On the secret beach

When we’re not thereOr if we arethe wavesdraw up resolve To putter out on shore. Great energy, momentumDissolves in frothy white.The rest draws backto charge on blue To roll a course infinite. — After two years of serious COVID-anxiety, I flew to Mauritius. In the two weeks there I planned to write, read and exercise.

Another correct map

From the tube station, exit left to the High Road. Pass the fruit and veg stand. They are already selling daffodils and the asparagus looks fresh. Turn up the High Road, cross, and cross, to where the bicycles stand. Stop. Turn ahead. Wait for a break In traffic. (I have seen people and cyclists hit.)

What to share?

What to share? A truck on the High Road Is a rumble away. Fresh breeze, cold noise, morning cloud. A white morning is smaller than usual. Less time. The garden’s recovering, sucking the soil. Where is the water? 26/08/2018 — This almost early autumn morning was probably the opposite of today. Today, outside, the sky

Three poems to end the year

i 8:58PM write poems x1 x1 x1 I wrote on my week’s to-dos. It’s 8:58PM on SUNDAY. The radiator’s cranking up; Counting down to the bedtime routine. This isn’t a poem: it’s a snapshot. ii. write poems x1 x1 The idea was to help me See each output as a ‘1’; As a single entity

Making letters

Muse, come to this blankness and take my unrequited offer to hold and stroke your shape to form. Rest here where fingertips may take their pleasured time with you. Today we have all day until 6pm when I’m due out. Muse, come in and be a while. My page is yours. — The poem above

all breakfast?

The muse had sent virtual sustenance: a simple bowl of porridge supporting a few red raspberries. The image nourished my desk-bound soul.

5 poems reworked

BBC Radio 3 is my station of choice. I listen to hours and hours of their programming, both on the clock radio that rests on my bedside chest-of-drawers and on iplayer on my laptop. Sometimes I schedule upcoming programmes or concerts into my diary, or mark catch-ups on my to do list. During these many

Comparison

The lock on the bolt hung like a coat flashing its lining of polished gold. The weathered door was envious; Its varnish long sapped by the sun. — New poems have been a little scarce recently because I have been writing about my dating experiences again. I have yet to find the courage, or fictionalising

It is sometimes easier to siphon off blood on Tuesdays

“Blood letting“. Licensed under Public domain via Wikimedia Commons. “From a Stone” engages with the frustrations of bringing forth a poem when it feels like drawing blood from an inanimate source. Like “Glomurelonephritis” this is one of the rare instances where my personal health experiences feature in a poem. For 31 years I have lived

Forthcoming

In a couple of future posts, I shall be sharing some longer pieces of writing that have been gathering dust. Fear not, the poems will continue to be around. Dear readers, I hope that you’ll enjoy all the words on offer. Yours, BQ — T: @BeadedQuill F: BeadedQuill Books by BeadedQuill