Palette of an overcast spring day

Seen from the poet’s loft:Red London bus, double-decker,then a postal van.Grassy yards where in the bedsTulips, bluebells, wilder forget-me-notsNow show. A man in puffy jacket,fluorescent against ground greyfar away.A neighbour shakes a sheetup to the washing-line. Pigeons, magpies, parakeets,finches, robins, full-bodied crowsfrequent the rooftiles,Conifer,Wooden fence below. Some say on such a dayThe only colour to

Not wanting contact

In the corridor Along the walls, a green of mint ice-cream, are plastic chairs moulded grey for sitting in the moment before the cold night coming. Not wanting contact, she slips a piece of paper through the door. — I had an appointment with the renal specialist today. In the hospital corridor I sat with the

A short poem from the wood

They are tall and have green eye-lids. See how they blink at the sun. trees — Being amongst trees makes my soul so happy. There are a number of woods where I live in London and I consider it my commute to work to walk through them when I have time set aside for writing.

Two Poems about Grey

On the fringe of grey bring some blue set above white and petal disks. Green is a good addition. Lay down black as tarmac. Square everything in Your life and love and happiness A tree! No less Grey like silver grey like gold grey like suits tales of old grey like hats grey, like pointer