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


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.]