Now

In a week, everything has changed. Now the sun is out, the sky is blue. The seasons have made a turn. — Today I am reminded of a much loved poem look – really look that was inspired by an evocative interview with an elderly gentleman about his balcony garden in the Barbican (London). The return

Outside the day was perfection

Watching the bees Here are the words of the blazing day and the once beautiful arrangements. It was heady, was it not? The arrival of this brightest of days. Outside the day was perfection. Here a few few bees in the garden hid under clumps of cut grass. Why are they tucking themselves away? Or

This falling debris is your life

Borage Flower by Yummifruitbat (Own work) [CC BY-SA 2.5 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.5)%5D, via Wikimedia Commons Accept This falling debris is your life; Too late to snap the hinge. Your children’s children will collect cast snakeskins along this route on which you will breathe your last Even with your eyes still open and your legs that drag on.

The bees credit it as some point of luxury to be on the Tube

I have written a number of poems inspired by London commuting, including this surreal scene posted last year. Here are some others: On the Way to Westminster (a personal favourite) Trapped Items Tunnel Days Tube Sketch

The Home Commute

The bees credit it as some point of luxury to be on the Tube. They keep meaning to take the bus, but tonight it was raining busy people and a real weasel. The wet walk up Charing Cross road was not the easiest way.   One more stop. More peppermint and fennel. — Today, 3rd October,