They who serve the suction of daybreak, beneath the earth, beneath the dew, beneath the kitchens where there’s burning toast and grapefruit, bury, with the morning light, their hope of hearing birdsong. — My commuting is less than a tenth of many who live and work in London. But when I am on the move,Continue reading “Another Tube Poem: Tunnel Days”
A post-breakup mediation posted this time last year, but dating back further in time. The poem appears in my book Emily’s Poems for Modern Boys under the title “A quiet thought”.
I know I said I’d bring a poem but then I half forgot – I’d agreed to go to Ladies’ Pond to meet a friend and swim, Down the road and to the right. Oh dear, there’s something left behind; Pavement Walker Jacob’s Dream Huckleberry Thing and Pizza, Thwack! keywords from Ninja turtles strike supremeContinue reading “On the occasion of a dinner party in Kennington”
What do you believe? I believe to see truth lived quietly and consistently is powerful. My father died like that. In trees we find tall truths deeper rooted than human folly. I believe in stakes that make us choose a path right, or left or denial. Denial comes back to haunt us in choice, again.Continue reading “Near Liverpool Street under scaffolding”
Cold fingers, the volunteer gardeners rake leaves from the flowerbeds that circle tree-trunks. A last green and white hydrangea stares its bath-cap head at me. Cars hoot near Bedford St. There’s a helicopter overhead. Leaves and Tesco receipts blow across the square paving-stones. It’s 1 minute to 10. A cold breeze catches the morning. —Continue reading “St Paul’s Church, Covent Garden”
Ah, this is a good one from the archives: Tied up in 8 Tentacles of a Goal Octopus. As an update – I don’t yet live in my wooden house with a deck overlooking a lake. For travel in 2013, I took the train to Buckingham for Christmas. As a day trip I went outContinue reading “Revisiting the Octopus”
The man with the notebook draws attention. The woman alongside hum drops her Evening Standard to glance. Left-handed he is writing with a ballpoint in a Moleskine, A5-sized. Two page turners across from each other. — The poems this week centre around London and the ordinary, daily observations living in this metropolis offers. Our firstContinue reading “Tube sketch (one of a few)”
“His father beat him around the head. Only a little bit on Wednesdays, after pay day, or on Friday late, after the races. Clean up your mess, boy!” The teachers preferred her creative writing to include such notable topics. So mature for her age! — In the accompanying essay to yesterday’s posted poem, I wroteContinue reading “She’d read it in books”
Today was the Friday I ate only toast. 7 slices. 4 with honey; 3 with peanut butter a few broccoli florets raw and an anchovy from the tin. I drank green tea, black tea and one cup of coffee poured from the cafetiere. I set out to typeset a book – and now it’s worseContinue reading “Today”
From this time last year.