Friday, 11 November 2016

59

Present of a mug
reminder of first meeting;
draining it, black-bottomed interior
reflects, recasts me as Bohemian Rhapsody.

Tuesday, 8 November 2016

Waiting for a train (Friday 4th November)


Crab apples, scarlet, yellow, green
a pointillist painting
against a supplication of bare-branched birches.

Monday, 17 October 2016

From my bedroom window

A sudden, unexpected Vermeer glimpse
sunlit, through her part-blinded kitchen window 
of my neighbour, painting her fingernails.


Sunday, 9 October 2016

Late-up dressing

The putting on of knickers
before my back is fully stretched
emulates the technique of the hoop-la
though usually with more success
and a less disappointing final prize. 

Wednesday, 28 September 2016

Returning from Penzance

Pub lunch near non-PC place called Cripplesease
against a background sound of Radiohead
and two men clacking billiard balls
interspersed with apology and exclamation.

Monday, 26 September 2016

St Ives

From within the restaurant (drinking cider, eating fish)
we are alerted to the arrival of yet another shower
by the groping at of hoods and the uprising of umbrellas.

Thursday, 22 September 2016

On waking

Night sweats having put a stop to spooning,
I don’t know, when waking in the dark,
whether we slept apart by inches
or were separated by two cold feet (or more) of emptiness.

Wednesday, 21 September 2016

In between sentences

Shadows of the several notes and post-its
stuck to the shelf which runs above my laptop
create uneven battlements along the wall;
deterring invasion of ideas. 

Tuesday, 20 September 2016

5 a.m.

I dislike double glazing
for never allowing me
a clean view of the moon.

Sunday, 18 September 2016

Preparing pudding

Soft, warm plums in a bowl
fast-flushed with cold water
decorate their crimson skins 
with drops of crystal silver.

Saturday, 17 September 2016

Returning from town

Man and wife walk the dog.
Man holds dog.
Wife (who once harangued me about her desire to be screened for bowel cancer) carries bag of shit.

Friday, 16 September 2016

Wanting to hang washing out

It has to end somewhere, of course
but how annoying that the distant blue
to south and west
has stayed just as far away all day
and the part-blanket of cloud remained.

Thursday, 15 September 2016

Plum tree

Lovely how large piles of lopped-off branches
can be corralled and made tidy
ready for next week’s recycling.

Wednesday, 14 September 2016

On opening the curtains

Not so much a careful observation
more a panic, thinking sky the colour of a putty rubber
meant someone had rubbed out the blue.
...
and later
something about hydrangeas –
frou-frou faded pinkness and a suggestion of talcum corsetry –
reminds me of my paternal grandmother.

Sunday, 11 September 2016

Local delight

Home and to the Goa to eat.
Tables bearing deep purple carnations
render extra exotic
the near-Deep Purple intro to the music.

Saturday, 10 September 2016

At York Festival of writing

Lecture hall
lots and lots of ceiling lights
lends several sets  of fingers to my shadow
without increasing  the speed with which I write

Friday, 9 September 2016

Unnecessarily pessimistic

Early, dark, from behind closed curtains
pouring rain
Later, opening reveals gold and egg blue sky
and I realise it was gusting wind
rustling black silhouetted trees.

Thursday, 8 September 2016

Post mortem

Skin venous, dark and somewhat bruised
flesh scarlet-spotted, evidence of recent graze
Cutting knife and board beneath, magenta:
in preparation of a breakfast nectarine.

Wednesday, 7 September 2016

Husband insists

Given the choice between racket and petrol-ly smell
or daisies and damp-holding clumpage
harbouring half-rotten plums and black-spotted sycamore leaves
I know what I prefer.

Tuesday, 6 September 2016

Different forecast

Rowan branches  bounce beneath berry-picking blackbirds
who don’t bother picking up the dropped ones:
lacking knowledge that vermilion abundance
is a measure of the winter yet to come?

