Productivity Times Four

It’s been a busy two weeks on the writing front. In addition to preparing two articles, one on the gap year in my twenties and another on overseas work experience in my thirties, I’ve continued to make the regular poetry posts on this blog. Item three is the most exciting. On Tuesday, my second bookContinue reading “Productivity Times Four”

A Bequest of Wonder

Within the confines of a silken sheet, the observers attend upon the temple. Before it returns to ash and dust, they light a votive offering. It is   in a portrait the thumbnail of the painter’s right hand   the sparse arm-hairs of a samurai beset by ghosts   the frog at the woman’s feet,Continue reading “A Bequest of Wonder”

Every morning, because it’s wonderful to watch

scrumpled dashes dots and lines between the tracks 09:33 2 mins until the train arrives for Kennington via Charing + On the tracks far from my reach the scrumpled ball of paper speaks: I am a poem between the tracks. — I am quite conscientious about dating my scribbles and working notes. It is aContinue reading “Every morning, because it’s wonderful to watch”

Sun Doves

Your greatest treasures in actions and thoughts are how much, how gently and how gracefully you let silent persimmons fall into your lap. — I’ve written about fruit again. (During the summer I wrote “Summermelon” and “Pakistan’s Gold” – An Ode to a Golden Mango.) I’ve once again also turned to life instructions and direction.Continue reading “Sun Doves”

Emulation

That trick where the tulips turn menacing like the mushrooms did two years before   or the sharp rust glimpse of fox made thought or the transported flea conjoining lovers   Ah! Lettered objects finely wrought, still so far from my window. — Can you guess the three poems referenced? If you enjoyed the aboveContinue reading “Emulation”

An autumn evening in

There is exercise in the rooted words. Knead! Knead! Glance, the rooted words are closing in. About the even’ shift the sprouting pipes creak thin their heat – a flailing dance of conker-burst  – Knead! Knead! The Beautiful Life is different. — This poem is part of a current project to write two poems aContinue reading “An autumn evening in”

Autumn’s ripened harvest store

Black coats, black pavements, black umbrellas, the rain Nights black by 20:00. Achoos in the office. Splutters on the train. Time to switch on the heating and buy doughnuts in the morning. There has sprung the winter hunger and it will only grow — On the 19th September 1819, John Keats wrote this lilting odeContinue reading “Autumn’s ripened harvest store”

From a Stone

I have small veins that have been drawn in sinks of scalding water and vigorous smacking. Stopped at the upper arm and with a pumping fist, the supply is best tapped by the finest needle. It is sometimes easier to siphon off blood on Tuesdays for doctors’ records than write poems twice a week. —Continue reading “From a Stone”

Screens

Today latticed with songs and compound triple time. Hung other times (such as late at night) with green-scaled dragons, golden bridges, tilted bonsai trunks. More often stretched across with traffic; the commuter’s weave of fumes and crush.   From a vantage point above the screen, ideally the viewing platform on the super moon, we mayContinue reading “Screens”

An Artist Works

Evening, 31 August 1822 Above, the ungraspable in grey or white or sometimes black, I read now is wrought of Forms, this water overhead. What Science seeks to calibrate quickens my palette, hand and knife and revives my boyish eyes to see pictures in the sky. — The series of cloud studies painted by JohnContinue reading “An Artist Works”