the rooted words. Knead! Knead!

The dark encroaches earlier and the temperatures drop. September heralds autumnal change. This time last year I was already battening down by spending more evenings in with the creaking heating, baking and feeling the quiet life.

Salad with mackerel

tonight I’m gonna feed myself right from a bag with apples and the thrill of eager walnuttes that press the beetroot neat sliced nice over rocket-watercress-spinach leaves stalks ‘n all spring-water washed — Eating right is important for an artist. Even Ella Fitzegerald and Louis Armstrong advocate this in ‘Frim Fram Sauce’. In truth, though,

Tumbling After – reprise

  This time last year I revisited a poem based on the Jack and Jill nursery rhyme. This version was a shortened version of the ‘Tumbling After‘ I had written the previous December. Both versions veer towards the same scene: Jill watching Jack from afar and awaiting his delivery. Although not true to the nursery rhyme’s narrative,

A New Room

Yonder far o’er vale and glen whereto grooms return and bread is leaven. This is another country. Today, outside, is a new room in which five builders, tiered upon scaffolding, cannot hear All Blues. This is no time for saxophone wails. Stand at the window and look out on the fresh planks. The backdrop: bared

TUMBLING AFTER

Over here on the hill I try to drop the pail. In the valley you scythe the bending wheat.   When the grain is ground to flour, you will carry it in a sack to my kitchen. There on the table kneaded under the heel of my hand   I’ll remember the autumn, Jack when