Silly Men

I cried today
at someone’s funeral I barely knew.
I don’t know why.

But twenty years ago
I too lost my dad,
and did not cry.



Ends of the Rainbow

We can barely see the swings
on the far side of the park.

‘Let’s go over there’ my daughter says,
‘the fog is thicker’. But when we are,
she finds it thicker where we were.

I explain the fog is all around us
and the deeper you look
into it, the harder it is to see.

‘I think I’ve got it’, she says,
‘it’s like the end of a rainbow’.



After Us

I dream of another
solar system
light years away
where a planet orbits
in that narrow belt
where life can start again.



The Hand of History

Each generation’s
a second hand,
moving through the hours
of the one before.

Tristan Moss


If you have any thoughts on this poem,  Tristan Moss   would be pleased to hear them.