Sunday, 21 December 2014

From my window as I drink coffee

Skeins of dirty sheep dag clouds
Dry hawthorn undramatic brown
Through which a serrated glimpse of golf club green
To the soundtrack of BSA A 10.

Saturday, 15 November 2014

Fifteenth of the month

Not a quadruplicate of babies' skulls
November coloured
eyes and mouths rehearsing Christmas carols
e’en as they lay, battered in the gutter
but an egg carton, fog-sodden and forlorn

Friday, 24 October 2014

Loaves not fishes

Late-woken from a dream re-formed
from the dough of Thursday’s memories
to red dot flashing of bread machine
and a butter yellow sky.

Monday, 8 September 2014

Low tricks by the sun

Long slender legs extend my arrival in a kitchen where
crumbs are boulders, windows blind with grime
and I wish, not that I was less a slut at housework
but had been more so, while my legs were still that long.

Friday, 5 September 2014

On my way to buy a morning paper #50

Close to the ground:
not an exotic creamy toffee crunch dessert
but once-white, now-dead hydrangeas.

Wednesday, 27 August 2014

Hamnavoe in Hamnavoe

The rising sun, at half past six
still low enough
to be blotted out
by the ferry passing my pier

Saturday, 23 August 2014

From behind closed curtains in Inverness

Seagull's single bark of surprise
followed by cruel laughter
like he'd discovered his best mate
shagging the barmaid.
The one they'd both agreed last night
was minging.

Tuesday, 19 August 2014

From my office window

Several dozen starlings suddenly alight
for a frenzied twenty seconds' gorge
on scarlet rowan berries.

Monday, 18 August 2014


Turning the tumble of too-fleeting words in my head
to eight hundred words on the screen -
and all before breakfast -
means the rest of the day should be good.

Friday, 15 August 2014

stepped out

Filigree satellites
planted overnight
on our front lawn.
Listening to our every conversation?

Thursday, 14 August 2014


Not a trundling of dozens of wheelie-bins, on cobbles
but thunder from a pale grey sky.

Thursday, 31 July 2014

Lesson temporarily re-learned

An optimist with a short-term memory
is doomed to disappointment on repeat
disappointment on repeat

Wednesday, 30 July 2014

Thursday, 24 July 2014

HoW5 Thursday

Three at laptops catching up on challenges for the day
while thunder chunders from above
and the rain stotts down.

Wednesday, 23 July 2014

Last night

Hilarity occasioned by the absence of a corkscrew;
Relief at the return from town of Mike
(by which time a toasting fork and a wooden spoon
had mostly done the trick).

Monday, 21 July 2014

From the back balcony

Broken tree
leafless stubby branches
building a ladder for suicidal lunatics;
disappointed by the relentless determination of the stone-dropped rain.

Tennessee post catfish and fried green tomatoes

Straight down rain and little thunder,
sky paler than butter
bleached the leaves by several shades
burnt the tree trunks black.

Sunday, 20 July 2014

Tennessee supermarket

Pleasure at the young man's interest in my Englishness,
his telling me of relatives in Grantham
(I didn't tell him what a dump I found it)
was more than a little dissipated when I discovered, on reaching where we stayed,
that he'd rammed the sharp-cornered cereal packet
into the foil lid of the Greek yoghurt,
and sliced it in half.

Sunday, 6 July 2014

~On the way to Donegal

Girl with blue headband, dark glasses and a dog
carrying a bunch of long-stemmed daisies
picked along the road she walked.

Sunday, 22 June 2014

Enjoying the job.

Playful curving tide-line left by a street-cleaner,
navigating past cars now gone away.

Saturday, 17 May 2014

Just pretending

Glossy, wind-blown, vagabond crow
atop the tiles;
playing the part of Heathcliff,

Tuesday, 13 May 2014

Monday, 21 April 2014

Friday, 11 April 2014

Sunday, 23 March 2014

Wednesday, 19 March 2014


Sunlight and lichen
gold-leaf the branches
in broad and erratic stripes.

Friday, 21 February 2014

Long gone

Sometimes, stepping out of my bedroom,
my delight in the morning sunlight spilling across the landing
is diluted by the open doors
indicating children are long gone.

Thursday, 16 January 2014


White sky-reflecting puddle
at the base of a slender tree
fools me into thinking, for a moment,
it might be snow.

Tuesday, 14 January 2014

On my way to buy a morning paper #47

Metallic clattering of Co-op cages and grumbled rolling of their wheels in the pre-dawn dark fails to dissuade a joyous blackbird that spring is – will surely be – on its way.

Sunday, 5 January 2014

from my window

Frozen patterns -
chestnut tree leaves
overnight engraved
on the roof of my car.

Wednesday, 1 January 2014

Woman with a deep pink scarf

Yesterday, a woman whose face could only be described as 'striking'
Shoulder-length imperfectly white hair.
Hooded eyes in a well-lined, olive-skinned face,  expression verging on the sort of arrogant that comes with a certainty of who she was.
I smiled.
She, almost, didn't.
And I envied her her self-possession.