Now here is something to marvel at…

THIS IS A BENCH. THAT IS A TREE. THERE IS £592.16p in the bank   the statement says. It will pay rent, perhaps   THIS IS A BENCH. THAT IS A TREE. I think there is £271.97p left in the account   today the blossoms are shaking off their white petals. Songbirds are returning.  

Wild Horses Don’t Break

            Stronger than plastic ponies             They are white             on Kleinmond’s dunes               Not small or pink in plastic             Not in your pocket             Oh no! Sirree Wild horses             fling their thoughts             to windy mountain passes You’ll never see             or catch them, no   Alone they go             Wild horses in their group

Leaves are no longer green

During my undergraduate years, one of my favourite times of year was when the green-leafed creepers, which cascaded down the old JM Solomon buildings, turned to red. The campus would be adorned in a colour beyond ordinary and the logic that leaves are green no longer stood. This is the fourth Northern autumn that I

In autumn, brown beacons nose their seeds skyward

  Dead star   Lost is that light year when my star glowed, swelled, exploded: –   Now walking across the metal bridge morning’s grapefruit rays Break the breathing night To touch yellow leaves, Rustle skirts on trees. Brown beacons nose their seeds skyward before the snow.   Lost is the night That held my