I recently spent some time looking at Russian icons in an art gallery and wondered how the technique may be applied to a modern portrait. Here is the result.


Ten years.

I didn’t quite make it to ten years

But the ten years nearly made it to me

I didn’t quite make those ten years

But in the last month the pain was for free

The ten years were simply the sweetest

I lived my life in a trance

You gave me the world in a rainbow

And you showed me that life was to dance

I didn’t quite make it to ten years

I lost the end in regret

But the sweetest years, they were your years

And my thanks are to God that we met.












Dylan sings Sarah

Dylan was singing Sarah

From somewhere deep in my fate

The words didn’t quite do her justice

But they showed it was never too late

It was dark and still in the Cavern

When my Mother whispered to me

And Dylan was still singing Sarah

To the seeds of whatever will be

Who knows if fate will endeavour

To weave our paths into one

And will Dylan still sing to Sarah

When the memories of the Cavern have gone

How brave is the bravest of brave hearts

Will your hand reach out to seek

Dare you see what fate is a-weaving

Or are your vision and your daring too weak

As the smoke clears out from illusion

And your beauty paints a stain on my eyes

Dylan is still singing Sarah

And Lennox is asking me Why.


















It doesn’t get easier, it gets softer.

Will you drift on the breeze

As it slips through the trees

Till you rest in the arms of another

Will you re-call the time

When your hand laid in mine

When all we did need, was each other

As the years pass us by

With hardly a sigh

Will we grieve for the times that we lost

Will we sit in our Fall

And remember it all

And wonder how much that it cost.


Slip sliding away.

You can take the time, to count the times

When hands did slip away from mine

Some tried to hold and grip me fast

But even those did slip at last

Death, neglect and poor intent

Erode beginnings, sincere were meant

My reaching hand now holding nought

Has careless lost all that it sought.