Now

In a week, everything has changed. Now the sun is out, the sky is blue. The seasons have made a turn. — Today I am reminded of a much loved poem look – really look that was inspired by an evocative interview with an elderly gentleman about his balcony garden in the Barbican (London). The return

I could do with a harvest moon

The harvest moon shines for itself and the corn we no longer reap or sow, We cultivate the blue screens. 24/09/2018 — With a turn towards the autumnal, the sense of harvest comes into the air. This poem from 2018 echoes ideas about work in the modern age in contrast with a more agrarian past

The first of two poems about blossoms

On March 2nd when I woke up, I opened my curtains as usual. My first view is of the neighbour’s tree at the bottom of the garden. What had been bare brown branches across the winter had exploded seemingly overnight into white blossoms. It felt as though spring come. The poem ideas started to percolate.

Transition/ Disclosed

From night’s horizon sweep in yowls and howls across the polar plain. Glacial blue dims. The sharpest window opens above: stars minted by the chill. — Today’s prompt for A Poem A Day October was, “Write a poem incorporating the concept of being ‘frozen,’ whether literal or not.” All day I have been mulling over

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

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.

Do not slight the earthworm

EARTHWORMS Pink entrails of the earth rise, half-drowned, all-blind and writhing. How unthinking and stupid these no-brained are! Useless and flaccid after rain clogs their soil-bed and the scatter to the paths to be baked by the sun, eaten by birds and laughed at by big mouths above pounding feet fed by the 1,750,000 other