
that moves
the paces between
us

Just give me an aperture
and a shutter speed too
with a bright viewfinder
and a good lens or two.

I’ll take some pictures
in fact quite a few
I will almost certainly
take a picture of you.

But not just anyhow
I like to take my time
It has to be a bit special
a moment frozen in time.

I like to make a picture
something special you see
Not just any old thing, but
a photograph made by me.

I knew the river's smell
long before concern
and government control
cleaned the filth from
it's brown mud of water
choked by centuries misuse
and human defecation,
when on nights where
chilled air met warm water
thick fog rose mingling
with the smoke of countless
chimmneys spewing remnants
of burning coal,
and stench of sulphur,
sewage,
and decaying fish
mixed with stink of rotting mud
and seaweed
caught the throat
in grip of lung-heaved nausea.

It's mid-day and finds me out
easing down a dim game trail
wind's whisper has begun to shout
I wish I was still young and hale

Loud squeaks from tree limbs rubbing
in pines and oaks grown close together
they sway giving themselves a drubbing
in this blustery winter weather

The world in gray and brown and dun
except for the somber evergreens
trees dissect a faded sun
as a nearby nuthatch preens

Softer than a pillow
pinker than its lace
your lips comfort me
with a silken caress