Another Tube Poem: Tunnel Days

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,

On the occasion of a dinner party in Kennington

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 supreme

Near Liverpool Street under scaffolding

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.

I learnt

I learnt not to throw a tennis ball indoors. That’s how you shatter a ginger jar. I also learnt one should not break a violin bow. Did I snap it or cause the hairs to explode? If your nose is running, and your mother is pinning your ballet costume don’t move. If she pins you,

Five Consequences of Repeated Actions

This month I once again neglect to pay into a pension, fertilize a good egg at ovulation or further my career. Untoward outcomes will result! In twenty years it will not matter that I didn’t write this poem today. — Not to fear. Come the end of next week, I plan to be on a

The Benefits of 320 Kicks

Sixteen years of stiffness ease into front-splits right side and left. “Now you’re showing off.” The yielding body laughs. It remembers how much more it once could do. — Recently, we’ve been doing a lot of limbering up and stretching in classes. During my adolescence, I took ballet lessons three times a week. Perhaps I

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,

Is it worth it?

Grass grows to an unruly height. It makes the lawn untidy. Restore order, with its low rumble. First it breaks a Saturday lie-in. It leaves clippings to be swept up. Give it a few weeks, once more green blades will jiggle their blue, sun applause. — Over a year ago I was asked for my

Stuck

Lento con agitato, for 10 minutes to to to tomorrow tomorrow tomorrow too morrow to to morrow tomorrow row tomorrow morrow tomorrow tomorrow tomorrow After the stroke Aunt Edie struggled with tomorrow and words. We performed patience with wrapped chrysanthemums for twenty minutes each week. She lay tied up in tubes. — In much printed

A definition, notably for the cloud-dwelling artists

Success is speaking to the people who matter, In networking when due. Waste no time on a satyr. Success is doing what you should for Work, for Security, for Good. It’s silence when your speech would rattle, And indifference to a pointless battle. Success is deafness to all that’s ugly, But sympathy if your deed’s