An autumn evening in

There is exercise in the rooted words. Knead! Knead! Glance, the rooted words are closing in. About the even’ shift the sprouting pipes creak thin their heat – a flailing dance of conker-burst  – Knead! Knead! The Beautiful Life is different. — This poem is part of a current project to write two poems aContinue reading “An autumn evening in”

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”

Ode to a Golden Mango (Pindaric Style)

Pakistan’s Gold  A loose Pindaric* ode to a delicious mango As still-hard flesh, this baton passes blushed apricots, green-skinned Hasses,** to triumph in a grocer’s tier. Event two in a domestic Mount Olympus: here ripens the sweet-juiced summer discus. — My 87-year-old landlady swears by the small, golden-skinned Pakistani mangoes that are imported each summer.Continue reading “Ode to a Golden Mango (Pindaric Style)”