Poetry Blog

The poetry blog was started in July 2018.
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The title is Poetry Pinfold. The poems moved through my life as stray animals, never caught in publication, and are now coming together in this fold. They are of various kinds: with and without rhyme, reflective (related to my philosophy blog), impressionistic (with memories of travel), and playful at times. I intend to place one poem per week, and I may also post poems from friends. I wrote poems at large intervals, from a young age. I never had the ambition to publish them, and I still don’t. I never learned the craft of poetry, and just threw words together that sounded good for the subject at hand. Now, before starting the blog, I felt I had to learn. In June/July 2018 I attended a one-week course at Casa-Ana, in the Sierra Nevada, Spain, taught by Mary-Jane Holmes. I use what I have learned there to do a bit of breaking and trimming of old beasts.


Here are the poems, in the order of appearance.
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A memory of Geneva

Up in the old part of town, on top of the hill, statues mourn over decrepited streets. The whoosh and sway of expensive cars, and skirts. In spoiling shops antiquities gleam …


The fever and delight
of weaving words at night
as the chime of a bell devours
the lateness of the hour ….

Yin and Yang

Out of an even sky of indifferent blue, the sun beats down on the rough, the ochre slopes, the crags and crevices of gritty hue. Ancient land of hollow-eyed cyclops …

Poetry Pinfold

Rough and untended they roamed
in herds, crossed the paths of my life,
trampled the tended patch
where I plotted how to proceed …..

The stream bears light

Boxed within the battlements,
lie squares of tranquillity,
surrounded by arched, pillared spaces
between the light and the dark.


Plane trees in their fatigues
embrace across the square
where then dust has settled
and the sun is still as well ….

one to many

You started out
something simple, unified,
a gem of transparency,
lording it over me.

Down and out in the mind

The moon strokes balm
on the degradation of the dark
cover of memories gping down
to find their rest or happily drown….

Sunday in Gouda

The advent of the day is tolled by bells, chasing the steeples, cowing the birds to swallow their call.