Friday, 23 February 2018

Keep fooling me

Long-dead apples
shrivelled and brown
cling to bare branches -
chilly winter birds.

Thursday, 22 February 2018

On my way to buy a morning paper #81

Car-shape dryness
in otherwise wet road
signifies an overnight stay
its placing -
anonymous, unclaimed -
suggesting illicit,
I look around and wonder

Friday, 6 October 2017

On my way to buy a morning paper #80

Traffic louder than expected
Cropped council mower circles in the grass
Full moon growing slowly larger
as it declines.

Friday, 29 September 2017

On my way to buy a morning paper #79

Hydrangea bush
Over-crowded blooms
suffocating venous crimson  
crushed and crinkle-edged with gold
leaves poison gossip green.
Holding the potential drama
       of a Victorian drawing room,

Wednesday, 30 August 2017

On my way to buy a morning paper #78

Beneath a sorry-looking tree of unknown type
(dusty diseased leaves, green berry clusters)
a circle of crisp and huddled leaves;
colour chart for painting virgin nipples.

Thursday, 22 June 2017

Apparently there's a heatwave further south

Sky the colour of unchanged bed-sheets
from which someone rose daily
returned to every night
for days enough to count as half a year.
Weekend lie-ins
occasional masturbation
merging with the slough of skin
and grubby rare-washed feet.

Monday, 19 June 2017

On my way to buy a morning paper #77

A short man (squat?)
(impression of a cloak)
shiny black curls
clutching several bits of shopping
and singing, deep-voiced and loud
Leonard Cohen's 'Hallelujah'.

Sunday, 14 May 2017

From my window

The vividness of a wet red car
against the new-soaked green of fresh-mowed lawn
and baby hawthorn leaves

Saturday, 22 April 2017

On my way to buy a paper #76

Not a knocked-down crow
feathers riffing in the wind
but an abandoned black umbrella
discarded crumpled in the road.

Wednesday, 1 March 2017

Overstaying their welcome

October's crisp and golden leaves,
flown from the tree
landed, rain-soaked and impacted
on tarmac so hard
as to grow leopard spots,
are now merely ghosts of themselves