Through The Storm


Original Photo :


When the mist rolls in,

I’ll call your name,

You’ll hear my voice,

Through the falling rain,

And as echoes weave,

Their web of need,

I’ll catch your tears,

So your sorrow’s freed,


When the storm begins,

I’ll hold your hand,

The lightest touch,

But you’ll understand,

And as darkness falls,

When all seems wrong,

You’ll sense me there,

And I’ll keep you strong,


When the lights go out, I’ll guide you home.


When the sun is shining,

And the rain is falling still,

It’s the devil and the angels,

Who dance around free will,

Where experience and longing,

Regret and dark refrain,

Are guilty pleasures teasing,

The madcap and the sane,

But when the water rises,

To pool an altered course,

The sins we’ve carried forward,

Are drowned in warm remorse,

For when the storm has broken,

And the sun begins to fall,

All those past transgressions,

Are but stains upon the wall.


Love In The Rain

No 5  – ‘The Rain’ Series



The melody of rainfall,

And the rhythm within,

The damp scent of love,

As skin touches skin,

The deliquesced tendrils,

Of liquefied bliss,

That coil in compliance,

Against the first kiss,

As listless submission,

Now enters the game,

To draw in the hungry,

Like moths to a flame,

And drowning acceptance,

That splinters my core,

Is swelled by the need,

Of wanting much more,

For lost in the rapture,

Our bodies entwined,

I’m awash in the fullness,

And the feel is divine.

The Sound of the Rain

No 4 – ‘The Rain’ Series



I wake to the sound,

Of somebody weeping,

To the fall of the rain,

Its cadence is beating,

The pattering rhythm,

Upon a tin roof,

Like the clatter of horses,

And their cantering hoofs,

Where teardrop expulsions,

Of somebodies pain,

Are masked by the thunder,

That’s taps a glass pane,

And sentient beings,

Respond with allure,

To the tears of the angels,

That pool at your door,

For into your heart,

The raindrops install,

A reason for rising,

Each time that you fall.

Dancing In The Rain

No 2 – ‘The Rain’ Series


I move to the music,

And its hypnotic refrain,

As I dance in the moonlight,

To the sound of the rain,

Where the rat a tat tat,

Of the drizzling score,

Is a melody and motion,

Of much more than amour,

And the tic and the toc,

Of the time as it passes,

Is a sweet taste of healing,

Like syrup and molasses,

For I’m free in the rainfall,

To dance on my own,

Free from the shackles,

And the drought in my soul.

Sometimes it Rains


Sometimes it rains,

Inside my head,

Pattering rainfall,

That feeling of dread,

Like raindrops on water,

That ripple out wide,

Echoes in darkness,

I’m trying to hide.


Sometimes it thunders,

Inside my head

Electrical static,

With the volume on red,

Like warriors advancing

To a battle field cry,

And cavalry charging,

A relentless reply.


But sometimes the rain,

And the thunder are gone,

Replaced by the warmth,

And the heat of the sun.

Where a rainbow of colour,

Disperses the storm,

And my head fills with hope,

Not the memories I mourn.

The Bus Stop


Raindrops that echo against a glass pane,

And rivulets of water that run through the grain,

An old wooden stand that shelters the bleary,

The workers, the travellers, the old and the weary.


The yellows and browns, oranges and blues,

The purples and greens and iridescent hues.

A shield of umbrellas that cocoon the intrepid,

The foot soaked army of the wet heavy headed.


A girl with a teddy bear holds a warm hand,

And listens to voices she cannot understand,

Whispers of memories and hopes still to come,

Echoes that ricochet then scatter so random.


The bus stop is teeming with bodies’ en mass,

There is no disparity and no difference in class,

The poor and the lowly the rich and the bright,

Await their own passage and a fleeting respite.