Supportasse Boughs

Supportasse Boughs The blossoms have come! The blossoms are here. On parade, white ruffs of spring’s courtiers. 24/3/2015 — Today I present the second of the two poems about spring blossoms. These lines, indeed like those of “March Burst” (posted last week) and many of my ‘sushi’ poems, owes a debt to Ezra Pound’s “In

A Writer’s Work

The girl much complimented for her great ass would rather win a Man Booker. Too bad there is no categ’ry for her taut, perfected writer’s seat. — Today’s light-hearted five-liner conveys unashamed auto-biography. The lack of craft and productivity in my writing annoys me. My attempt at the professional/ aspirational middle class life has been

Lettered objects finely wrought

I did not set out to write poetry. I intended to write Novels. And anyway, I am of the view that much superbly written and evocative poetry already exists. The Shadows of Giants loom large. At the moment I have no illusion about even coming close to their kneecaps, never mind shoulders. This time last year

Postmarked from a Café

This greeting comes cold from the residue of morning, 3rd October. Last draff of coffee in the cup on a saucer that would rather be the stippled salver that serves red to passersby and those who scan the street for things to watch and then behold anthuriums for sale at the florist. “Paris” 2014 —

Leo’s Entries

Dear diary, There is this woman married to a man, unhappily. That woman is not me. Then she meets dashing young man. He’s in the army and races horses. She even knows his mother socially. No, this man is not me. They share some acquaintances and family – the woman’s brother, his friend, a well-known