Another correct map

From the tube station, exit left to the High Road. Pass the fruit and veg stand. They are already selling daffodils and the asparagus looks fresh. Turn up the High Road, cross, and cross, to where the bicycles stand. Stop. Turn ahead. Wait for a break In traffic. (I have seen people and cyclists hit.)

Three poems to end the year

i 8:58PM write poems x1 x1 x1 I wrote on my week’s to-dos. It’s 8:58PM on SUNDAY. The radiator’s cranking up; Counting down to the bedtime routine. This isn’t a poem: it’s a snapshot. ii. write poems x1 x1 The idea was to help me See each output as a ‘1’; As a single entity

What I Ate Today

What I Ate Today Porridge for breakfast, again at three. Stirfry for lunch; in the evening aubergine. Brown rice with lentils, bulgur stirred in, With the stirfry and at supper again. A pear, peanut butter, boiled egg for a snack; To finish it all a piece of chocolate. – I’ve been finding myself down YouTube

We chose to take a ride

Habits are habits In a friendly coincidence, we pretended not to understand the fumes of heavy traffic. We chose to take a ride entirely on a road to nowhere. Nothing happened. We paid for petrol, an absurd sum, a kind of ransom. – On my calendar, I scheduled in POST for today, meaning come Wednesday

all breakfast?

The muse had sent virtual sustenance: a simple bowl of porridge supporting a few red raspberries. The image nourished my desk-bound soul.

The Best Instruction

While looking for some entertaining archival posts, I came across this micro-poem from a year ago: The Best Instruction You might receive an email telling you such ‘n such. Don’t worry! Take no action! May your week include more emails that require less action. — Twitter: @BeadedQuill Facebook: BeadedQuill Books: In the Ocean: a year

Scrambled Eggs

  Into your hands I commend the beating of tonight’s eggs. This will be the last meal of solid food. — When my Dad was in the final stages of his cancer, one of the few things he ate was scrambled eggs. That period of my life still circles in my mind. It was a strange

Headlines

I haven’t read the news today, but it knows how to chassé into my life. Laid out in Budgens 4th Briton beheaded splashed from the Saturday cover pages into my eyes. Over lunch cooking on the radio the weekly round-up where the chatter chewed over NHS woes, the nurse’s strike. Before I could log on

Highest Priority

Thank you for signing up for your HP daily updates. Each day we reveal your most important task. Before you had this service, words and deeds you left undone, passed over in your routine haste. Today’s commission is to assist a woman lost on Highgate Hill. She clutches a page with the address. These are

A near proximity to the far off poem

I suspect that “Screens” is one of those atmospheric poems that evokes interesting images, but by the end of it the reader isn’t quite sure what it was all about. Here’s how I see it: The poem sets forward how our days are filled with noise and rushing. Simultaneously we seek escape in parallel realms and our imagination. We