Pine for the pigeon as a cat

From the archive, a poem with useful instructions.

104 Poems

The 2×52 project developed in April 2013 when I committed to posting two poems a week for a year. I completed my self-made creative challenge this April when I revealed the 104th poem. Next month (June 2014), all the poems will be available in a book at my Blurb bookstore. In the meantime, here are the 104=2×52 poems listed in all their glory! And for your convenience, so

How do you make a dream come true?

1. Wake up. Work hard. Plan and strategise. Talk to someone who has done it before. Find a mentor. 2. Protect its pollen from the wind. Blow on the quills when they erupt. Wrap it in this moment and suspend it from but what if? It might rest its weary hope in a chest of

London. Is it worth it?

A climb up Kili Only it’s Archway Hill. Destination: Highgate King prawns in chilli butter at Café Rouge – — At the end of last year I was searching for this poem amongst my papers. Although distressed at the loss of the original gem (Where is it? I kept asking on Twitter.), I attempted an

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.

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

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

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

Just Punishment

Little Knowing, a lonely desert bird, was small and light of wing. Along the road he saw a woman. She smelled of cinnamon. “My bed,” she said, “smells of more – of myrrh and desert aloes. It is richly covered, soft – and ours – in colourful Egyptian linen.” Little knowing saw the tent to

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.