The colours of the street have changed

Tight red-green leaves sprout on the curbside trees. Drizzle taps the flattened Strongbow cans stomped down with an empty pizza box American hot pepperoni and chilli. Baronsmere’s pink petals line the gutters; blown down in April rains. I even spied a spider. 12 and 13/4/2015 — In rhythm and feel, this poem bears a resemblance

Interval notes: All the beautiful people, darling

All the beautiful people, darling, are at the opera house tonight. They’re wearing their tasteful sparkles, darling. At interval their drinks order’s laid out. Atop the bar, an isle in the crowd, a row of champagne bottles direct their corks: To a man with an eye-patch who conducts with a dress ring of diamanté. At

A day too fine for words

Trump such sultry sunshine with a screen? That will not stem creation. The words set out for basting in the warmth; crossed the bridge at Embankment station. The Thames and sequins on its skirt, scintilled in summer brio. The words, now on the move, snacked on radishes a frio. — Thursday, 3rd July was such

look – really look

I will be 80 this year here in my flat only a mile and a half from where I was born. I have tried to lead by example, by plunging my narrow balcony into the principality of hanging gardens. Concrete is brutal. It needs softening. Plants should have dominion. We breakfast amidst the crisp verdure

Past Euston, 09:50

37 of us shuttled along as we sit or stand with our regular doors. They are the ones with which we enter Thursday morning in Zone 1. They are the ones where we could change here for Victoria Line. Too late to exit for Morden via Bank. Your regular doors can be dangerous. You could

Seen from the bench

In our lifetimes, most of us will never preside over a court on a throne. Yet in death, some have been commemorated at a special spot with a dedicated bench. In the woods, gardens and parks I visit, I often stop to read the plaques and imagine the lives of the loved ones described. This poem, “Benefactor

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

Absorbed

Evening issues an amber skein. It trails a flock in departure. In tumblers, it reflects as liquid. From the road into one’s ear, whorls the skein. When Friday dusk descends, often you will hear sirens. — “Lots of sirens. People have been drinking,” noted a friend of mine one balmy summer’s afternoon in sleepy North

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

Happy 1st birthday to my 1st published book

It’s been a whole year since the first draft of my first published book arrived in the post for my perusal. It was thrilling to see a long-held goal manifested. My Facebook profile was plastered with gratuitous proud mum pics of me holding up my copy of “Shining in Brightness”. I had hoped my first book