Life in Poetry reading, writing, reflecting

Life in Poetry reading, writing, reflecting
April showers bring May flowers

Saturday, 19 January 2019


Crisp white morning. Frost coats the bushes,
the trees. Crunchy grass under foot.

The stars fade into the pale sky while the sun
creeps up over the rooftops. Later blue will

erupt as the beams warm the air. Robin Redbreast
and Master Greentit challenge each other to a crust

in front of the French windows. The chime is still
on the roof beam over the terrace, immobile.

Intricate patterns snake up the gate, ephemeral art
swept by the midday thaw. Droplets glisten on

the leaves of the evergreens. The mercury edges up
and stops, numb.

At teatime the light has ebbed away and the frost
sneaks back over the garden


Christmas is over

The Christmas tree is sitting
in the garden. Some needles
shed on the living room floor,
in front of the fire.

The baubles came off reluctantly,
clinging onto the branches.
The Bavarian soldiers still hanging
proudly. The fairies' heads drooping.

All reconciled to their fate of being
stored away in their boxes.
The holiday season is discarded,
but not forgotten, still burning

comfortably in our hearts. Time
to make way for the New Year.
Fresh beginnings. The crocuses
are already snaking up from

the frosty blades. The daffodils 
stems are rising in defiance
of the cold bite. Everyday I watch
the scortching sun pound down

on the players in Australia. It thaws
my bones and frees my spirit. And
the pen runs away with the ink and
soaks the page with thoughts.


Wednesday, 2 January 2019

On the Train

I turn the ticket man
at the station into a sheik.
Surrounded by his wives
and eunuchs, he strolls in
his gardens.

Around the spouting fountains,
dolphins in the waves, lemon
orange and passion fruit enamour
the air with their sweet

The sheik in his babouche
sits on a stone bench,
launches his hand full
of seeds to the white

They clatter from the rooftops
down the tropical creeper
onto the dolphins and across
the lawns.

The train’s squeaking and sway
gently rocks my contemplation.
The slow wheels roll on the
rails at a snail pace.

So my sheik keeps me company
on my way across the map.


Written in November 2014
from London to Stratford.