Tag Archives: night

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 theContinue reading “Not wanting contact”

We still seek our lodestars, our North Stars, our supernovas

Beacons for the utterly lost A bright star led seekers and wise men. A bright light gave comfort to the night and travellers crossing. A bright beam from the shore struck ships from death-knell rocks. Today’s nights, made bright with bulbs and glare, blind the guiding lights we still seek everywhere. – I like thatContinue reading “We still seek our lodestars, our North Stars, our supernovas”

Return of the moonlit sylph

It was yesterday, on the 6th Jan. coincidentally, when I was glancing over the books in a charity shop that I saw a softback copy of “Nemesis” on the shelf above me. (As a Hobbit goddess, I sometimes construct the world in terms of the dimensions of where things are in relation to my immediateContinue reading “Return of the moonlit sylph”

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 overContinue reading “Transition/ Disclosed”

In the ocean one night

I try to revive a blue whale with raw eggs from plastic bowls in different colours laid out in a wooden fishing boat. To do this you must put two or three eggs together in each bowl, watch their yolks lilt to the tide, then pour them through the whale’s sieve-like mouth. — This poemContinue reading “In the ocean one night”

Autumn’s ripened harvest store

Black coats, black pavements, black umbrellas, the rain Nights black by 20:00. Achoos in the office. Splutters on the train. Time to switch on the heating and buy doughnuts in the morning. There has sprung the winter hunger and it will only grow — On the 19th September 1819, John Keats wrote this lilting odeContinue reading “Autumn’s ripened harvest store”

An arrangement of strangers

The ants in his pants found a dark crack and bit at the edges until at night the worms came out and about looking for food and found ants, from his pants, for company. Together the roundworms and the man-eating ants enjoyed their pantaloni party. — There we go: an offering from my notebooks thatContinue reading “An arrangement of strangers”