Monday, 5 September 2016

Quick-changing dawn

In the time it took to pour a pint of orange squash
the sun made pink mile-long scarves of grey
which lasted long enough for me to take two mouthfuls.

In the time it took to buy a morning paper
red-fleeced postman who lives on our estate
collects his waiting colleague and disappears.

Saturday, 3 September 2016

Optimism

I have chosen a book that is less than compelling
put on clothes best described as ‘old’
and thereby negated the week’s good reasons
for doing not an iota of housework.

Friday, 2 September 2016

Mirror, mirror ...

That unflattering echoing, extra slash
one inch beside and below the corner of my mouth,
(reported last year for adding disgruntlement to my expression)
now has a burgeoning companion, mirrored, on the other side.

Thursday, 1 September 2016

Starting the new month early

Day pushed out of shape by waking early and –
because I can –
reading from half three, hungry to finish the book.*


*[Glen Duncan's 'By Blood We Live', final of Werewolf trilogy. I've never before been interested in reading  of werewolves before but his writing – fiendish, hysterical ecstasy – is such that I couldn't help myself.] 

Wednesday, 31 August 2016

On my way to buy a morning paper #74

From above my head:
Click of castanets suggest a black and white fandango.
Pyjama trousers, a wet dream, 
from their hanging, buttons banging against the window glass.
And, maybe tuning into my in-queue thoughts about a tidy bum,
Steve Harley offers radio invitation.

Tuesday, 30 August 2016

In the act of buying a morning paper

Penny, serving paper and a pint of milk,
thanks me no less than seven times.
Paper, milk passed over; coupon, Co-op card, pound coin.
On return of change (for which I thank her, and, again, she me).
And an eighth time as I walk away.

Monday, 29 August 2016

Reading in the garden

Sundays and Bank holidays the leisurely high whine
of small white aeroplanes against pure blue sky
speaks to me of riches I could envy.

Sunday, 28 August 2016

Sunday morning (late for me)

Starlings 3, 2, 1 across a neighbour’s roof-ridge
Four spoons, not five of mis-bought ‘Swiss-style’ muesli
Six fishermen cars, all of which are silver
and neither soul nor sound until an alien bouncy castle
smoke and smell of frying sausages
in the otherwise-deserted pub.

Saturday, 27 August 2016

First day of husband away.

The soft, delightful pleasure to be had
reading a quiet book
in a near-silent house
which recalls so many memories of young motherhood.

Thursday, 25 August 2016

From my window

Raindrops on the only slightly open window
invisible against the pale blank sky
become silver streaks and saucer-shapes
in contrast to the wine red sycamore beyond.

Wednesday, 24 August 2016

On my way to buy a morning paper #73

First four folk I see today –
a jogger and two dog-walkers
– all wearing pink, like me.
Fourth man, striped spearmint
same colour as the top mine was meant to be.

Tuesday, 23 August 2016

Scratched and battered but still in daily use.

Bread board, carving dish
folding metal clothes airer
and two Pyrex lidded casseroles
– wedding presents still in use
in our Golden year.

Monday, 22 August 2016

Markings

Splashes of raspberry tea
and several red wine circles
destroy the pristine symmetry
of a pink-squared soapstone chess board.

Saturday, 20 August 2016

From my window

Six foot by two of fine foam wrapping
somersaults along the street
rolling and unrolling in preparation for its maiden voyage
as a magic carpet.
Until a tidy-minded neighbour scoops it up and bins it.

West versus east, forecast versus actuality:

Woken by the horizontal howling
chill slicing the summer pudding of my dream
(eaten warm but ingredients anonymous)
I am surprised by the golden blue of sunrise
when I had anticipated grey rain.

Friday, 19 August 2016

In advance of the Writer's Workshop Festival of Writing

Dreams of arriving late –
wrong place, wrong clothes,
mouth spouting inappropriate opinions –
all symptoms of anxiety I’m unaware of
further infiltrated by the early morning churning of the breadmaker.

