le vent

east wind by c e ayr

le vent

the wind dances down
the valley of the Rhone
and kisses the Golfe du Lion
before turning eastward
and following the coast
to Medville

she comes in many forms
gentle soothing caressing
her lightness of touch
bringing welcome relief from summer heat
she arrives suddenly in anger
stripping the golden mimosa
blasting sand into the eyes
of beach-worshippers
hurling garden furniture into swimming pools
raging for three days and nights

which is why
although in French le vent is masculine
I cherish her in the depths of my soul
as a lady

but now
as weather patterns change
increasingly she blows from the east
from Italy and beyond
or from the south
carrying the dust of the Sahara

and as she meanders
further northward
she tugs at my memories
and tempts me
and my heart yearns to follow

To hear the poet read his words please visit:

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artwork by phil burns


moonbeams enchanted by the waves
evade the midnight sky
the sea restless yet unperturbed
blows gentle kisses to the shore

Orion pauses not in his pursuit
till morning shadows hide his prey
then he must wait for worlds to turn
to fulfil his destiny

and we in insignificance
pledge our eternal love
as though our brief time
on this sweet earth
has reason need or worth

To hear the poet read his words please visit:

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in my dream

in my dream

in my dream
I walk
with the sun warm on my back
along a deserted soft pebble beach
where the Mediterranean
caresses the small stones
to the music of my soul

when I awake
the snow is gusting
in the bitter north-easterly
I find the kettle
for the warmth I crave

in my dream
papillons float gently
embracing the fragrance
of the fuschia-coloured flowers
whose name I have long forgotten
indifferent to all
except the murmur of the bees
which is music to my soul

when I awake
the clouds rest on the roof-tops
the snowflakes swoop
like demented butterflies
before driving determinedly

in my dream
the aeroplane rises lazily
through the grey thickness
seeking and finding
the only thing
that finally
and abruptly
halts its progress

when I awake
I walk
with the sun warm on my back
along a deserted soft pebble beach
where the Mediterranean
caresses the small stones
to the music of my soul


To hear the poet read his words please visit:

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where Rabbie walked

Robert Burns by Phil Burns

where Rabbie walked

I want to walk where Rabbie walked
along sweet Afton’s braes
and dream the dreams that Mary dreamt
when on its grassy banks she lay

I want to go where Tam o’ Shanter went
when from Auld Ayr he rode
past Alloway’s grey kirkyard
to where the saving waters flowed

I want to walk the banks o Bonnie Doon
and hear the chant of little birds
to think about the poet’s life
and savour his immortal words

I want to think the thoughts that Rabbie did
as he watched a louse in a lady’s best kirk hat
he knew the truth about each person’s worth
a man’s a man for a’ that

To hear the poet read his words:

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© c e ayr


there are those who do
and those who don’t
and those who dance together

and those who laugh
and those who lie
and those who love another

I stand apart
when I do or don’t
and I never dance at all

I laugh at
not with
I lie to
not beside
and I haven’t loved forever

I have just these words
my perfect rhymes
and the stories
no one reads

I am content in solitude
that’s why I walk alone
I have no need of others
if I can’t be with you

To hear the poet read his words:

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I remember

Artwork by Phil Burns

I remember

I remember your lips
full and warm
always ready to curl into a smile
and eager to move into a kiss

I remember your eyes
dark and deep and shining
like the night sky filled with lights from other galaxies
through which you shared your soul
ancient and wise
in so many strange and wonderful ways

I remember your limbs
long slender shapely
and your curves
so feminine so enticing so enchanting
so you

I remember your hair
wild and untameable
even when
you tried to contain it
under my too big hat

I remember your art
that made melodies dance in the air
and your music
which painted magical images
of things past and still to come
and your written words
which I alone was privileged to see
and which touch me still

but apart from these few
small things
I remember
almost nothing
about you

To hear the poet read his words please visit:

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the colour of the universe

artwork by phil burns

the colour of the universe

when you think about it
the colour of the universe
is obvious

it must be a complex mix
of many things:
courage and cowardice
kindness and cruelty
pride and humility
certainty and indecision
harmony and conflict
intelligence and stupidity
and some more stupidity

add a sprinkle of warmth in winter
and rain in summer
and it is clear it must be serious
but with humour
but comforting
like a kilt
or whisky

so what colour
could it possibly be
but tartan?

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remember by c e ayr


do you know what I remember best
she asks me with her famous smile
I feel it radiating through the phone
with her words that so beguile

it is hard for me to say I laugh
I have so many manly charms
but I guess that what you’ll say my love
is sleeping in my arms

her voice becomes a gentle tease
my senses reel my toes are curled
this is the woman I pursued
to the far side of the world

then hand in hand we stepped in
to where time flows endlessly
nor does time have a beginning
she taught this simple truth to me

though we are not together now
because of life and other reasons
we both know some things will never change
unlike Scotland’s fleeting seasons

she says yes that’s what I remember best
of all your many manly charms
I’m laughing now but it is true
I loved sleeping warm and comfortable safely in your arms

To hear the poet read his words:

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thoughts and fears

artwork by phil burns

thoughts and fears

between the dreams and memories
between the thoughts and fears
I hear the music of your love
as it whispers in my ears

the dog slumbers in the sunshine
beneath the dying pepper tree
as you once slept in my embrace
before you hungered to be free

now I’m stranded on the platform
as the train departs without me
to my surprise I understand
you no longer care about me

there are motorbikes and side-cars
and they’re travelling much too fast
under the goggles and the helmets
I see the faces of the past

in my heart the dust still lingers
in my life just wrecked despair
I drift in no direction
seeking one more breath of air

I search for what you left behind
when I drowned in distraught tears
between the dreams and memories
between the thoughts and fears

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spider gone

artwork by phil burns

spider gone

let me tell you about Susie
the little spider who has
since the days of confinement
all those months ago
made her home in a secluded corner
of my smallest room

when I returned
after spending August in Scotland
(here there is an excess of heat and tourists
and I am too cantankerous to suffer either willingly)
I was delighted to find her
still apparently thriving
but not significantly larger

so I was amazed and dismayed
one day to find
she had multiplied her size tenfold
or more probably been replaced

this newcomer was a more aggressive character
roaming the walls
with perceived immunity
and as I worried about Susie
(had he eaten her
as a friend suggested?)
I discovered I did not like him

so contrary to my normal philosophy
in a fit of vengeance
and with the aid of a drinking glass
and a postcard
portraying the red sandstone tenements
of Glasgow’s High Street
I captured him
and dropped him from my balcony
into the garden two floors below
where despite everything I hope he prospers

against all expectations
Susie returned the following day
perhaps wondering at the sudden disappearance
of her mother
who can tell

but now she has gone
with no explanation
without a word or sign
in much the same way
as you did
my love

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