The rain is playing an awful dirge,

it’s as if it senses my mood.

I’ve told it enough to sling it’s hook,

not caring if I sound rude.

The winters gone on far too long,

grey skies and pouring rain.

It needs it’s marching orders now,

as it’s really become a pain.

So who I pray is friends with the sun,

can you call a favour or two.

Do tell her that she’s welcome to stay,

if she really does listen to you.

Tell her that we find her so radiant,

that’s truly said from the heart.

And ask her to bring blue skies along,

tomorrow would be a good start.





The Rain




Today, the rain is relentless, I believe it might go on forever looking out of the window. It immobilises me, I’m stuck, I’m thoughtful, it brings all of my emotions to the surface.  

It’s funny, how in nature flowers close as if protecting their hearts from the onslaught, while at the same time needing the rain to grow. I look out at the rain and want to cry, or at least it brings up emotions.

I look at the balcony outside of my window and notice that it’s been cleaned of dust, the leaves on the plants look fresh and webs have been washed away. It reminds me that we need storms in life. 


The rain,

laughing at me through the window,

as loudly,

it taunts me.


It pours,

like the tears running from my eyes,

as heavily,

they fall.


A crash,

thundering like my broken heart,

as flashes,

light the sky.


I feel,

that pain will be cleansed by the storm,

and life, 

is restored.










She liked the rain, it washed away the dust and grime of her life and freshened her surroundings.  She sat  for a while and listened to the gentle patter on the window, watching the long streams of water as they trickled slowly down on to the rotting sill.

It had been a long time since it had rained here and it brought about a new and interesting mustiness to the air.  This was the change she had been waiting for, this gave her something to think about and broke the monotony of a Sunday, the longest of days.

The garbage would have a better scent she thought to herself, it was a long time since it had been collected and the stench of fish guts and babies nappies trailed through the walkways like a cancer.  Tomorrow the air would be cleaner, the concrete washed of muck and the flower pots washed down and flowers fed.

A crack of thunder lit the horizon and the lights went out.  She sat watching the shadows of the trees in the distance bending, as beaten by the relentless and torrential storm.  Behind her door she heard the unmistakable crash of gates closing and further in the distance cries from the murky shadows.  She watched through her prison window and thought about the fresh dawn of tomorrow.



Craving Sun



I’m craving some more sunshine and I want it to last all day

Certainly at least week or more, before it goes and hides away

I’m sick of British summers, soaked again and again by rain

I want to dine al fresco daily, that I can’t is a blooming pain

What’s the point in England’s beauty, I really cannot see

Flowing fields with flowers, seen sheltering under a tree

If I can’t go out and see it, experience and catch some sun

I’d rather move to somewhere else, without my wellies on

England bloody England, what’d you do with flaming June

Picnics, fairgrounds, lovers smelling flowers in full bloom