The Garden of Stone Trees.

Reclined, hood-eyes half closed,
As relaxed as is possible
On sun-forged, foreign ground:
Crusader-vigil rest in
The approximation of shade:
The Garden Of Stone Trees,
Sometime playground of the
Sunset-call genies.


By this hour tomorrow
My sword will be first-blooded –
And named –
A first stain dripped
Onto my soul …
And I may
Still be breathing.


Photo from Wikipedia

The Iron King

The iron king has his moment,

Bringing a smile to the jester’s

Turned-away face …

But attention is,as always,

On the wizard.

All hold breath when he stands,

Seeing the lumps in his stooped walk.


But the old power is in him,

Skilful fingers summon winds –

That cavort, tease, chill, refresh,

Sparkling colours that blend, bend

And the spellbindings we

Need to help us take up

Plough, chain or sword,

Just when the taking up

Was getting hard.