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

Working Girls

How am I supposed to compete with Nicole, Fully Experienced who is able to stroke false lashes onto her eyelids rather than lose the wily moults to the back of a chair? Nicole, with her cream of know-how, certainly has a drawer of négligée and suitable apparatus for pranking Unlike 8 pairs of cotton briefs, stitched

he growls today and shakes his whole self

“Look At“, a poem posted this time last year, is a combination of a journal poem and a pavement poem. Derived from mental notes taken during a walk along East Finchley High Road, it documents the comings and goings of an ordinary morning. Observing the ordinary and everyday is a recurring theme. “Look – really look”

Next to the postbox

I must be one of the last humans who still writes letters and postcards. From the archive, a poem about completing a letter while standing on the pavement next to a local postbox. This poem is included in my book, Emily’s Poems for Modern Boys.

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 ode

This is the 30th Post: Pavement Walker

  PAVEMENT WALKER –   Do not stop for snowdrops, they are a waste of time. Consult insufficient distraction. Bury in text. Hurry in a grey coat. See not the fallen gate- post, a thread of quiet small- leafed ivy.     16/02/2012 19:20 — First thoughts for this poem were drafted on a little