Thursday, 18 August 2016

On my way to buy a morning paper #72

Sixteen pristine, two-thirds finished dog-ends
on the path beside the railings round the pub
from which I straightaway concoct
a late-night, muttered, intense and distressed conversation.

Wednesday, 17 August 2016

Breakfast fruit

The cicatrice lace of cantaloupe skin
has me wanting to roll it with ink,
to roll it and print patterned paper 
to cover a notebook.

Tuesday, 16 August 2016

Programmed?

The man who entered the shop before me swerves, turns and leaves again, his actions wordlessly informing me the papers have yet to arrive.
Even so, I have to go and check for myself. 

Monday, 15 August 2016

Post visits

The ‘otherness’ of offsprings’ now-homes
offset, a little bit, by sight of mugs or quilts or something other
brought with them from childhood.

Sunday, 14 August 2016

From second storey window

6 a.m. shift change
Cars arrive, depart, arrive
judging to a practised nicety
second-, third-chance closing of the garage door.

Saturday, 13 August 2016

Visiting my daughter

Accustoming myself, on waking, to the reflections
on the glass panels of the mezzanine balcony divide
I am startled by the sudden emergence of a new red planet
until I see it is a paper lampshade, blowing in the wind.

Friday, 12 August 2016

Walking into town

Silver wires and foil cap, once holding in a cork
discarded and now flattened onto glass-embedded path
shaping a tiny fairy coachlet, fit to hold a fairy queen.

Thursday, 11 August 2016

Southbound on the A42

Seen from above, a yellow van, inadequately hidden for its presumable intention.
Back of a flatbed lorry, scarlet rose of tight-rolled tarpaulin.
A shocking pink fork-lift truck, piggy-backed to a wagon
and, weighing down a roadwork sign, another pig,
a saddleback, which morphed to sandbags, orange, black and orange. 

Wednesday, 10 August 2016

Reminded of Sindy furniture

Dislocating contrast –
turquoise plastic tub chairs, blinding white wall –
with the pot-holed squalor
outside the dentist’s door.

Tuesday, 9 August 2016

Sunday, 7 August 2016

Connie, yesterday.

The ease with which a ten year-old
lifts her foot to lie, high on her thigh, sole upwards
to replace a sticking plaster
then cartwheels off.

Saturday, 6 August 2016

On my way to buy a morning paper #69

Two cats flat-bellied to the ground
shadows bigger than themselves
blatantly, blinkingly, ignoring
cacophony from the tree above

Friday, 5 August 2016

On my way to buy a morning paper #68

Later than usual going for the paper.
Six silver cars and one burnt tangerine
and a poor man’s Wallis Simpson, lemon-faced.

Thursday, 4 August 2016

Shower thought

Slivers of un-turquoised toenail
denote nine days absence from my home
but should be painted golden
for the pleasures I had elsewhere

Wednesday, 3 August 2016

Sweaty from doing it in the sun

Ironing linen trousers:
tissue flakes to be removed
ten or more manipulations
and then they never hang up right.

Tuesday, 2 August 2016

On rising

Same time
same quality of silver dawning light
behind still night-black trees
as last week, through slatted blinds,
in Alabama

Monday, 1 August 2016

Anticipating visitors

Dusting top of dresser
(first time in decades)
yellow duster becomes grey bedraggled sheep.

Monday, 13 June 2016

On my way to buy a morning paper, # 67

Outside the pub
purple coin-sized blotches -
blood? -
and, perched on a concrete bollard,
a non-stick frying pan.

Wednesday, 18 May 2016

Thursday, 18 February 2016

In the mirror

The recently-arrived bracket of disgruntlement
on the left side of my mouth
no longer disappears completely
when I smile.

Thursday, 11 February 2016

Wednesday, 3 February 2016

Thursday, 14 January 2016

Just now

 Sky the snotty yellow-green that smoke from coal used sometimes to be.